Page 4

It rockets back. A face turned toward him. A woman, maybe the same age as Raine. Her car stopped, the young woman standing beside it—

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. He swats at the airbag and fumbles for the door, and when it sticks, he throws his weight into it and it flies open, Henry half falling out behind it. He hits the ground running, a corner of his brain processing the accident damage, his truck slammed into the back end of her little car, crumpling it, her driver’s door open as if she’d been climbing in or climbing out or—

Just get to her.

But there’s no sign of the young woman. Not in the car. Not beside it.

“Hello!” he shouts, the boom of his voice barely registering through the pounding rain. He searches, looking left and right, and why the hell didn’t he grab his phone for the flashlight?

He should go back for it, but his heart thuds like it’s going to burst, and all he can see is that pale face turned toward him, and the illogical certainty that if he takes two seconds to get his phone, it’ll be too late.

Where had she been standing? He’s not even sure. All he saw was her face. The shock. The terror.

He runs toward the front of the—

Oh, shit. No, no, no. He sees why she’d stopped. A massive tree blocks the road, and she’d gotten out for a look and please, please, please, do not let her have been in front of her car when he hit it.

How had he hit her car? How had he not seen it? Or that tree? He hadn’t glanced away from the road for a single second.

Pelting rain. Pitch-black road. His headlights not cutting through the dark like they should. Her lights off.

Never leave your vehicle without the hazards on, even if you’re just pulled over. He told the girls all that. He’d seen what happened when you pulled off to the side and some idiot is looking down at his phone and—

And it isn’t the woman’s fault. She hit a fallen tree, and that’s what she’d been thinking about.

As his brain races, he’s racing too—circling the car and looking between it and the tree, bracing for what he might see, which is thankfully nothing. He checks under it and then circles again, wider.

She was here. He’s sure of it. So where is she—

Something to his left. A dark shape merging with the tree trunk. A woman’s body. He runs, skidding on the wet asphalt, scrambling over to her.

She’s been thrown against the fallen tree, and she’s slumped in front of it, one leg folded beneath her. She’s older than he thought, maybe mid-thirties, white, with light brown hair in a braid.

His fingers press the pulse point in her throat, and when he touches cold skin, his heart jams into his throat before he starts cursing at himself. He hit her five minutes ago. She’s not dead and cold already—she’s just cold from the rain. And heat is already rising to his chilled fingertips, along with a pulse beat.

He lowers himself to one knee, about to look for other injuries before waking her, and her eyes fly open.

THREEELLIE

Someone is cursing, the words piercing the pound of rain. I know they’re curses, but again, it’s like those dreams, where nothing is quite right, and I can’t make out what he’s saying. I only know that the words are a stream of profanity.

My eyelids flutter open. I see a broad brown face with dark eyes and shaggy dark hair streaked with silver. A man. Maybe forty. And huge, or maybe he just looks huge, looming over me.

Seeing my eyes open, he visibly exhales. “You’re okay. Don’t move. I’m going to check you out first. I’m a paramedic.”

I blink, looking for the ambulance, for the flashing lights, but all I see is darkness.

I struggle to rise, and his eyes widen.

“Don’t move. There’s something— Shit.”

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a second. When they reopen, they’re focused.

“You’re okay,” he says again, slower. “But there’s a stick through—” He clears his throat, saying “You’re okay” again in a way that suggests he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.

“A stick through what?” I say, my voice eerily calm.

“It’s just … Not through, just kind of…”