by Morgan Hayes
Whether or not they were firmly wedged this time, Stevie had no way of knowing, but the tilt of the vehicle was less severe. Cautiously she moved in her seat. The car stayed. She reached for Allister again.
His body was still slumped forward against the steering wheel. She grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him back.
“Allister, please. You’ve got to help me out,” she said, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but needing to speak in order to subdue her panic.
She traced her fingers across his forehead again and found the gash just below his hairline. It didn’t seem serious. “Come on, Allister. If you think I can do this by myself, you’ve got to be—”
She stopped abruptly. There was another sound now. A sound far more sinister than the crushing groan of metal against rock. A sound that clarified for Stevie exactly where they were.
It was the low gurgle of water—lapping against the sides of the vehicle, sucking hungrily at the wheel wells.
The river. Its banks usually froze by midwinter, but here at the north end of Danby, the center always ran open-open and deep.
How far had the vehicle ground its way down the bank? She knew these embankments well enough. They were steep, the drop to the river practically sheer, as was the riverbed itself.
Still, they couldn’t be in too far, Stevie thought. Already she could feel hot tears of fear on her cheeks. She wiped at them with the back of her hand. No, she had to stay calm. She had to think.
The Explorer seemed stable enough. If they were actually immersed in the river, surely she should feel the vehicle sway in the current. Still, she had to get Allister out. There was no way of knowing when the bank might give way again. If she couldn’t rouse him, she’d have to climb over him, drag him, somehow, to the shore.
Stevie reached across him and groped for the driver’s-side door handle. Immediately the door swung open, allowing in a blast of cold air.
“Okay, Allister,” she said, clamping down on her terror, “this is it. Are you with me or not?”
She turned all the way in her seat now, feeling for the center console. She slipped her right leg over it. Bracing herself, one hand on the back of her seat, the other on Allister’s, she eased herself across the console until she was straddling his lap, her back against the steering wheel.
Again, Stevie tried to bring him to consciousness. She touched his face and spoke loudly, close to his ear. “Please, Allister. I can’t do this on my own. You’ve got to wake up!” She was practically screaming at him, she realized. Screaming above the rush of the river and the wail of the wind howling through the car’s interior. But more than that, she was screaming above her own fear.
And then the car shifted again.
Stevie heard her own terrified cry over the now-familiar groan of metal, and she threw her arms around Allister and the seat to brace both of them. But the vehicle lurched only a couple of feet this time.
Stevie let out a shaky breath of relief.
Then she felt the water. Freezing water.
It slapped angrily against the sides of the vehicle, and rushed in through the open door. In seconds it flooded the floor, soaking her boots, her jeans. The shock of its cold threatened to paralyze her.
And still it rushed in. She could feel it lapping at the edge of the seat.
“Allister!” His name burst from her throat in a gasp, the cold knocking the wind out of her lungs. “Allister, dammit! Wake up!” She was crying.
She had to get him out. It could be only a matter of seconds before the swift current filled the car and dragged it loose. Then there’d be no chance of rescuing him. Or saving herself.
In that instant, Stevie remembered the cellular phone. With hands flailing across the dash behind her, she found the unit and yanked it from its mount. Her teeth chattered as she shoved the phone inside her jacket with numbed fingers.
But first Allister. She had to get him out. The water rose past the seat.
Struggling with the clip to his seat belt, Stevie released him. He sagged forward, against her, and for the first time she wondered if she could handle his dead weight.
“Okay, Allister, this is it,” she said. Her voice was ragged with cold.
She slid out from under him then and grabbed the sides of the doorway. Before her was the familiar chasm of blackness, but this time it was accompanied by the roar of churning water.
Stevie had no idea what to expect when she dropped over the side of the vehicle and into the crippling cold of the river. She let out a thin whimper of relief when her boots found bottom. Almost waist-deep in the frigid current, she had to literally force herself to breathe.
By the tilt of the car and the sharp angle of the riverbed, Stevie guessed that the bank lay to her right. She’d have to get Allister out and to that bank. She prayed it wasn’t too far.
She reached into the vehicle. His jeans were soaked, making him even heavier as she pulled him toward her. She grabbed a fistful of jacket and eventually slid his right arm over her shoulder.
When she finally managed to pull him out the door, she thought she’d been prepared to take his weight. And for a brief moment she was. But then she lost her balance, and in that instant Allister slipped from her grasp.
Stevie tried to scream, but the cold locked it in her throat. She spun around, thrashing at the frigid water for him, terrified that the current had dragged him under.
And then she heard a sputtering cough.
Her hand found his jacket, soaked and heavy now, like the rest of his clothes, dragging him down. Her fingers glided uselessly across the slick surface, until she managed to hook her arms under his.
“Allister,” she gasped. “Allister!”
He coughed again. Choking on icy water.
He grabbed her shoulders, using her to pull himself up. And as she half-dragged, half-guided him to where she imagined the bank, she heard him mumble her name.
He was barely conscious, she realized, and how long it would last, she didn’t know. But he managed to stay with her long enough for them to reach the shore. Once there, as she started to lower him to the snow, Stevie felt him collapse.
