Chapter 9 — Gage
This is bad. No, this is really bad. The first thing I notice is a shock absorber and wheel a hundred yards from the overturned … Nissan? Ford? I can’t even tell, it’s crushed and twisted so badly. The car looks like it’s been through a scrap yard, looking like a rectangular pancake. The debris field is a good twenty yards long and covers all three lanes on Eastern.
“No kids, please,” I say under my breath. I can’t handle losing a kid today. Adults are bad enough. Kids take a piece of your soul with them.
I quickly take in the rest of the scene. A Mercedes is at an angle, but appears relatively intact. Road is wet. Gasoline — terrific. Smoke — of course. Plus, a crowd is already gathering — people seem to be hypnotized and drawn to tragic events.
“Fuck. This is not good,” Ken says grimly as we skid to a stop and he gets ready to hop out of the cabin. “I give it two percent survival rate.”
I don’t say it, but I think he’s being generous. Now, the horrible question. How many died today?
I jump from the truck, rush to the back and start pulling out the hose to dampen the source of that smoke. Truck two is dumping solidifiers onto the gasoline to help neutralize that danger. Police are here, pushing back the crowd and giving us room to work. Sarah, another police officer, is spray painting the road, quickly marking the position of the car for later forensics. Everyone here has a job to do and a reason for doing it.
Hose under my arm and Ken at my back, we haul ass toward the car. I’m still searching for the source of the smoke when I see it … a hand sticking out of a window. No. A hand and a foot.
Holy shit. The hand is moving.
“Life,” I yell and paramedics dive into the scene. We’ve got to get them out. Give them a chance. If they can survive the impact, we’ve got to give them the opportunity to live.
“Gage!” Captain Frank yells over the noise. “Get the jacks and cribbing material. We need to stabilize the car.”
Handing the hose off to Jeff, I rush back to grab the hydraulic jacks, motioning for Sawyer to come over. “Grab some cribbing and follow me.” Sawyer just transferred from California, so he needs a little guidance, but grabs the straps from the pile of wood as soon as I point him to the correct compartment.
Back at the car, I see that Engine 3 has arrived. I hear Captain Frank order wire cutters and the Jaws of Life — both spreaders and cutters. I agree with him. We’ll definitely need both.
“Gage, jack up the front a bit.”
I’m already on it, getting the jack under what used to be the hood and wheel well and start to slowly lift. Sawyer is nearby, adding the cribbing to stop the car from spinning or sliding away.
Octavio and Ed, two of the best paramedics I know, are on their knees, reaching through holes or any space they can to help the victims or at least give a little bit of comfort.
“How many?” I yell.
Octavio doesn’t even look up, just holds up two fingers. Thank God. Only two people.
Ken’s taken charge of the jaws while I’m still monitoring stabilization. Octavio and Ed’s arms are inside this damn car. We’ve got to protect them too.
The sound of steel being cut is a beautiful thing, knowing we’re closer to rescuing the victims. The bite of the cutter is only slightly louder than the compressor pumping the hydraulic fluid. Every second counts, and this part, the waiting, always seems to take an eternity. I can only imagine that for the victims it must be pure panic.
“I’m losing him!” Ed yells. He’s on the driver’s side, frantically trying to get a line in the guy’s arm.
Ken tries to cut the window pillar by the hood first, but the roof is so flattened there isn’t really anywhere to cut.
I lift the front a little more and Sawyer stuffs more cribbing when the car starts to creak. To my astonishment, I notice a tow truck slowly maneuvering through the debris. What the hell is he doing here so early? This is still a medical sector.
Ken gets another few inches of space and quickly finishes the front pillars before heading to the back. The device pops and cracks as it tears through the metal, allowing us to lift it off and out of the way.
The crowd cheers. I look up and notice all the news trucks, their cameras aimed and poised to report additional tragedy. I somehow manage not to flip them off and put all my focus back on the people in front of us.
