Grafted into Deceit (Intertwined Book 3)

by Sherri Wilson Johnson

  Marina shivered then tried to steady herself.

  The detective glanced up from his note taking. “You hit someone?”

  She gulped. “Yes, sir. I guess I hit my head on the steering wheel, and when I woke—when I woke up, Jason was sticking through my windshield. After I freed myself from the seatbelt, I climbed up to see if he was alive.”

  He crinkled his brow. “And?”

  She shook her head. “He’s dead.” Tears sprung from her eyes, and she melted to the ground in a wounded heap.

  “Were you speeding?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No, sir,” her voice cracked.

  He knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Acres, I’m going to secure you in my car then I can call an ambulance and check on the man you hit. We’ll get you and him to the hospital as soon as possible.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I want to go home.”

  “Ma’am, you have to go. You could have broken bones or a concussion.”

  “Am I going to jail?”

  “Not if this was an accident and you weren’t driving under the influence.”

  She withdrew her hands from her face and soaked in the softness of his gaze. Although the darkness masked the color of his eyes, they spilled over with kindness and steadied her heartbeat. A reassurance of safety flooded over her—something she hadn’t felt in a while.

  “Come on. Let’s get to my car.” He stood and reached out his hand to her. She took it and allowed him to help her stand.

  A blast of gunfire blazed past them. The detective shoved her to the ground and covered her body with his. He fired a few rounds from his gun, and the truck careened down the embankment. It smashed into the dogwood trees, inches from where moments before she’d stood. Scarlet and crimson dogwood leaves scattered to the ground.

  Chapter Two

  Steven shielded Ms. Acres’s head with his hands, her body with his, and buried his face in the blanket of her silky brown hair. His lungs filled with dust and smoke. The bellowing of the truck’s horn and the cracking of a tree assaulted his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

  He’d suspected a pick up would happen tonight at Acres and Fields Nursery and Landscape Design, and that it’d contain marijuana. But he’d never have predicted the events of the last half hour. He’d chased the truck then lost it after it ran Ms. Acres off the road. Then it appeared again as it peeled out of the drive. If she hadn’t been out here tonight, he’d have caught them. And now here he was, instead, protecting the woman who owned the company he was investigating—who may be guilty of trafficking drugs. This brought new meaning to the term conflict of interest.

  He’d needed something to happen soon or the stakeouts he’d begged permission for would be nixed. To appease him, his sergeant allowed the stakeouts, and for that, he was grateful. How else would he catch his brother’s suspected killer?

  Because Mark had died while trying to stop this suspected local drug ring, and because the killer was still out there somewhere, Steven couldn’t rest or become distracted until he put the people responsible for his death behind bars.

  When the tree didn’t land on them, Steven exhaled and raised his head. Through the haze, he squinted until he located the driver of the late ‘90s Chevy pickup, the same truck that had whizzed by Elm Grove Church’s gravel parking lot where he’d sat earlier for the fifth night in a row. The man appeared to be unconscious or maybe dead, but the passenger, dressed in dark pants and a white shirt, fled the scene.

  Somebody wanted Ms. Acres dead, or they wouldn’t have come back.

  Cries of agony from the woman he’d pinned to the ground urged him to slide off into the grass beside her, but he kept his hands on her head until he could assess the situation. His priority was to safeguard her. Then he could check on the driver, pursue the suspect, and verify the condition of the man in her windshield.

  Steven pulled up and knelt beside her. “Ms. Acres, are you okay? Did they shoot you?” he yelled over the blaring horn.

  “I—I don’t think so,” she yelled back with a stammer and leaned up on her elbows. “Ouch! What happened?” She peered over her shoulder to the scene of the accident and grimaced.

  Steven shouted, “Looks like the driver of the truck had unfinished business.”

  She sat up and grabbed her ribs. “With me?”

  “I don’t know. But I will find out—if he survives.” Steven stood and brushed his hands against each other, ridding them of dirt and grass. “Sit here. I’m going to check on him.”

  She grabbed his left hand, her desperation sending a shockwave through him. “No, don’t leave me.”

  Steven patted her hand and released himself from her grip. “Ma’am, I have to.”

  She struggled to her feet and reached for his shoulder to steady herself. “Please, call for backup.”

  He pulled her hand from his shoulder and helped her regain her balance. “I will. Sit tight right here while I check on him.” He motioned to the ground.

  “Should I go to your car?”

  Steven pursed his lips and breathed his frustrations out his nose. He didn’t have time for this. He tried his best to hide his irritation, but it clipped his words off as each one exited his mouth. “No, stay right here where I can see you.”

  “Yes, sir.” She surrendered.

  After Ms. Acres, who appeared to be around twenty-five years of age, sank to the ground, Steven tromped through the dew-drenched grass, his Glock 9mm drawn, until he reached the truck. The driver’s face was planted in the steering wheel, and he was motionless except for the sporadic lift of his chest and the movement of his dreadlocks being fanned in the night air. Steven checked the man’s pulse, weak but steady, and silenced the horn by repositioning his head. He didn’t sit him upright in the seat avoiding further damage to him. He needed him alive and well to prosecute.