Hypothermia was the fear that drove through her numbed mind now. The cold was almost painful and her muscles ached. But she wasn’t as wet as Allister who had been completely immersed in that deadly cold.
Stevie shivered and eased herself to the ground next to him. She had to keep him warm. Unzipping her own coat, shaking uncontrollably, she slid it off her shoulders and covered him with it. When she touched his lips they felt cool.
The cellular. With trembling fingers she found it where it had fallen next to her and searched for the right numbers.
She waited.
And when she heard the recording, Stevie could no longer suppress her tears.
“You’ve reached the 911 emergency line. All operators are busy. Please stand by.”
“STEVIE?” PAIGE’S VOICE cut through the haze. “Stevie? Honey, listen, he’s going to be all right.”
Paige touched her cheek. Her hand was warm. Even now, in dry clothes and wrapped in the wool hospital blanket, Stevie felt chilled to the bone.
She had huddled against Allister’s still body long after the sirens had stopped at the top of the embankment. And when the rescue crew had clambered down, they’d had to pry her off him so they could lift him into the basket and hoist him up the slope. He hadn’t regained consciousness, even in the ambulance, but the paramedics had tried to assure her he’d be fine.
At the hospital, they’d taken him away. An intern had examined Stevie, and then—at her insistence—had led her to a phone. After calling Paige, she’d been promptly returned to her bed in the ER, sounds of the ward reeling around her. And when Paige tracked her down at last, Stevie had collapsed in her friend’s arms.
“I’m sure if it was serious, they would have told us by now. Can I get you anything, honey?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine, Paige, really. You haven’t seen Dr. Sterling ag
ain, have you?”
“No. I haven’t.”
Dr. Sterling had come down to the ER shortly after Paige had arrived. He’d heard about Stevie’s daring rescue, he said, through the hospital grapevine and had slipped out of his office as soon as he’d been able. Assured that she was uninjured, he’d promised to find out what he could about Allister’s condition.
That had been hours ago—at least, to Stevie, it felt that long.
“Here he is.” Paige left the side of the hospital bed and stood. Stevie followed suit, letting the blanket fall away from her shoulders.
“How are you doing, Stevie?” Dr. Sterling asked, taking both her hands in his.
“Fine, Doc. I’m just…worried about Allister. Did you find out—”
“Allister’s fine, Stevie. I’m sorry, I got tied up with another situation. I would have thought you’d’ve been informed by now.”
“No, we haven’t been told anything.”
“Well, let me assure you, Stevie, he’s all right. He’s got a mild concussion. That’s it. And they want to keep him overnight.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course. He’s probably resting, but you can go in.”
Paige draped the blanket over her shoulders again as Dr. Sterling started to lead her out. “I’ll wait for you, Stevie,” she heard her say.
“Paige, no. I…I want to stay. That’s all right, isn’t it, Doc? They’ll let me stay with Allister?”
No one spoke, and for a moment there was only the chiming of elevator bells, warbling phones and the shuffle of people around her. Stevie tried to imagine the glances exchanged by Dr. Sterling and Paige, and hoped that neither of them was willing to argue with her.
Dr. Sterling spoke first. “I’m sure I can arrange something. In the meantime I’ll show you to Allister’s room.”
“I’ll call you, Paige, later,” Stevie told her friend before she was led from the ward.
They’d given him a semiprivate room, Dr. Sterling informed her, but the other bed was empty. After guiding her to Allister’s bedside and pulling up a chair for her, Dr. Sterling promised to speak with the floor nurses on duty to see what could be arranged for Stevie to stay the night.
“Feel free to use the extra bed,” he told her. “It’s just a few steps to your left, but I’m sure the night nurse will be in sometime later.”
“Thanks, Doc. Thank you for everything.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, then left the room. The sound of the door swinging in its frame brought back memories of a week ago.
Only a week. And yet it seemed a lifetime since she’d first heard Dr. Sterling’s voice and been given the horrifying diagnosis. Did it seem like such a long time because of the blindness? Stevie wondered. Or was it because of Allister, because she seemed to know him so much better than one week should allow?
She dragged the cushioned chair close to his bed. She could hear him breathing, low and deep. She felt the cool sheets, crisp against her palm, and finally she found the warmth of Allister’s hand.
Stevie took it in hers—caressing it and turning it over. Tenderly she pressed a kiss into his palm. And when she whispered his name, she wondered if he heard.
DETECTIVE DEVANE had had a long day. All he could think of now, as he went through this morning’s results from Falcioni’s studio, was getting home to a hot meal. He checked his digital watch—five-eleven. Mary would be wondering where he was if he didn’t head out soon.
But he’d wanted to go through the report once more, before he wrote it off as a complete waste of time. Whoever had broken into Falcioni’s studio last night hadn’t been an amateur. The lock had been picked with great skill before the chain was cut. And not one print anywhere, other than a couple of smudged glove prints, which, on their own, didn’t stand a chance in hell of leading to anything.
