by Karen Anders
When she squeezed his hand back, he met her teary gaze.
“Thank you, Hunter.” She raised her free hand to wipe her face and flicked him an attempt at smiling. “For staying. I’m scared, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Hunter’s heart cracked, and he wiped the moisture from her cheeks with a crooked finger. “I won’t leave you alone. I promise.”
His assurance seemed to relieve her mind, and she drew a slow, deep breath. When her next contraction hit, he coached her through the pain, reminding her to breathe deeply and slowly. She squeezed his hand with amazing strength, and when her pain eased, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”
Come on, ambulance! Anytime now!
Between her contractions, Hunter searched the tumbled sedan, an older Honda Civic that reminded him of the jalopies Grant used to tinker with in their driveway when they were younger. The car was made pre–air bags...a safety feature that would have served the woman well today, judging from the growing bump on her head and her memory loss. There was nothing in the glove box that told him who she was or where she lived. No registration papers or car title. Odd. She didn’t seem to have a purse or wallet with her, either. Also strange based on the habits of the women he knew. And no cell phone? What was up with that? What woman in this day and age went anywhere without her cell phone?
Hunter kept his frustration with her curious lack of identification to himself, not wanting to upset her further. Another contraction gripped her, and he shifted his attention to her again. She was bearing down, her teeth gritted, her forehead creased with effort.
“Oh, hey, no!” Hearing his panic in his tone, he paused a moment and forced a smile. “Try not to push...yet. The ambulance is bound to be here soon. Just...hold on a little longer.” He dabbed again at the bleeding cut on her head and the perspiration rolling into her eyes. “Why don’t we focus on something else?”
“Like wh-what?”
He glanced around for an object that might hold some interest or personal meaning to her. Darby had called it a “focal point” when she’d had her daughter four years ago. Hunter had been charged with making sure the picture of his brother Connor, the baby’s father, whom they’d believed at the time was dead, made it to the hospital.
He saw nothing but broken glass and crumpled metal—neither were images she needed to fix in her head. Then he spotted her keys, still dangling from the steering column. He slid the keys out of the ignition and found them hooked to a ring with two decorative additions—one was a metal crab that read I ♥ Cape Cod, and the other was a small wooden piece carved to spell out Brianna.
“Brianna?” He jerked his gaze to her and held up the key chain. “Does that ring a bell? Is your name Brianna?”
She stared at the key chain, a knit in her brow and a desperate look in her eyes that wrenched his heart. “I don’t know. Maybe? Why else would I have that on my keys?”
“If they’re your keys,” he said, and the despondent look that crossed her face made him immediately regret voicing his doubt. “Forget I said that. I’m sure they are.” He forced a grin to his mouth. “So...Brianna. That’s a pretty name. For a pretty lady.”
Her cheek twitched in a weak smile of acknowledgment. Clearly she wasn’t in the mood for compliments, no matter how well intended.
Another contraction seized her, and he held the keys in front of her. “Focus on the keys. Think about tranquil walks on Cape Cod. The soothing sound of the ocean.”
She gave him a dubious, uncertain look as she struggled to breathe deeply.
“Well, the key ring says you love Cape Cod. I figured it was worth a shot.” He rubbed her arm and crooned, “That’s it, Brianna. You’re doing great. Deep breath in, and blow it out through your mouth.”
She followed his coaching like a champion, and pride tugged in Hunter’s chest.
The distant wail of a siren filtered through the autumn air, and relief loosened anxiety’s grip on his gut. “Hey, hear that? The cavalry is coming.”
Rather than happiness, concern darkened her eyes, and she gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t go. You said you’d stay with me. Please?”
Her plea tangled in the deepest part of him, and warmth filled his veins. “I won’t leave. I just have to make way for the EMTs to help you. They’ll take you to the hospital, where the doctors and nurses can give you and your baby the care you need.”
A tear dripped onto her cheek, and her sweaty grip tightened on his hand again. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared, Hunter. I know it sounds crazy, but I have this feeling...someone wants to hurt me. Hurt my baby.”
“That’s probably just part of the disorientation because of your amnesia.”
She glanced away, hurt dimming her eyes. “Maybe. But...with you here, I...feel safe.”
Well, damn. What could he say to that? All he had on his schedule for the rest of the day was a postjog shower and watching the Saints game with his brother Grant.
“Be right back.” He flashed her a reassuring smile as he shimmied out of the car to flag down the EMTs and tell the 911 operator the ambulance had arrived. As the emergency techs approached the flipped car, Hunter gave them a quick rundown of Brianna’s condition.
After placing a neck brace on her, the EMTs eased her out of the jimmied door. Despite her protests that it was unnecessary, they strapped her on a backboard until they could confirm at the hospital whether she had any spinal injuries. Hunter clutched her hand and murmured soothing words while one EMT checked the progress of her labor.
“The baby’s head has crowned. We need to hurry. Lights and sirens,” he told the driver as they pushed Hunter aside and slid the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.
Hunter stepped back, giving the men room to work, and turned his attention back to the overturned sedan. All in all, Brianna was lucky not to have been hurt far worse. Why hadn’t she been wearing a seat belt? Why was she on this rural road outside the city limits? Why—
His gaze snagged on the trunk of the sedan. Were those...bullet holes? He moved closer for a better look, a tingle of apprehension scraping his nape. He rubbed his finger across the bullet-size holes and bit out a curse. Someone had shot at the back of Brianna’s car. But how recently? She’d said she had a feeling someone was trying to hurt her.
Maybe she’d been right.
Copyright © 2014 by Beth Cornelison
ISBN-13: 9781460333556
SPECIAL OPS RENDEZVOUS
Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Karen Anders for her contribution to The Adair Legacy miniseries.
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Karen Anders, Special Ops Rendezvous