  After he pulled his phone out of his pocket to make the call to the station, he discovered he had no signal. He’d have to get Ms. Acres to his vehicle and call for help from his two-way, which he’d left in the car in his rush to get to her.

  Crunching leaves brought Steven’s attention back to the scene. The suspect bolted out of the woods and headed down the drive toward the nursery. Steven reached Ms. Acres in three strides and yanked her to her feet. “Come on! I’ve got to get you to safety. Now!”

  When they made it to the car, Steven thrust open the front passenger’s door and shoved her into his Expedition. Then he bolted to the driver’s side. Inside the vehicle, he grabbed his radio handset and made the call. “This … is … Detective Pennington.”

  “Go ahead, sir,” the dispatcher replied.

  Sweat flowed from his face and drenched his shirt and suit pants. He huffed and tried to get enough breath to answer the dispatcher. “I’m out … on Elm Grove … off Bailey’s Bridge. Near the O’Reilly ranch. I’m at the scene of two accidents. One potential fatality. One who’s potentially in critical condition. Another victim with minor lacerations, injuries, and head trauma.” He coughed. “Send two wreckers and three ambulances.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Send the forensics team and the K9 unit too. I’ve got an escaped suspect who is armed and dangerous.”

  “Sending backup,” the dispatcher called.

  “I’m going after him now.” Steven clipped the handset onto its holder, grabbed his handheld radio and flashlight, and jumped out of the vehicle. “I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for the victim to respond as he locked the doors behind him and secured his handheld in his pocket. His boots crunched on the gravel path while labored breaths blended with a light mist and drowned out the calls of the katydids and crickets.

  After he crossed the street, he found Ms. Acres’s car in the ditch. Her headlights lit up the kudzu and dense bushes in front of it. From his vantage point, the windshield was not visible. He inched his way down the embankment s
ideways, gun still drawn in case the suspect had seen him cross the street.

  He made his way through the brush around the front side of the late 80’s BMW. The scene appeared as Ms. Acres had described it. Her car was on its side. The windshield was smashed.

  But where was the body?

  Steven braced against the hood and peered through the windshield that was ready to collapse at any moment. The front seat was vacant. He clicked on his flashlight and surveyed the surrounding area. Had Ms. Acres hit a deer and mistook it for a person? No. She’d said she’d recognized him.

  He groaned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. He needed to get back to the other side of the road and find the suspect. His questions for Ms. Acres could wait.

  After climbing the embankment, he crossed to the other side of the road and spotted the suspect. Popping his gun from its holster, he yelled, “Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Steven tugged his feet from the ground, and he continued the chase through a patch of fog. When he came out the other side, the guy was nowhere. Like a ghost, he’d disappeared again.

  Steven stood with his gun held in front of him, knees locked, all senses alert. In the faint moonlight, he surveyed the surroundings. Nothing. He’d either gotten away or was waiting to attack when he least expected it.

  He waited until the adrenaline subsided and his heart rate slowed then pivoted, holstering his gun, and returned to his SUV with the wide-eyed woman inside it. In his rush, he’d left the keys in the car. The door handle didn’t budge when he attempted to lift it. He tapped on the window with the end of his flashlight. “Ms. Acres, unlock the doors.”

  She stared straight ahead through the window, her purse jammed against her chest, not even flinching as he called to her. He leaned down for a better look at her. Her hair, dark but framed in highlights, was knotted and littered with grass and dirt, her pale blue dress covered in mud and blood. She trembled in the front seat, although the car was much warmer than the evening air.

  Steven tapped on the window again and called to the young woman. “Ma’am, can you unlock the door for me? I need to get inside.”

  When he tapped a third time, with a bit more force, she recoiled and stared at him like he were an enemy. But after a moment, she pressed the unlock button. Steven wasted no time climbing into the vehicle. She was in shock, and his work for the night had only begun.

  ***

  Waiting with a stranger in the dark while a gunman roamed free wasn’t Marina’s preference, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t make it to the office now, and she’d be a fool to go it alone after what had just happened. Besides, the guy the detective had been chasing headed in that direction. She’d stay put right here in the front seat with him until help arrived. She sighed.

  Marina released the grip on her purse and let it fall into her lap as the detective called in an update to the station. He replaced the radio handset to its holder again and cranked the car.

  “You didn’t get him?”

  “No. But we will.” He switched on the heat and directed a few of the vents in Marina’s direction.

  “Thank you. I’m not usually this cold.”

  “Your body is responding to the trauma of the wreck.” He reached into the back floorboard and retrieved a thermos. “Coffee? It’s strong and hot.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” While he poured coffee into the lid of the thermos, Marina combed the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, to no avail. It must look horrible, betraying the fact she’d had it highlighted two days ago. At least the blood had stopped trickling from her forehead. Her ribs still throbbed, though, and her ankle had swollen to twice its normal size.

  The detective handed her the stainless-steel cup.