The investigation was going nowhere. Just this morning, after the chief had come down on him again for results, Devane had gone over all the case notes one more time, hoping to find something he’d missed before—some link between the stolen coins, Palmer and Stephanie Falcioni. The morning after the murder, after they’d found the microcassette with Palmer’s and the unidentified client’s conversation, after they’d found the newspaper clippings and knew that somehow the stolen coins figured into the shipper’s murder, he had asked Falcioni if Palmer had given her anything for safekeeping. It had been a long shot, of course, but not entirely unreasonable. If Palmer had wanted to get the coins out of his warehouse, he might have given them to Falcioni. After all, she was likely the last person to see him alive. Apart from the murderer.
And obviously, considering the two break-ins into the studio, he was not the only person who believed that the Falcioni woman might somehow be connected to Palmer’s murder and the coins.
“Hey, Devane.” Tony Martinez sauntered into the squad room, a smug grin on his thin face. “Did you hear about that accident out on Shelton this afternoon?”
Devane shook his head and turned back to the report.
“Car spun off the road and went down the ravine.”
Devane shrugged, but wouldn’t look up. No wonder no one on the squad wanted Martinez as a partner, he thought, as the newest member on the Danby force sidled up to his desk. It wasn’t just the nagging whine in the younger detective’s voice; it was the way everything he said sounded so taunting.
“Yeah, they had to drag it out of the river. Real mess.”
“Look, Martinez, is there a point to this little discussion, or are you just jabbering ‘cause you like the sound of your own voice?” Devane afforded him one sideways glower and hoped that it was enough to get rid of the annoyance once and for all.
“No, just thought you’d be interested. Seems your blind eyewitness was in the car.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Martinez? You sure it was her?” Devane stood now, towering over the junior detective. The effect seemed to work. Martinez backed off.
“Yeah, it was her. Stephanie Falcioni, right?”
“When did this happen?”
“Few hours ago. Report came in after two sometime, I guess. You were out.”
“She all right?”
“Yeah, far as I know.”
“Who was the driver?”
“Owner of the vehicle. Some guy—Quaid or something.”
“Allister Quaid?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“For crying out loud!” Devane closed the report on his desk and slammed out of the office.
ALLISTER REMEMBERED the accident.
He remembered speeding toward the dark sedan, remembered the man’s face and the license number. The rest was only blurred images of the crash—the whole world spinning in slow motion, metal screeching against metal, and finally a great thundering explosion as the Explorer ground its way down the slope. Until there had been only darkness.
He lifted a hand to his forehead and felt the neat bandage there. He’d hit his head on the steering wheel, he was pretty certain, and then he’d lost consciousness.
But somehow he remembered water. Black icy water, tugging at his clothes, dragging him down. And he’d been choking on it. Then Stevie had been calling his name, lifting him from the water.
Yes, he remembered Stevie—her arms around him, dragging him to the bank, screaming his name even when the darkness took him one more time. She’d saved his life.
He opened his eyes now, already recognizing where he was by the muffled sounds from the corridor and the odor of antiseptic. Except for a low light on the side table, the room lay in shadows. The blinds on the wide window were open to a night sky.
Beside him, half on the chair and half on the bed, Stevie held his hand in hers. She was asleep. Her cheek was warm in his palm, and he could feel her breath whisper across his wrist.
As the soft glow of the lamp touched her face, Allister wondered if he’d ever seen a more welcome sight. She was all right, he kept saying over and over in his mind. She was all right. S
tevie had saved his life. And she was all right.
He shifted on the bed and felt every muscle in his body ache. Stevie didn’t wake up. Only when he reached over and caressed her hair did she stir.
In that gray portal between dream and reality, Allister saw her momentary confusion as her head come up. Her face twisted with the dark memory of fear, and she gasped his name.
“Stevie.” He clutched her hands and felt them shake briefly. “Stevie, I’m here. It’s all right. I’m right here.”
“Allister.” She let out a breath, collecting herself, and pulled her hand from his to run it back through her hair. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah.”
It was relief, he guessed, that suddenly moistened her eyes. He lifted a finger to her cheek to wipe away the first tear, and when he did, her back straightened and she pulled away. With her own hand, she swiped at the second, tear.
“Are you all right, Stevie?”
He could see her tremble when she nodded.
But as she tilted her head slightly, Allister saw the purplish tinge of a bruise along the right side of her jaw. He took her chin in his hand and turned her to the light.
“It’s nothing, Allister,” she said when he touched it. She took his hand. “Just a bruise.”
Still, she was on the verge of tears. And it was because of him.
“Stevie, I’m okay,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry I put your life at risk. I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t…I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”
She nodded weakly and bit her lip.
“Stevie?”
“I thought you were dead, Allister.”
“Oh, Stevie.” She was shaking when he drew her into his arms and onto the bed alongside him. “I’m not. I’m very much alive, Stevie, thanks to you.” Their closeness seemed so natural. Her small frame was pressed against him, and with one arm around her, holding her tight, Allister stroked her hair.
When she eventually spoke again, her voice was stronger. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”
“What? Drive you into a river?”