As she thought about waving to let him know the headlights were off, the vehicle drove straight at her. It jumped the curb, sideswiped her, sending her flying.
With a thud, she landed on the muddy front lawn of a neighboring condominium. The sound of the engine faded as the vehicle disappeared.
She lay motionless on the ground. Cold mud oozed into the fabric of her skirt. A twinge jabbed her and terror banged against her rib cage.
Overriding the sense of shock was her need to get home where she’d be safe. She grabbed the strap of her purse and attempted to stand. Pain shot through her hip and down her leg. She fell back into the mud.
A man dressed in black came out of the darkness and stood over her. Before she could cry out, he bent down and covered her mouth with his huge hand.
“Don't scream. You'll wake the whole neighborhood. I’m not going to hurt you.” He helped her stand.
The streetlight lit his face and a lock of coffee brown hair fell over his furrowed brow. Five o'clock shadow covered his jaw and his full lips formed a grim line. Compassion shone in his obsidian eyes. It was incongruous to his hardened expression. He reminded her of someone. No name came to mind.
“Your uncle sent me,” he said in a deep voice.
“You were at the police station.” She pushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Yeah. Thought I could talk to you. They wouldn’t allow it. Can you stand by yourself?”
“I think so.” A spasm shot in her leg and her knees buckled. She grabbed him and reluctantly leaned on his lanky body for support.
“I'll call 911.” He held her to him.
“Don’t phone them.”
“You’re hurt.”
“I'm okay.”
“The police need to know about this. Use my cell.”
“No. I can’t handle it. Not tonight. I'm cold. I’m muddy. I just want to go home.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” she said, hoping she could. The first step sent pain racing through her. She gasped.
With one hand he steadied her. With the other, he yanked a smart phone from his pocket. “What’s your address?”
“330 Sea View Avenue, number three.”
He punched in 911. “There's been an accident. A woman’s hurt. I need an ambulance sent to 330 Sea View Avenue number three ASAP.”
After he pocketed his phone, he carefully scooped her up in his arms. “Let’s get you home.”
Never one to ask for help, this time she had to admit needed it and balanced herself by putting her arm around his neck. His body heat warmed her as her cheek rested against his solid chest. Odd how protected she felt, almost as if this stranger were an old friend.
***
The breeze picked up and a cloud drifted in front of the moon, hiding the needed light on the darkened street. He glanced at the petite woman who trembled in his arms. The scent of floral perfume wafted from her. He inhaled and held her closer.
He’d just parked his car when he saw the pick-up truck sideswipe her. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the license number. His attention had been on the woman as she fell. He cringed at the thought of her lying in the sprinkler soaked lawn hurt and too weak to walk home.
The key to her condo was in her shoulder bag.
The front door squeaked open. He rushed upstairs, found the master bedroom.
A small crystal chandelier sent light sparkling on the pale pink walls and the deeper pink bedding of the queen sized bed. After working for many months in Afghanistan, he couldn’t remember the last time he'd been in such a “girly” room.
The same delicate scent he’d noticed when he first picked her up floated in the room. The aroma so different from the hospital odors he’d spent the last few months enduring.
He set her on the bed and her mud caked clothes made stains on the delicate duvet.
In the soft light, he gazed at her, a pretty brown haired woman of average height and average weight, nothing remarkable about her, nothing memorable.
Just then, she stared at him and her eyes sent a plea for help so intense he couldn’t turn away. A vision of Sarah came to mind. He hadn't thought of her in a long time. Now he had a mental image of the three year old, her sad expression beseeching him with her wondrous blue eyes to help her.
This women’s eyes had the same color and intensity, the same expression of desperation he'd seen in little Sarah. He turned away to stop the memory.
He punched 911 on his smart phone again. “I called the paramedics for 330 Sea View Avenue, where the heck are they?”
“They’re on the way,” a female voice said.
“Thanks”, he grunted and disconnected the call.
With her knees pulled up to her chest, she rolled onto her left side. Through the torn fabric of her skirt he saw a blood red abrasion on her upper thigh.