  She nodded her thanks as she wiped any germs off the rim, took a careful sip, and let it bring comfort. “So now we wait?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t you need to check on the man in the truck again?”

  “No, I’m staying here with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck then rested his head on the headrest.

  Marina lifted her ankle and squeezed it a couple of times then grunted.

  “You’re barefooted?”

  She nodded. “I kicked off my heels, so I could climb out of the car.”

  “How did I miss that detail earlier? You were in the road barefooted when they tried to run you down?”

  She nodded again but didn’t answer.

  “That decision undoubtedly saved your life. Running in heels would have slowed you down.” He tapped the steering wheel and shook his right leg, while he swiveled his head and kept a lookout, revealing he was still on high alert.

  “I’m pretty good with split-second decisions.” She took another sip of the coffee and savored it in her mouth a few seconds before swallowing.

  How would she ever return to her office down that long drive without remembering what had happened here? The cluster of trees she often sat under for a break in the mid-afternoon year-round would no longer generate tranquility. “Why is this happening to me? I was minding my business and wham!” She shook her head.

  “You don’t know these people, correct?”

  “Not that I know of. I mean, maybe I do. Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. But we will find out. Could your husband possibly know them? Maybe he’s involved in something you’re not aware of?”

  “I’m not married, Detective.” She sighed. “I can’t believe I killed Jason Burney tonight, and he’s still over there across the street crashed through my windshield.”

  The detective shifted in his seat and sighed. “Ms. Acres—about Mr. Burney.” He rubbed his face.

  “What about him?” Even though she tried to hide her weakness from the detective, tears streamed down her cheeks and revealed that her wounds ran much deeper than the visible ones.

  “You know what? Just relax. We’ll talk about everything after they check you out at the hospital.”

  He may have told her to relax, but judging by the way he drummed the steering wheel and cracked his neck with a few twists of his head, something was wrong. He acted like a caged wild animal.

  She took a gulp of the coffee, drained the cup, and handed it back to him.

  He faced her and stared into her eyes with an intensity which penetrated her core. “Ms. Acres—”

  Sirens filled the night air, and their chat ended before she learned anything more about this intriguing man or his thoughts about the accident. Soon, she’d be at the hospital and gone from this disastrous scene and would never see this detective again.

  Marina winced when the flashing lights and deafening sirens converged on them. When the detective got out to direct the EMTs to the truck, a void filled the car. A second ambulance pulled up, and he pointed the EMTs in her direction. As they rushed across the grass with a stretcher, she unbuckled her seatbelt.

  Why hadn’t he directed the EMTs of the third ambulance across the street instead of motioning for them to wait? Maybe there was no rush since Jason was dead.

  After Marina opened the door and swung her legs out of the car, she stood with the help of the female EMT. “Are you sure I need to go to the hospital?”

  Before the EMT could respond, the detective interjected, “Yes. And withhold your arguments. You need evaluating.” He stood with his hands on his hips, suit coat open and pushed back, his badge clipped to his belt and his holstered gun dangling from his right hip.

  The EMT helped her onto the stretcher. “Ms. Acres, where are your injuries besides your head?”

  “My ribs, left ankle, and upper right thigh. It’s scalded from coffee.” She kept her purse pressed against her stomach even when the EMT covered her with a shiny silver blanket. She needed it right now to maintain a sense of normalcy.

  Marina strained her neck around the EMT to see the detective. “Are you coming with me?” Why did she ask him that? Of course, he wouldn’t come with her. He’d done his job. He’d k
ept her safe until help arrived.

  He rubbed his right shoulder and shook his head. “No, but I’ll stop by after I get this wrapped up.”

  Relief washed over her like a spring rain knowing he wasn’t abandoning her, but then reality dried up her relief like a summer drought. “What if they don’t keep me at the hospital?”

  “I doubt they’ll release you tonight, but if they do, I’ll find you.”

  “How will you … oh, right, you’re a detective. You’ll find me.”

  He laughed, revealing his smile for the first time. Man, why couldn’t they have met under different circumstances? “Yes, ma’am. Who can I notify for you?”

  “No one. Everyone is out of town.”

  “You sure? If the press gets ahold of this story, your family and friends might be upset to know you’ve been involved in an accident and didn’t call.”

  “How would the press find out?”

  “People talk, Ms. Acres. Stories of incidents like this don’t stay hidden for long. It’s normally quiet out here at night. Surrounding farmers will be talking about this tomorrow at the local feed store.”

  “I sure hope that doesn’t happen. My phone is ruined, though, so if anyone calls, they’ll get my voicemail.”

  “Your phone’s ruined?”

  She exhaled and grabbed her side in pain. “My purse landed in the creek when I went over the bridge.”

  “I can dry it out for you. I’ll pick up a bag of rice to put it in and see if that helps. How about I bring it to you later at the hospital?”

  “That’d be great. Thank you.” Marina pulled her purse out from under the blanket, removed her phone, and handed it to the detective. She never left it with someone she didn’t know, but since it didn’t work right now anyway, there was no harm in trusting him with it.