Fate’s Crossing: A Small-Town Romantic Suspense (Mercy Cove Book 1)

Prologue

Lexie Bowen had chewed her bottom lip for a full twenty minutes before she noticed the ache.

Almost there.

Any other day she might have enjoyed the drive, meandering smoothly down the familiar winding road, the North Atlantic stretching out to the east, endless acres of Arcane Island’s infamous wilderness to the west. But the ghastly October cold snap, coupled with the gradually tightening knot in her stomach, had Lexie gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles blanched. At just past three in the afternoon, traffic was non-existent; as was the salt truck apparently, the road slick with an icy rain that had been falling since noon.

Take your time, honey.

Her father’s calming words echoed through her mind, and she swallowed hard against the ever-present lump in her throat. Her eyes prickled with unshed tears. Her heart ached with unsaid words.

As she rounded a bend, the downpour strengthened. Lexie braked gently, flicking the wipers on as fast as they would go and scrunching her face as the road ahead blurred.

Today had been hard. She had known it would be. Watching them lower the casket into the cold ground had broken her heart. Meeting Kyle’s sorrowful gaze across the cemetery had been even worse. She’d been avoiding his calls for days, only listening to the messages he left—offering condolences, a shoulder to cry on, whatever she needed.

Lexie wanted none of it. Not from him.

She may not have the support of her father behind her anymore, but she’d be damned if she’d disappoint him from beyond the grave by going back to the nightmare that was her spontaneously stupid marriage.

Plus, she still had Jake.

Her brother had stood tall and strong beside her, hands in his pockets during the service, holding her when she couldn’t keep it together any longer. Burying the man who’d singlehandedly raised them tore him up inside, she knew. Yet he’d remained stone-faced and distant throughout the whole thing. She couldn’t blame him. It was probably easier that way.

Afraid she might start to cry again, something that would be more than hazardous given current circumstances, Lexie sniffed, lifted her chin in quiet defiance, and pressed on. For safety’s sake, she refused to think about it—any of it.

She tried to move as slowly and cautiously as possible through the storm; had she not, she might have missed the scattered signage and upturned traffic cones in the brush as she crossed the bridge over Tolsack River. They were doing some kind of construction, but evidently the crew was gone for the day. Based on the weather, she could see why. Only one lane of the bridge was open to traffic. The other was cordoned off by bright orange-and-white striped barricades.

“What the—”

As she eased her way across to the other side of the small bridge, she squinted at the scene, barely visible through the fogged up, water-speckled window, and slowed to a stop.

Probably a gust of wind knocked the signs over, she told herself, tempted to continue; but something about the way they were so violently spread out had her instinctively sidling up to the side of the road to take a closer look. She checked her rearview mirror to ensure no cars were coming, and made a U-turn, parking off the edge of the road, the final Lane Closed sign directly in front of her bumper.

Craning her neck, unable to drive any closer for fear she’d get herself stuck and then be in real trouble, Lexie strained to get a clear view of things. She tsked in frustration. She didn”t want to leave the warm, dry sanctuary of her car.

What if someone had crashed? It certainly looked like something big had plowed right through most of the roadblocks. As she looked closer, she could also see fresh tread marks carved out in the grass, leading straight over the edge of the riverbank, disappearing into a sea of pine and elm.

“Crap.”

She unclipped her seatbelt, grabbed her rain jacket from the passenger seat and pulled it on before killing the engine. Securing the hood over her head, she opened the door and stepped out. Water hit her like a wall, heavy and unyielding. The frosty breeze teased strands of hair out from her hood and plastered them to her face as she trudged through the sopping grass to the edge of the bank. Sure enough, right at the bottom, about twenty yards down, was a car. A black SUV sat smashed and crumpled against the trunk of a tree at the edge of the flooding river.

“Oh, god.”

Lexie stood stunned, unsure what to do, then as if a bolt of lightning had struck her, she raced back to her car. Flinging the door open, she dove in, grabbed her cell phone, and, with shaking hands, dialed nine-one-one.

Reception was patchy along this stretch of road at the best of times. One faint, lonely bar told her she’d be lucky to get a call through at all. Still, she kept trying, again and again. Nothing.

