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Every inch forward was a battle of will and determination, each movement bringing him closer to Lucy but further from the safety and comfort of open space. The jagged rocks tore at his skin, leaving angry welts in their wake, but he pressed on, driven by the haunting sobs of a woman he’d never met. The noise surrounded him, bouncing off the walls, mixing with his own labored breaths and grunts of effort. He could sense her fear and pain, the raw emotions resonating within him like an electric current.
He knew what that kind of terror felt like.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his hand brushed against something cold and clammy and soft. Not rock. And he hoped to God, not an animal. He reached out further and realized he had found a pair of trembling hands bound by rope.
“Lucy?” he whispered, his voice filled with both relief and concern.
She recoiled as much as she could in the same space. “Who’s there?”
“My name is Sawyer Murphy. I’m here to help.”
Lucy’s breathing hitched, her voice catching in her throat. “Oh God, thank you. I didn’t think anyone was coming. Are you with the police?”
“Ah, no. Not exactly. I’m with Redwood Coast Rescue, and so is my friend Connelly who is waiting just on the other side of this wall with my dog, Zelda. But the sheriff is on his way with equipment to get you out.” As he spoke, he felt around until he found the glow stick. When he cracked it, the glow filled his field of vision with the smattering of light and shadows he’d grown used to.
But then Lucy moved closer, and his brain kicked into gear, remembering that he had once been able to see. And for an instant, he saw a blurry image of her face, scraped up and tear-stained, her eyes bi-colored eyes showing too much white. Even caked in mud and blood, she was stunning. Her description didn’t do her justice.
Then she stopped moving and disappeared into the blurry white noise again.
Dammit, he wanted to see her.
Which wasn’t what he should be worrying about now.
He cleared his throat. “Are you injured?”
“Yes. He—he shot me and pushed me into a hole. I-I tried to climb out, but I got stuck here.”
“Where did he shoot you?”
“My leg. I used my shirt as a tourniquet.”
His heart ached for her. He could only imagine the pain she was in, both physically and emotionally. “Good. Smart. I’m going to touch you, okay? I want to check your leg.”
With a steady hand, he reached out and gently touched her leg, his fingers tracing the makeshift tourniquet. He felt the warmth of blood and the irregularity of fractured bone beneath her skin. The touch elicited a sharp intake of breath from Lucy, and there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke again.
“I thought I was going to die down here.”
“Nope. I’m not gonna let that happen. Help is on the way, and we’ll get you out of here. Just hold on a little longer.” His fingertips lingered over a soggy mass of fabric that was wrapped around her thigh. The tourniquet was still tight, so he left it in place and rummaged through his pockets until he found the cool metal of the water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and held it out in her direction. “Here. Drink it slowly.”
Lucy took the water bottle from Sawyer’s outstretched hand, her fingers trembling as they made contact. “Thank you.”
As she drank, Sawyer could hear desperation and relief in each gulp. But she was drinking too fast, so he reached out and gently pulled the canteen away from her. “Whoa, take it easy. Let’s see how that settles, then you can have some more.”
She caught his hand before he could pull away and held it tightly as if afraid to let it go. “Please don’t leave me.”
His heart cracked right open and he squeezed her hand back. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucy.”
chapter seventeen
He really wasn’t coming back.
Yes, she’d told Connelly to stay away, but she never in a million years thought he’d actually, you know, stay away. It wasn’t like the stubbornly persistent man she knew.
Veronica drew a fortifying breath and stepped out onto her porch as the dogs did their morning business in the yard. She looked toward the old Hendricks place. On a clear day, she could only see the slope of the roof and the glow of his living room light. Today had dawned damp and foggy, and she couldn’t see a damn thing.
She should go over there and make sure he was okay.
But could she walk over there?
