by Morgan Hayes
“Just take it easy, Stevie.” Dr. Sterling looked directly at her, as though he expected her to return his smile. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Allister watched her fleeting smile. But he knew it was an act. He’d seen the worry that drew delicate lines across Stevie’s brow and tightened the corners of her mouth. The expression was so dark and so drawn that for a moment he expected to be told that the tests had all been negative, and that there was no hope for any improvement.
But then, hadn’t that been what he’d been hoping for in a way? For two hours he’d sat out there in the waiting room; he’d leafed through an entire stack of torn and dog-eared magazines but it might as well have been the same issue over and over again; he’d paced the corridors, bought a candy bar from the vending machine down the hall and drunk bitter coffee from a paper cup. And throughout the wait, there had been only one thought filling his mind—Stevie’s blindness.
He hated himself for wishing what he did. But until he managed to find the coins or any evidence against Edward Bainbridge, he secretly prayed that Stevie’s condition did not improve. And it was that thought that made him feel physically ill. It wasn’t bad enough that he was the man responsible for her blindness, but here he was dreading even the slightest sign of improvement.
Still, no matter what feelings he was beginning to have for Stevie, especially after last night, Allister could not allow himself to forget that she was the one person who could send him back to prison. If her sight returned and she saw who he really was…well, they might as well throw away the key to the cell this time.
He helped Stevie on with her coat and guided her from the elevator to the main doors. “So how did it go?” he asked once they were in the Explorer and he’d turned on the ignition.
“Still no change,” she said matter-of-factly.
“They couldn’t tell anything from the tests?”
“Nothing yet. Dr. Sterling says it could still take time.”
“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he said, hoping his voice sounded sincere. He reached across to place his hand over hers.
She said nothing. The smile slipped away, leaving the haunting blankness of her unfixed gaze.
“Did you want me to drive you home, Stevie? Or would you prefer coming back to my place?”
“I think home, Allister.” Her hands didn’t move beneath his.
“Would you like to call Paige first at the studio? Just in case the police are still there or the security-system people? The place could be a bit of a madhouse if they haven’t finished.”
She nodded, and Allister reached for his cellular phone. He punched out the number she dictated to him, and when he slipped the phone into her hand, the line was already ringing.
“Paige? It’s Stevie…Yes, we’re just leaving now. I know…No, they ran all kinds of tests again. But I can tell you about it later. Uh-huh. Yes…I know.”
Allister looked past Stevie through the passenger window. Beyond the parking lot, the emergency entrance sat vacant, unlike last week. He’d worried about going into the hospital with Stevie this morning, worried he might be recognized from that crazy night. But he’d been lucky.
“So they’re just about finished?” Stevie was asking Paige. “Uh-huh…okay. No, I’ll come home…Yeah, okay, I’ll tell him. I’ll see you soon.”
Stevie handed him the phone, and Allister returned it to the dash mount. “What did she want you to tell me?”
“Oh, the roads. She says they haven’t been sanded out there yet.”
“And the security system?”
“They’re just finishing up. Detective Devane pulled some strings and had them put us at the top of their list this morning.”
The muscle along the back of Allister’s neck tensed at the mention of the detective’s name.
“Well, I guess I’d better get you home then,” he said, and reached for Stevie’s seat belt.
In the close quarters of the vehicle’s interior, with only inches between them, memories of last night flared again. He’d tried to push them aside, tried to convince himself that their kiss hadn’t affected him as much as it had. But even how he was so drawn to Stevie, his desire to take her into his arms so undeniable, that it took every ounce of restraint he had to do nothing more than clip her seat belt.
Last night, long after he’d shown Stevie to his bedroom, Allister had lain awake on the couch. Over and over in his mind he had tried to rationalize what had happened, what their kiss meant. God knew they’d both wanted it. He’d felt her longing, as strong as his own. There had been more behind Stevie’s kiss than her fright at the studio and more than compassion at hearing his story. There had been an honesty in her kiss, a raw and heartfelt affection that had reawakened his own bleak remorse.
In the end he’d eventually found sleep, but it was the morning light that had brought a reality check to his emotions. As sunshine flooded the apartment and the smell of brewing coffee offered a new lucidity to his thoughts, Allister realized that, no matter how much he might have wanted to, kissing Stevie had been wrong. How could he lead her on like that? How could he give in to his own selfish longings after everything he wasn’t telling her? After what he’d done to her?
Still, when Stevie had come to him last night, when she’d stepped into his arms and whispered his name, Allister couldn’t remember if his own name had ever sounded the way it did coming from her lips.
Banishing those memories as best he could, Allister put the vehicle into Drive. As he steered out of the hospital parking lot and merged with the northbound traffic, he snatched quick glances at Stevie. Her hands were still clasped in her lap, and her lips were pursed as though she was deep in thought.
“Stevie?”
She turned her face, her eyes directed past him.