Cursing her luck, she flew across the rickety bridge, her footfalls splashing puddles up and around her legs, and climbed down toward the vehicle as fast as she could manage.

“Hello?” She grappled with the steep descent, mud coating her boots and pants. “Is someone down there?”

Between her labored pants of effort and panic, she thought she heard a groan coming from the car.

“Hold on! I’m coming down.”

When she finally scrambled to the bottom, where the steep wall gave way to more level footing, she fought through a web of broken branches and approached the vehicle from behind with a tight, dry feeling in her throat. She held back. Judging by the wreckage in front of her, she had the dreadful sense that someone might have died. The back of the car was raised high, trees and shrubs stuffed tightly beneath. It appeared that had been what had stopped it from skidding head-on into the water. With a deep breath, Lexie wedged herself in where she could see into the smashed front passenger window. Her stomach clenched. She felt her heart stop.

There was a man inside. His face was covered with blood that oozed from an angry cut on his forehead. He lay limp against the steering wheel, where it seemed the airbag had deflated, leaving him helplessly dangling from the seatbelt that clung to his chest like a noose.

Lexie jumped, rearing back as he groaned and opened his eyes. His face twisted like just that small action hurt like the devil.

“Don’t move,” she said. “I’m here.”

Asking if he was alright seemed like a ridiculous thing to do given how he looked, so she reached for the passenger door instead. Her fingers tightened around the slippery handle and pulled, but it was jammed shut. She tried again, gritting her teeth until the crumpled metal gave way; she cringed at the protesting squeal. She braced her shoulder against the small opening and shoved. The man grunted and coughed as she pulled herself through and positioned her body awkwardly on the passenger seat across from him. His eyes were open now. They were deep and dark and full of questions. And pain.

Lexie’s hands danced in front of her, desperate to help in some way but not knowing what he needed or how to respond to the carnage she faced. She was no nurse, had never done so much as a first-aid course. All she knew she’d learned from TV. Hardly a reliable source.

“I’m going to help you,” she said, hoping she sounded reassuring. Her voice was so small she barely heard it herself.

He looked at her, holding her gaze. “Okay.”

Forcing her mind to focus, she reached into her pocket to try her phone again, but it was no use. Down here, she had even less reception than she had before.

“Come on, come on,” she growled at the screen, then a thought occurred to her. She touched his arm. “Hey. Where’s your cell phone?”

For a moment, he looked confused. His brow creased and his eyes darted side to side before landing on her face. “I-I don’t know.”

“Alright, look, I need to go find help. I’ll be right back.”

When she started to move away, he stopped her with a weakened, “Wait, please . . .”

Lexie shook her head. “I don’t know what to do here. Let me go get someone—”

“I can’t”—he gasped—“breathe.”

Alarm bells rang loudly, fear pumped through her veins at his words, and the way his eyes kept drooping shut every few seconds had her ready to hyperventilate. What if he died right here and now, in front of her? She couldn’t even think about it.

“What do you want me to do?”

He shifted again, face contorting. “Loosen . . . this seatbelt. Take it off if you can.”

Lexie ran her eyes over him, over the offending seatbelt wound tightly around his muscular frame. Beneath his jacket, he was wearing a white, buttoned, dress shirt tucked into suit pants and stained with blood from unseen cuts beneath. One quivering forearm gripped the dash, she assumed to relieve some of the pressure from his constricted chest. Then her eyes found something else, and they held there for long moments. Sitting on his belt was a shiny, gold badge. Beside it, a holstered gun.

“Please,” he urged.

“Okay, hold on.”

She tried the release button a half dozen times to no avail, then searched the cab for something to cut it with. The glove compartment held only papers, and there was nothing useful anywhere else that she could see. “I have a pocketknife in my car.”

Without waiting for a reply, she squeezed herself out of the SUV, returned to the wet deluge outside, and began the climb back up to the bridge. After retrieving the knife from the small toolkit she kept in the trunk for emergencies, Lexie chanced another minute to climb onto the roof of her Camry and try calling for an ambulance one more time. Finally, she got through. The dispatcher’s voice was little more than a crackle down the line, but it was enough.

“There’s been an accident at the Tolsack River crossing on Arcane Island,” Lexie shouted. “A man drove his car off the side of the bank. He’s badly hurt.”