The moment the top is off, Octavio gives the car a little test push to double check stability and he and Ed lean in for their first full visual of their patients.
Shit.
The woman’s wearing a wedding dress that used to be white. The guy’s wearing a tux. Just married. The knife in all of our guts just twisted.
Ed calls for the AED, apparently the groom has no pulse. And we still have a major problem – the dash has both victims pinned. All life-saving efforts have to be done in the confines of that mashed metal until we can cut off the front.
I lose count of the times the guys call clear while we essentially disassemble the car. I lose count of the number of minutes they compress and bag and fight to save the bride and groom. We all want them to live.
They can’t.
Their injuries were too great.
We can’t save them.
Finally, Octavio calls it and everyone grows quiet.
To shield the victims from the watchers, we cover them with yellow tarps, giving them some measure of privacy. A fuck of a way to spend their wedding night.
Chapter 10 — Beth
Five hours and a thousand tears later, we pull back into the driveway at the house. I stopped and picked up Chinese because there was no way Steph or I could possibly muster enough energy to cook.
Onyx is going to be fine. Well, not fine fine, but better than we could have expected after she’d been hit by a car. She was taken into surgery and had her leg set and pinned in two places and is now sporting a bright pink cast. She has to spend the night at the vet’s, but we can go get her tomorrow. Looks like we’ll have a mascot at HEAL for a while.
The entire time we were gone, I couldn’t stop dwelling on the man she chased or why he’d been by the pool. Had he been watching me? Or was he someone lost and Onyx had scared him? Should I call the police?
I just don’t know.
I don’t want to come off as a crazy girl with paranoid delusions, but I also don’t want to ignore something serious. I called the man who’d hit Onyx and reassured him she’d be okay. And I asked him more about the man he’d seen. The description was so vague. Black pants. Black short sleeved shirt. Longish, dark hair. Maybe five-feet-eight or so. Not much to go on even if we did call the police.
Putting the Jeep in park, Steph and I just sit there, both too tired to open the doors and get out.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Stephanie says for at least the thirteenth time.
“I know. It’s crazy.”
“I’m so glad she’s okay.”
I smile. She’s said that at least a hundred times. I reach over and grasp her hand.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Grabbing our food, I head to the back door and the closer I get, the more uneasy I become. The hair stands up on the back of my neck and my breath comes in little shallow gasps.
“Are you okay?”
I try to shake it off, but can’t stop myself from glancing around, suddenly sure someone is sneaking up on us. I feel them. Someone is watching. Waiting. I can feel their eyes on me.
My fear transfers to Stephanie, and her eyes grow wide and her chin quivers as she looks around as well. Does she feel what I feel, or is she just picking up my vibes? Before I can ask, she grabs my arm and hustles me to the back door. Soon, we’re in and have re-set the alarm.
“Do I need to call the police? Or Ken? Gage?”
“No!” I say the word too fast, too loud. She looks at me, still worried, unconvinced. I soften. “I’m sorry. I’m just so wound—“
I nearly poop my bikini bottoms when my
phone vibrates in my hand. Stephanie squeals in response to my squeal and I sink to the floor, my heart pounding so hard my vision pulses with each beat.
“Hello,” I say as naturally as I can into my phone, rolling my eyes at Steph who is still holding a hand over her heart.
“Beth Richards?”
I look at the caller ID again. “Yes, this is Beth.” I shake my head at Steph. No, I don’t know who it is, that shake says.
Stephanie tosses our dinner on the counter and grabs her phone before sitting on the floor beside me. I know what she’s doing. She’s going to record my call with her phone. I tap the speaker button so she can record the entire conversation.
“Miss Richards, this is Agent Ellen Grimes, I believe we’ve met before.”
I glance up at Steph. “Yes, Agent Grimes. I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I understand that you were with Gage Larson last night at Red Rock. Is that correct?”
I swallow. “Yes, that’s right.”