“The paramedics will be here soon.”
“My head hurts,” she said as if she didn’t hear him.
“Help’s coming,” he said unable to think of anything else to say. How long had it been since he called the paramedics? He checked the time, only a few minutes.
A silver framed photo was displayed on a chest of drawers, a girl in a graduation cap and gown standing next to an older man and woman. He continued to roam the bedroom. An award hung on the wall, “Catering by Carlyle voted the best local catering company of the year.”
He glanced out to the window to the quiet street below. Where was the driver of the pickup truck now? Why would he drive straight at her?
“Uncle Jimmy sent you?”
“Yeah.” He moved closer to the bed. “He wanted me to talk with you.”
She grabbed him as if he were a lifeline. Astonished, he held her delicate hand and tried not to remember the last time he'd held a friend's hand. That buddy had died in Afghanistan. No amount of medical help had done any good. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He reminded himself he wasn’t in Afghanistan now.
She struggled to sit up.
“Lay back,” he said gruffly a failed attempt to sound kind. His expertise: asking pointed journalistic questions that exposed hidden truths. He’d never developed a bedside manner.
A hurt expression flashed across her face. Vulnerable, she was an unwanted complication in his already too complicated life. He wouldn't allow her appeal to attract him, wouldn’t empathize with her current situation. He pulled away and reprimanded himself for promising her uncle to help her.
She brought her trembling hand to her cheek.
From the other side of the room, he glanced back at her. A pale version of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Something akin to recognition surfaced and he had to stop from saying, “Haven't we met before?”
A jolt of empathy shot through him. He stopped it. Here as a favor to a friend and the chance to be near a breaking news story that could revive his stalled career, he wanted no connection, no emotional ties.
The doorbell buzzed. He rushed to answer the door, relieved to be away from the emotion she caused to stir in him.
Two young paramedics waited on the front stoop. He took them to Kathryn and then paced in the hallway outside the room.
A short time later, the taller of the medics exited the master bedroom. “She’s doing okay. Even so, I’d like her to stay in the hospital overnight for observation. No go, why don't you talk to her?”
“I hardly know her. She won’t listen to me.”
“Someone has to be with her tonight. Wonder if she has family nearby?”
“I'll make sure she's not alone.”
“Good. I put a dressing on her leg and told her to use aspirin or acetaminophen for pain. Have her take it easy for a couple of days. If the hip continues to give her trouble, it might be a good idea to get an x-ray.”
He thanked the paramedics and showed them out.
Dressed in pink flannel pajamas, she sat up in bed when he returned to the bedroom. Long brown hair framed her face and then fell softly on her shoulders. An un
expected shiver of desire hit him, heating his body.
“Are you better?”
“I’m fine.” She leaned back against the pillows.
He felt her openly explore his face with her inquisitive eyes.
“Why did my uncle want you to talk to me?”
“Jim wanted me to ask what happened tonight.”
She frowned.
He hesitated. “Hoped you’d tell me about Conner Harrison’s poisoning.”
She gasped.
“Your uncle told me you had nothing to do with it,” he said. “I planned to wait until tomorrow to visit. On an impulse, I came tonight. I'd just parked my car when the vehicle sideswiped you. Did you recognize the driver?”
“No. Probably a drunk. The headlights weren't even on.” She winced and adjusted her position on the bed. “One odd thing, the man smiled just before the truck hit me.” She rubbed her forehead.
“You must have one hell of a headache.”
She winkled her nose. “It hasn't been my day.”
“I’d say. Do you want me to call someone, your uncle or your mother?”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done. Right now I don't need anyone and it's been a very long day.”
“At least call the authorities, let them know what happened.”
“No way. I've seen more than enough of the police.”
He stared at her unyielding expression and then shrugged. “Not my problem. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“There's a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Would you mind?”
He returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and the bottle and set them down on her nightstand.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Goodnight then.” She closed her eyes.
He walked out of the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him. Jim’s niece had spunk. He’d give her that.