It took a few attempts to relay her name and confirm their location. Surprised by how calm she sounded, a far cry from how she felt, Lexie clicked off with a plea for them to hurry as she scrambled back down to the wreck. He hadn’t moved, but then again, had she expected him to? She got to work sawing through the thick polyester of his seatbelt. After an eternity, it gave way. He fell heavily onto the wheel. A sharp honk of the horn startled her before he slid off to the side with another groan.

“Here.” Lexie reached around him to the seat adjuster. She worked it until the seat retreated far enough for him to lean back onto it, then she helped guide him into a semi-comfortable position.

He looked in bad shape, the new angle of his body throwing into stark clarity the extent of his injuries. His head wound was still bleeding heavily, dark bruises and swelling were forming on his jaw and cheekbones. His right shoulder sat funny, much lower than the left, and in such a way that Lexie wondered if the impact had pulled it from its socket. Then there was his leg—the left one—which had been hidden from her view until now. The bone had erupted through his skin, and blood soaked his pants in an overwhelming tapestry of mangled flesh. Lexie threw her arm over her mouth to keep from gagging.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. When he glanced at her through slitted eyes, she tried to pull herself together, saying, “Help is on the way.”

The small space had taken on the strong, metallic smell of blood. He appeared to be trying to remove his belt, with little success.

“Could you—argh!—give me a hand here?” he asked. “I c-can’t move my right arm.”

“It doesn’t look good,” she said. “I think it could be dislocated.”

“The bone,” he said, referring to his leg. “It’s”—he made a strangled sound of pain and she winced—“exposed. I’m losing too much blood. Needs a tourniquet.”

“Um.” Lexie fumbled for a response, uncomfortable in every sense of the word. But she knew help was at least ten minutes away—and that’s if they were traveling upward of seventy miles per hour, which, judging by the weather, she doubted. She was all he had.

Leaning in, she swallowed audibly and finished unhooking the buckle of his belt, sliding it smoothly from its loops, then proceeded to wrap it around his thigh, above the spot where the bone was protruding.

“Like that?”

He glanced down and nodded. “Tighten it.”

She did as he asked, lips curling back in apology as he growled and hissed through his teeth. He eased his head back and closed his eyes for a few moments. Lexie watched on in silent pity until eventually, he opened them again.

“Thanks.”

She eyed the gash on his head with concern, then peeled off her saturated jacket and sweater.

When she began removing her blouse, he blinked and stiffened. “W-what are you doing?”

“My best.”

Stripped down to her fitted, white tank, shivering from the chill, she folded her blouse into a thick rectangle, leaned forward, and applied it gently to his head. When she was sure he was used to the pressure, she added more, hoping to stop the bleeding.

He closed his eyes against her touch. His breathing was steadier, but still, she worried about him passing out and decided to try to keep him talking.

“What’s your name?”

His eyes came open again to rest on her face, mere inches from his. This close, she could see how dilated his pupils were, blocking out the natural honey brown almost completely.

“Nico,” he replied, jaw clenched tight. “Yours?”

“I’m Alexis, but my friends call me Lexie.”

“Not sure if having my blood all over you makes us”—cough, grunt—“friends,” he said, the slight upward twitch of his mouth a clear sign he was joking with her, only to be replaced by another harsh grimace.

The pain he must be in; she felt so helpless.

“Me neither,” she said. “But I’m willing to take the plunge if you are.”

He sighed, closing his eyes again.

“How long have you been down here?”

“Not sure,” he slurred. “I’ve been in and out.”

Lexie’s teeth chattered as she held the makeshift gauze against Nico’s head. Her other hand pressed against his cheek to hold him steady, the stubble shadowing his jaw grazed her palm. Her fingers looked pale against his tanned skin. She hated disturbing his rest but felt desperate to keep him conscious. Plus, she badly needed to distract herself from the cold seeping into her bones.

“I buried my father today.”

At her words, his eyes popped open. “What?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling a sad smile forming. “My dad’s dead.”

After a quiet second, Nico regarded her with a coherency she didn’t expect him capable of.

“How?” he asked.

“Heart attack.” Saying it like that felt wrong. After all, it didn’t look like any kind of attack had taken place. He was just lying there, still in his bed, when Lexie found him.

