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Holly kissed them both, looked in on Daisy, who was having a dream, running on her side and making muffled woofing noises, then got into the Cayenne and started home. As she stopped before turning onto the bridge over the Indian River she noticed a car parked on the shoulder to her left: dark color, nothing fancy, like an unmarked patrol car. Its headlights came on, bathing her in bright light, and as she started to cross the bridge, it pulled onto the road behind her.
She had the odd feeling that she was being followed, and she couldn’t get the idea out of her mind, so she did something unexpected: after the bridge, she turned right onto Indian River Trail, a dirt track that ran about five miles down Orchid Island, parallel to A-1A. It was wild and beautiful in the daytime but completely dark at night, and there was no moon. A deer ran into her headlights, and she slammed on her brakes. It scampered away. She checked her rearview mirror: no headlights behind her. She relaxed and continued down the trail, comfortable at thirty miles per hour.
She had driven a couple of miles when suddenly very bright headlights came on a few yards behind her. Holly’s first reaction was to accelerate, but instead she just continued steadily down the trail. Then, as she approached a wide spot in the road, a flashing blue light came on behind her. In her rearview mirror she could see a uniformed figure illuminated in the blue flashes. She pulled over to the right and stopped to see if he just wanted to get past her or if this was a traffic stop. She wasn’t particularly worried. How much trouble could she get into going thirty, and, anyway, she had the Orchid Beach chief’s badge and ID the department had given her when she left.
The car pulled up even with her rear bumper, and she heard the door slam. She looked over her shoulder and was blinded by an extremely bright flashlight. Probably a Surefire, she thought, with the lithium batteries. She switched off the car, rolled down the window and began fishing for her driver’s license in her handbag.
“Good evening,” a male voice said.
She turned left and was met by the blinding light. “Good evening,” she said.
“May I see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance?” he asked politely.
“Of course,” she said, and then something struck her in the head, hard. Only the seat belt kept her from falling into the floorboards. She blinked, trying to see and think again, then she felt a sharp stab in the left side of her neck, and she lost consciousness.
Ma’am?” a male voice was saying. “Ma’am?” “She’s coming to,” a female voice said. Both voices were young. She realized she was bathed in light from a car parked behind her. She tried to get up.
“Don’t move around, please,” the male voice said. “An ambulance is on the way.”
Her head hurt, and she realized that something was pressing on it. She felt and discovered a female hand, holding something against her head. “What?” she managed to say.
“I said, an ambulance is on the way,” he replied.
Holly felt oddly uncomfortable; there was a blanket over her, and she seemed to have sand in her jeans. She reached down and discovered that she wasn’t wearing any jeans, only her shirt. From a distance she heard the siren of an ambulance. It would be all right, she thought, and then she passed out again.
A stab of pain in her head brought her around. She tried to sit up, but someone held her shoulders.
“Just lie still,” a male voice said. “I’m almost done.”
She tried to lie still, but he was hurting her.
“There,” he said.
“I know this is a cliché,” she managed to say, “but where am I?”
“Emergency room, Indian River Hospital,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, just great,” she replied. “What were you doing up there? Brain surgery?”
“Next best thing,” he replied. “Giving you eight stitches in your scalp. Don’t worry, I took as little hair as possible.”
“What happened to me?” she asked. “Was I in an accident?”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember driving away from my father’s house,” she said. “What happened then?”
“There’s a police officer down the hall talking with the couple who found you,” he said. “We’ll know more soon.”
“What happened to my neck?” she asked, rubbing it.
He took her hand away and inspected it. “There’s a tiny wound, like a needle prick,” he said.
“Where’s my bag?” she a
sked.
Somebody set it on her belly. “Here it is,” a nurse said, cranking her bed until she was sitting up a little. “Your jeans and underwear are here, too; you weren’t wearing them when the couple found you, and you had no shoes on.”