“If you don’t mind, Agent Ramsen and I have a few questions regarding the discovery last night. Do you mind if we stop by later this evening?”
I sag. “Sure. Do you need my new address?” I rattle it off when she says yes. A moment later, she hangs up.
Looking up at Steph, she doesn’t look as haunted as I imagined she would. She’s gotten so much stronger over the past year. Ghost has appeared and is butting her head against Stephanie’s leg, wanting a good scratching. Steph picks him up and holds him to her face.
After a few minutes, Steph stands and holds her hand out. I take it and she drags me up. “You go shower and I’ll get the food ready.”
“Are you okay?” I ask her, really worried that she might be having some type of post traumatic experience from all that happened last year. She’d been put through hell. Exposed. Tortured mentally and physically.
She swallows and then pastes a bright smile on her face. “Yes. And you’re fine too.”
I nod and she takes me in her arms for long, comforting hug. Who needs a man when you have a best friend?
Chapter 11 — Gage
“You missed a spot,” I tell Ken, pointing out the mud above the back wheel well.
He shoots me a look. “First punctual, now anal? What’s getting into you?”
“You. Your old-man-ness is rubbing off on me, I guess.” He’s only a year older than me, but I love giving him hell.
Every man in the station is working his ass off right now. Rigs are being washed, floors scrubbed. Anything to work the—
Smack.
I look over and see Jeff, the rookie, give the punching bag another shot. Smack. Smack. His jaw is set. His eyes hard. Smack. Smack. He keeps punching the bag. I know from experience he’ll keep punching until he can no longer lift his arms.
I keep polishing a rim. Every man here has to let off steam somehow. The newly married couple will take a while to get over. The memory of how they’d died holding hands is physically painful to recall.
Ken’s phone beeps and he stands up, stretches out his back and pulls the cell from his pocket. He looks relieved, then his thumbs move over the screen.
“Onyx is out of surgery and the girls are going home,” he tells me and I feel his relief too … the mutt really grows on a man.
“Glad to hear it. Any idea how she got out of the fence?”
He picks up the sponge again and gets back to work. “Not yet. Steph was too upset to talk about it earlier.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll be off in a few hours. I’ll get the details then.”
We wash and polish and work in silence for a while. His phone beeps and he straightens. Reads. Thumbs go to work. “Girls are going out Tuesday night,” he says. “I might pull together a poker match. Want to come over?”
Tuesday. Shit. I shake my head. “Sorry. Got a date. Meeting up with Amber at some new club that’s supposed to have some crazy good DJ visiting from New York or New Jersey Tuesday night.” I don’t tell him that I only texted Amber just a half hour ago or that I set up the date because I need to get Beth out of my head.
He frowns at me, but says nothing. Just keeps washing, the slow circles easing the speed of my thoughts. After a few minutes, Ken says, “I can finish this up if you need to go finish reading the pre-plan for the new casino.”
“No, that’s okay, I’ve got all night. There’s something meditative about washing the rigs. After the accident earlier, it feels like washing away the bad. I’ve seen lots of death, but seeing that couple’s lives cut off before they even…”
Ken clenches his jaw and spits out, “Fucking drunk. As usual, he walks away. What really pisses me off is that his daddy’s Armani suit wearing dirt bag lawyer will probably get him off with a fine or probation.”
I completely agree. “Yep. Been there seen that.”
Ken tilts his head. “When was that?”
I throw the sponge into the bucket and feel the familiar rage run through me as I remember that time. “I was a witness at an accident. This dude plowed into the off-ramp guard rail; pretty much split his car in two. He had a girl in the front seat. No seatbelt and she basically got wedged under the glove compartment. She looked like she was curled into a ball. Dead instantly. The fucking dickhead driving was wandering around outside the car yelling that someone cut him off and now his car was destroyed.”
Ken shrugs, a deep scowl wrinkling his forehead. “It always seems that way, doesn’t it? Everybody’s fault but theirs.”