Nico’s eyes clouded again, his body going limp.

“Hey.” Lexie shook him. “Don’t do this to me, okay? I can’t see another dead body this week. Nico? Please.”

She shook again him but it was no use. The man was fading fast, and she couldn’t bear it.

“Nico!”

He said something she couldn’t make out.

“What? Talk to me. What did you say?”

Lexie put her ear to his lips and listened.

“It’s . . . my . . . fault . . .”

“What’s your fault?”

“She’s . . . dead . . .” he whispered, every word sending tendrils of dread down her spine. “I’m . . . sorry . . .”

In the distance, sirens wailed, and she let out a shaky breath. “You hear that? They’re coming. You’re going to be fine.”

Nico’s strength was clearly draining as fast as the blood from his body. His head rested against the seat, his eyes barely opening enough to take in her face. But then his arm lifted, and Lexie flinched at the clumsy action. She frowned as he brought his hand up to brush gentle fingers along her forehead, tucking a few wet strands of hair behind her ear.

“Beautiful.”

His arm dropped, his lids closed, and she knew he had passed out.

A little while later, the rain had slowed enough for Lexie to hear more vehicles pulling up on the riverbank. “We’re down here. Hurry!”

Time seemed to speed up and slow down all at once. Minutes—or perhaps it was only seconds—passed before the friendly face of a paramedic appeared in the window. Once they took over, Lexie pulled her sweater over her head and was escorted back to the bridge by two firefighters who’d arrived shortly after the medics. Nico was patched up and cut from the wreckage. They hauled him up the hill, onto a stretcher, then into a waiting ambulance. Lexie was given a blanket and a bottle of water and checked out for possible injuries. She insisted she was fine, even though she didn’t feel it. Her stomach had been roiling ever since the adrenaline wore off, and the fight not to throw up was becoming difficult.

It was nearing dark when the Mercy Cove police lieutenant, Adam West, wandered over to where she was seated in the open door of her car. Rain poured off his hat in a steady dribble as he leaned in.

“Well, Lexie Garrett, you certainly are a magnet for trouble, aren’t you?”

There was no malice in his words—just pity, and perhaps a tinge of ill-placed humor. Lexie looked up at the man of authority, remembering her freshman year of high school when he—a senior—had still thought it was funny to pull on girls’ bra straps. Funny how times change.

“It’s Lexie Bowen now, Adam. Am I free to go?”

A pause. “So, you’re actually going through with that?” he asked.

She knew he meant the divorce, his tone as presumptuous as his belief that she’d be willing to talk about it with him. Considering he was Kyle’s best friend and would likely feed anything she said straight back to him, hell would have to freeze over first.

Instead of slapping the disapproving look off his face—like he deserved—she asked, “Will he be alright? The man—Nico.”

“I don’t know. He was airlifted out a few minutes ago.”

“To where?”

He shrugged. “Portland would be my guess. Broken ribs are one thing, but Mercy Cove Hospital isn’t exactly equipped to deal with a punctured lung and shattered leg.”

She tried not to wince at the images his words conjured—the memories of Nico’s bloodied face contorting in pain.

“They’ll do what they can, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Doesn’t look so good.”

Lexie’s vision blurred; her head spun. She dropped her head between her knees, forcing gulps of air into her suddenly too empty lungs.

“Hey, hey.” He knelt in front of her. “It’s okay. You did everything you could. A helluva job, under the circumstances.”

Lexie’s laugh was dark. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a career option.”

“He’s alive, isn’t he?”

She looked up to find him giving her a pointed stare, so she nodded.

“Is he a police officer?” At his raised brow, she added, “I saw the badge.”

And the gun.

“Yeah, he is. From Boston.”

She blinked. “Boston? What’s he doing here?”

“Now, you know I can’t discuss official police business with you, Lex. We have rules.”

There it is.

Lexie resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the blatant peacocking of power—payback for her refusal to let him in on her business with Kyle.

Fine. She wasn’t about to grovel for the information.

“You need an escort home?” he asked. “Me and the boys will be heading off shortly, once we get things all squared away here.”

“No thanks, Lieutenant,” she said, turning the key in the ignition and cranking the heat. “I’ll be fine.”