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“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m getting used to that part of you.”
We walked out of the trailer ten minutes later, and I helped her get her truck ready to roll.
Once it was turned around and facing the right direction, a familiar motorcycle pulled out of the spot a few rows back from mine and pulled to a stop beside me.
Davis.
I frowned at him as he turned his bike off beside the truck door.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
His eyes looked from me to Dutch, to the RV before he grinned. “I was going to tell you I found a few things today on your sheriff. But I always heard ‘if the RV is a rockin’ don’t come a knockin.’”
Dutch gasped.
“You could tell?” she half shrieked.
“Uh, yeah.” Davis grinned, looking uncaring. “You could definitely tell.”
“Shit,” she muttered, color suffusing her cheeks.
“It is what it is,” Davis said. “I’ll follow y’all home.”
I gave him a chin jerk and opened Dutch’s truck door. “I’d drive it for you, but I don’t want to leave my bike here. Supposed to storm like a motherfucker tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m an old pro at this.”
She proved that by getting in and pulling off, only to run over every single median and curb between here and the exit if it was a turn.
Davis and I watched her go, me with a much goofier smile on my face than Davis.
“You got a good one there, Westfield,” Davis said.
I looked at Davis then, really looked at him.
“You okay?” I asked.
Davis had gone through some shit since the office had been blown up by that freak after the girl he was bodyguarding. At first, I thought his mind was fucked up from the explosion, when in reality, he was questioning his abilities.
But he was slowly coming back to himself. And look at him, bringing me information.
He was back. Or as back as he was going to be for a while.
“I’m… better.” He shrugged. “First detail back… my mind wasn’t in the right place. But it is now. As long as shit doesn’t fuck with me like it was.” He sighed. “Being out is weird. I don’t know how to make decisions anymore. But I’ll get there.”
Dutch’s truck accelerated, bringing my attention away from Davis for a few long seconds.
Just the right amount of time to see a Hummer blow the intersection light and plow right into Dutch head-on.
“Oh, fuck.”
My feet were moving before I’d actively registered that I wanted to move.
I’d just crested the parking lot barrier that separated the ‘beach’ from the road when another vehicle ran into the backside of the RV. It was one of those Mercedes Sprinter Vans that were massive and boxy. It was no match for the shitty-built RV. The RV buckled and groaned, coasting right off the axles and into the back of the truck that Dutch was occupying.
The cab disappeared even more, turning into an accordion from both the front and the back.
My heart started to pound, and soon, I was at the driver’s side door, trying to yank it open.
Not even all the strength that I possessed could get it to budge.
Luckily, out of all the things that shouldn’t work on the vehicle, the window did.
It rolled down when she reached over and pressed the button.
“Hey,” she croaked. “I’m okay.”
I looked at her skeptically, fear and adrenaline still raging through my body.
“I swear, I’m okay,” she promised. “I would’ve been out already could I have gotten the door open.”
“Crawl through,” I ordered, feeling a wave of relief swell through me at her words.
“About that.” She hesitated. “My foot is caught between the gas pedal and the floorboard. I’ve tried since it happened to get it out. That jolt from the back”—she jerked her thumb in the direction—“didn’t help. It only wedged it in there more.”
I used my forearms to push myself up into the truck, then leaned over the door and looked down.
Her foot was indeed stuck.
And bleeding.
I gritted my teeth and decided to leave it where it was, allowing someone else to help her out of there by cutting the goddamn gas pedal off.
Luckily, the sound of sirens filled the air.
Also luckily, we usually had a way better response time from the volunteer fire department than we did from the sheriff’s office.
When this was all said and done, I would be making a large monetary donation to the Accident Fire Department for that fast response.
“Oh,” she said when I jolted down onto my feet. “That hurts.”
“Your foot?” I asked, hoping that was it.
“No.” She grimaced and pressed onto her chest. “The airbags deployed and hit me in the chest. I didn’t think it would feel that bad.”
I looked at all the white powder around her, then dusted a bit off her nose. “It did its job, though.”