“Stevie, listen, about Devane. I know he’s helped you and Paige out with this security company and all, but I have to warn you about him. Or at least tell you that…that he suspects I’m mixed up with these stolen coins.”
“Because you’d been working with Gary?”
“Partly. But also because of my criminal record.”
She faced forward again and nodded once, as though she understood and no further explanation was required.
“I just thought you ought to know,” he said. “Especially since Devane’s likely to say some things…when he finds out that you’ve been with me.”
She gave him another nod, but remained silent.
“Stevie? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Allister.” Again, the quick unconvincing smile.
“So what are you thinking about?”
She was silent as they waited at an intersection for a green light. Only once they were moving again, did she turn in her seat toward him.
“I was thinking about the break-in last night,” she said.
“What about it?”
“Paige says she’s gone through everything and nothing’s been taken this time.”
“That’s good.”
“But then with the first break-in, while I was at the hospital, only the cameras were stolen.”
“Right. So?”
“So, if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it?” she asked. “I mean, all coincidences aside, Allister, if it was a genuine robbery and nothing to do with Bainbridge, then why didn’t they take more the first time? There was no one home. They had time. No one interrupted them. And yet, they bypassed a lot of other very valuable equipment and went only for the cameras. They didn’t so much as go through the drawers to look for a cash box or anything. Didn’t go into the filing cabinets or even the front desk for that matter. It just doesn’t add up.” “And if it was Bainbridge or his hired thug?”
“Well, that’s just it. If it was Bainbridge, then you’d think the whole place would have been torn apart. If he believes that I somehow have the coins, wouldn’t they have searched the apartment, as well?”
“You’d think so, yes.”
“It was as though they were after something in particular. Not the coins at all.”
“You mean, the cameras?”
She nodded. “Or maybe what was in those cameras.”
Allister braked sharply for a red light. He’d been so caught up in Stevie’s analysis that he hadn’t noticed it until the last second. His arm shot out to stop her from lurching forward, and at the same time, out of instinct, he checked his rearview mirror. That was when he noticed the dark sedan several cars back.
“Sorry, Stevie,” he apologized, removing his arm, his gaze still fixed on the roof of the sedan.
He was being paranoid, he tried to convince himself, and glanced at Stevie again.
What she’d said made sense—perfect sense. He hadn’t thought about the break-ins like that. He’d just figured that if Bainbridge’s thug had broken into Stevie’s to search for the coins, he’d taken the cameras simply to make it look as though it was a random burglary. But Stevie was right. It didn’t add up. The apartment should have been literally torn apart, too.
“So you think that whoever broke in might actually have been after the film?”
“I don’t know, Allister. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“And why would somebody want your film?”
Stevie shook her head, and Allister eased the Explorer through the intersection. The sedan followed.
“I’m not sure. But you said yourself that if someone had been following Gary, if they had been watching the warehouse, then they would have known I was there. And they might have known why I was there. What if…what if somehow this person thinks there’s something incriminating on the film? The film I shot at the warehouse?”
She had a point.
“Then what about the break-in last night?”
“I’m not sure about that…” Her voice trailed off.
Still heading north, Allister left the downtown core of Danby behind, along with most of the traffic. He glanced again in the rearview mirror. There was only one car between them and the dark brown sedan now. Even so, the driver of the sedan maintained a respectable distance. And when Allister steered onto Fisher Street, heading toward Stevie’s studio, the sedan also made the turn.
“Allister.” Stevie reached across to put a hand on his arm. “What if it is the film? What if I really did manage to shoot something I wasn’t supposed to at the warehouse? And what if they stole the cameras hoping to get it? Whoever it was would want to know if they’d gotten the correct film, right? So maybe they had it developed. Well, what if they found out that they hadn’t gotten the right film? They’d have to come back. They’d have to look for the rest of it.”
“But you said they took all the cameras.”
“Not all of them.”
Allister steered the Explorer into another turn. The sedan followed. It lagged half a block back, but it was there.
“I still have the camera that jammed during the shoot at the warehouse. I’d put it in my black duffel, Allister, the bag I went back to Gary’s to get that night, the bag that was with me at the hospital. Remember when you were over the other night and Paige was in the darkroom? That’s what she was working on—the film from that camera.”
“And she has the proofs from that film?”
Stevie nodded. “They’re in my apartment.”
He glanced at her again and now, more than ever, wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her because she was brilliant, and he wanted to kiss her because there was a real possibility she might be right.
“Well, I’d say we’re going to have to take a look at those
proofs. As soon as we get you home.”
Stevie settled back in her seat, no doubt as anxious as he was to discover the content of the film.
When Allister checked the rearview mirror again, the sedan was still there. He slowed, hoping to close the gap, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the vehicle’s plate, or better yet, its driver. But the sedan slowed, as well, maintaining its distance.
And when he accelerated, the other car followed suit.
“Allister, what’s wrong?” Obviously Stevie had noticed his erratic driving.
“We’re being followed. Since the hospital, I think.”