Did a drunk run her down, or could it be somehow linked to Conner Harrison’s poisoning?
Without the truck's license plate number there was little point in calling the authorities. If he wanted to investigate what happened to Conner Harrison, it’d be better not to be associated in any way to the woman accused of trying to kill the man.
He pictured Kathryn sitting in bed, hurt and defenseless. She could take care of herself, didn't need anyone’s help. Waiting to be charged with murder and being hit by a truck all on the same night, she wasn’t doing a terrific job.
It didn’t matter to him. Even so, against his will he felt a pang of compassion for her and couldn't bring himself to leave her alone.
He called her uncle’s phone number, no answer not even voice mail. He sent a text message to Jim and waited. Nothing.
Since he didn't know how to reach anyone else in her family, he decided to stay the night. In the morning he’d call her uncle again. Then Jim could alert the police to the hit and run accident.
Moonlight illuminated the living room’s beige walls, but shadows filled the corners. A touch of aqua gave the place a sense of tranquility, just the opposite of Kathryn’s life at the moment.
Out the picture window the dark Pacific waters pounded the shore. He took off his runners, stretched out on the ivory leather sectional. His body ached to sleep. Instead, adrenaline surged in his veins keeping him awake.
Upstairs in the bed room, she was probably dreaming. He pictured her. Even during tonight’s traumatic events, she maintained her cool, her sex appeal.
He grunted. No matter how attractive, he wasn't going to let himself care about her.
For all he knew, the owner of one of the best Monterey Bay Area catering companies had for no understandable reason poisoned Conner Harrison, one of the richest men in the world.
Maybe she was crazy or hated the rich. Guilty, innocent, the only thing she meant to him was the chance to be in on one of the most intriguing news stories to come along in years. Yet he couldn’t refute a craving in him when he gazed at her.
After months recovering from wounds he received in Afghanistan, younger reporters were lining up to take his job. He needed the exclusive on the Harrison’s poisoning to put his career back on track.
Her uncle told him the local police and Harrison’s family was keeping the attempted murder under wraps. With luck he’d have the story before the other reporters knew Harrison had been poisoned.
How much time did he have to investigate? Harrison was on his death bed. The second the man died there’d be a media circus. Carmel would swarm with journalists from all over the world.
In an election year, guilty or innocent, Kathryn could be railroaded into the electric chair. It was an expedient way to close the case and thus save the careers of the officials running for re-election.
He grimaced and sat up and rubbed a crick out of his neck. After his injuries in Afghanistan, the doctors had told him to go easy. So what was he doing carrying a woman, even a petite one, through a neighborhood and up stairs?
He dug into his pants pocket and found a pain killer then forced it down his dry throat and waited for relief.
With a pillow for support, he leaned back on the couch and listened to the sound of the waves lapping the beach below. The sea usually relaxed him. Not tonight. Even the Tylenol and Codeine didn’t loosen his muscles. He took another tablet.
In a little more than a week he’d be in New York City, a world away from Kathryn. So, why did her problems keep him awake?
***
“Hell.” The words squeezed through the man’s teeth. Kathryn Carlyle was still alive. His blood pressure spiked. The sound of his heart thundered in his ears. The exhilaration he had experienced when he thought she was dead evaporated.
Life always shit on him. Nothing ever went the way he wanted. His hands shook, his fingers tingled and his breathing quickened. Soon he wouldn’t be able to function. To release the building tension, he opened the truck’s window, took a breath of sea air and stared down the quiet street toward her condo.
The paramedics he’d seen earlier were leaving. Their vehicle drove down the block.
Cool and strong in his hand, he raised a rifle into position, the barrel sticking out the open window. He noticed an orange tabby cat on the sidewalk in front of Kathryn’s building. The scavenger carried something in its mouth. With the feline in view, hand steadied, his breath held, he slowly squeezed the trigger. “Ping.” The bullet flew from the chamber. The cat dropped to the ground and lay twitching.
“You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you.”
Pressure released, he lowered his gun, closed the truck’s window and smiled. “Kathryn, you’re next.”
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