“Well, this time, it turned out to be my fault.”
Ken’s head shoots up and he gives me a classic ‘what the hell?’ look.
“While I was checking out the girl, I didn’t notice the dude split the scene. It wasn’t until the highway patrol showed up and the officer asked me if I was the driver that I realized the driver was gone. At first, I thought he may have been in shock and wandered off somewhere. The cop didn’t believe me since I was the only other person on the scene.”
“No shit.”
I shake my head. “No shit. Man, I was pissed. He even tried to fucking sobriety test me and was pulling out the handcuffs and the taser because I refused when another cop found the guy walking down the street. He had airbag burns on his arms and you could smell the alcohol on his entire body.”
“Bet the patrolman really felt like an ass then.”
I laugh. “Oh yeah. Super apologetic. We ended up laughing. When I calmed down, I could see his side of things. But, anyway, I needed to take a piss like no other and he laughed and told me to write quick because I wasn’t leaving until it was done.”
Ken laughs and throws a towel. “Don’t you know you should always carry an empty bottle in the car for that? I guess walking to the front of the car and letting it fly wouldn’t have been cool. He would have tas’d your dick.”
I grab my crotch, the very thought sending me into protective mode. “Well, the cop was laughing and doing little things that kept me from being able to leave. At one point, I was basically crossing my legs like a chick and bouncing up and down in bladder agony.”
Ken’s bent over, his hands on his knees. “Please don’t tell me you pissed your pants.”
I grin at him. “Well, I—“
“Gage!”
I whip around and see Captain Frank waving me over. I lift a hand and he turns around, heading back to his office.
I look back at Ken and the fucker has grabbed his crotch and is bouncing up and down. I flip him off and take off after Cap.
“I just got a call from Agent Grimes,” he says before my ass even hits the chair. “They’re on their way now.” Captain Frank grabs his coffee cup and tosses me a bottle of water when I decline caffeine.
“You look worried.”
Cap takes a long drink of his coffee, then sits back and looks me dead in the eye. “I am. From what I’m hearing, everyone is concerned. This might be bigger than a serial killer.”
Shit.
“How so?”
“This is just a the
ory at this point, but Captain Vander told me about a cult, Santa something or other they call themselves. They’re squatting in the desert. They’ve heard rumors and have been keeping an eye on them, but haven’t caught them red handed yet.”
“Santa, you said? You’ve got to be kidding.” Christmas will never be the same.
“Seems they have something to do with the drug cartels from Mexico or Central America. They haven’t been able to pin anything on them, but this may be the link they need.”
I stare at the wall behind the captain’s head, trying to make all this make sense. It doesn’t. “Mexican cartels don’t do stuff like that, do they? They just put the bodies in acid or cut their heads off and leave them in the street.”
“Who the hell knows what cults do,” the captain says and takes another sip of coffee. “All I know for sure is two things. One: the feds think it might possibly be related. Two: they’re on their way to talk to you. So sit tight and we’ll find out what they have to say.”
Not even a minute has passed until there’s a knock on the door. The captain waves them in and I stand as two familiar faces walk into the room.
“Larson, it seems you can’t keep out of trouble.” Special Agent Ellen Grimes sticks out her hand, giving me the flash of a grin. These are the two agents who worked Stephanie’s case last year. It was fascinating to watch how their minds worked, how they tried so hard to catch Jerome and the fuckers who’d been selling women like cattle.
“You remember my partner, Bill Ramsen?” she continues and I shake both of their hands again.
“Yes ma’am. Nice to see you again Agent Ramsen.” I motion for him to enter.
Grimes looks at Captain Frank and then at me. “Mr. Larson, I’m not sure you know what you found.”
“Gage. Please call me Gage.”
Captain Frank walks around his desk. “Do you need me to leave?”
Ramsen pushes the door shut and motions Frank to sit. “No, captain. You should probably be aware of what’s going on.”
Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense) Page 5