“Can you see who it is?”
“No, but I’m sure it’s the same car that’s been tailing me for the past couple of days. And I think right now,” he said, as he took the wheel firmly with both hands, “I want to get a better look at this guy. Hang on, Stevie,” he warned, and waited for her to grip the door’s armrest.
He glanced once more in the mirror, gauged the distance and braked sharply as he forced the wheel all the way to the left. The heavy vehicle responded well, the tires grabbing what residual sand there was on the otherwise slippery road, and Allister managed the 180-degree turn with little more than a sideways shimmy.
The wheels spun briefly against the slick surface, and then the big vehicle lurched forward. Allister accelerated toward the sedan. The other driver had already begun to brake, and by the time Allister was within range, was already trying to turn around.
But the surface here was slicker, Allister noticed as he struggled with his own vehicle. He saw the sedan’s back end swerve uselessly as snow and ice flew out from behind its churning tires.
Then he was within range. He could make out the license plate and he memorized the number. Still he barreled toward the sedan, and still the other driver tried to bring the car around. And then Allister saw the man at the wheel.
It wasn’t anyone he recognized.
At that moment, as Allister started to brake, as he snatched a glance at Stevie and saw her ashen expression, he felt the Explorer begin to slide.
“Stevie, hang on.” But Allister realized his warning was pointless.
In sickeningly slow motion, the big vehicle started to swerve. Allister eased his foot on the brake, not daring to jam it to the floor for fear the Explorer would go into a deadly spin. But in spite of his efforts, the vehicle’s tail end glided over the greasy surface.
The steering wheel became useless in his hands as the car careened into its first nauseating 360-degree turn. There was a blur of white, and through it Allister saw the sedan’s taillights as it pulled away. He saw a flash of guardrail, and then more white.
He fought with the wheel, but it dragged uselessly in his hands, skinning his palms.
And then there was the embankment. The second shuddering rotation brought them even closer to it. He saw the railing again.
This time it was too close.
The right front end caught it first, whipping the Explorer around sharply. There was a piercing shriek of metal, and for one second Allister imagined that the guardrail would stop their momentum.
He was wrong.
The corroded railing was no match for the combined speed and weight of the Explorer. And in that instant, as it tore loose from its posts and the vehicle pitched through the jagged opening, Allister’s only thought was for Stevie.
As they plunged down the ice-encrusted slope, he reached for her. The vehicle bounced violently once to the left, and Allister was thrown forward.
There was a flash of pain.
And then only darkness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEFT AND RIGHT lost all relevance. As far as Stevie could tell, the world still reeled around her. The scream of tortured metal still rang in her ears. And her breath still came in shallow frantic gulps.
She couldn’t be sure if the car had swerved, spun or even rolled. But at last, it had come to a rest. Exactly where, though, she had no idea.
It was pitched forward—she knew that much—nose first. An embankment. They must have gone off the road and down into a ravine. Although she hadn’t been paying attention during the drive, she was sure they couldn’t be farther than five or ten minutes from the studio. Frantically Stevie tried to lay out a map in her mind.
She pushed back against the bucket seat, fighting the steep cant of the vehicle. Immediately s
he winced. Her hip and thigh burned with pain, and the right side of her jaw throbbed. She remembered she’d been slammed against the passenger door and window.
“Allister?” she said into the silence. She took a ragged breath. “Allister?”
No reply.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Allister!”
Still no response.
Stevie reached across the center console. He was slumped forward. Her hand skimmed over the slick leather of his jacket, traveling upward to his shoulders. His face was turned to her.
“Allister?”
His skin felt hot under her cold hands. Her fingers trembled so fiercely now she could barely control them.
Then she felt something hot and sticky along his forehead. Blood.
“Oh, God. Allister. Allister.”
She was chanting his name now. Over and over. And she was rocking him, as though she was trying to wake him from a nap, instead of this nightmare they were in.
“Allister, please…”
Her fingertips fluttered to his throat, and she gave a small whimper of relief when she found his pulse.
She tried to pull him away from the steering wheel. The seat belt gouged painfully into her neck. Fumbling with the clip, her fingers slippery with Allister’s blood, Stevie cried out with frustration. When the snap released, she untangled herself and twisted around in the bucket seat.
Whether or not it was her sudden movement within the cab, the Explorer shifted, and instantly there was a low gutwrenching groan from beneath the big vehicle. Stevie froze and felt it again—a slight jostle.
Panic clawed at her throat. She imagined teetering on the brink of one of the deep ravines she knew flanked the route to the studio.
The ominous grinding sound that ripped through the momentary hush then was only a fleeting warning for what happened next.
With barely enough time to brace herself, Stevie felt the vehicle shudder, release and plunge forward. Her scream was lost in the earsplitting roar. Snow and rocks and everything else in the vehicle’s path scraped its wide underbelly as it plowed its way downward until finally, with a thunderous crack and a spine-jolting lurch, it came to a halt.