Chapter 1 #2
Sighing heavily, because being a responsible adult isn’t fun, I shut down wistful fantasies of a lazy weekend at home. I slow my speed to thirty as I come up on a curve. My automatic headlights brighten in reaction to the darkening sky.
Just as I’m closing in on the sharp turn, a set of headlights appears behind me. The driver has their high beams on, and they don’t bother to switch them off when they see me.
“Tourists,” I mutter, even more sure of it once I see the New Jersey plates in my rear-view mirror. The car closes the distance between us quickly, only slowing once it’s less than a car’s length from me.
Once I’ve rounded the curve, the driver flashes their headlights. Whether they want me to speed up or pull over so they can pass, I’m not sure. But I’m not speeding up, so I pick the second option and veer onto the shoulder.
The car whips past me, kicking up a spray of water in its wake. I shake my head and say, “What’s the big hurry?” just like my dad always does when he sees a driver doing something foolish.
A beat later, I chuckle when I realize that, like those commercials for insurance, I really am turning into my parents.
As the car disappears into the torrents of rain ahead, I roll my shoulders and relax my jaw.
Releasing the wheel one hand at a time, I flex my fingers.
Using the box-breathing technique my counselor taught me, I breathe in for five, hold it for five, then out for five, and hold again.
After several rounds of it, some of the tension banded around my chest releases.
Just ahead, a branch crashes to the ground, and I carefully swerve around it.
Then, a few seconds later, another set of headlights approaches. But this time, they’re moving more slowly. More cautiously. This car—no, not a car, an SUV—keeps a steady three-car-length behind me. A local, I decide, or at least someone who’s spent plenty of time in the mountains.
Turning my thoughts to something more pleasant, I muse, When I get home on Sunday night, maybe I’ll treat myself with delivery.
Some lo mein, sweet and sour chicken, and crab Rangoon, plus some extra fortune cookies for Oscar to munch on.
I know I’m not supposed to feed Oscar people food, and I don’t, as a rule.
But if I’m going to treat myself, shouldn’t he get a treat, too?
Especially after I dumped him off at the dog hotel for the weekend?
Okay, dumped isn’t quite accurate. And it’s not like I left him at some hovel.
The dog hotel is nicer than most hotels I’ve stayed at, with luxury rooms complete with actual beds and TVs playing videos of squirrels and chipmunks, and a private outdoor area to do their business.
You can pay to have the employees read your dog a bedtime story, for Pete’s sake.
No, I don’t think Oscar can understand the books they’re reading. But did I pay extra for the service, anyway? Yes. I did.
My mom likes to tease me about that. “Melly, you spend more on that dog of yours than you do on yourself. The toys and special food and the handmade sweaters you buy off Etsy… That dog is more spoiled than any I’ve met.”
Maybe he is spoiled. But I don’t care. Without Oscar, I’d still be the mess I was two years ago, instead of the mostly-functional person I am now.
And I love him dearly. So if I want to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a fresh-cooked dog food subscription or bespoke knit doggie sweaters for every holiday, I will.
I’m just reaching for the volume dial so I can hear the radio over the sound of the wipers and the drumming rain when a metallic crash breaks through the noise.
My heart jumps to my throat.
A second later, a car horn blares.
It’s not a short, indignant blast from an impatient driver. It’s long and droning, like a desperate call for help.
My foot twitches on the gas; my body instinctively wanting to move faster.
To discover the source of the violent sounds and see if anyone needs help.
But logic prevails, reminding me that I’d rather not end up in the same position.
And that the few seconds I might save by speeding up won’t make a difference.
Unless the person is terribly wounded, that is. If their femoral artery was severed, they could bleed out in minutes. Or if the road flooded, and their car is caught—
Crap.
My foot presses down on the gas again.
My tires skid a little as I round the curve, but I wrestle them into submission.
Through the rain, I spot the glow of taillights, but they’re not at the right angle. And as I drive closer, I realize why. The car that just passed me only minutes before isn’t on the road anymore, but wedged into the trees to the side of it.
Double crap.
Impatient driver or not, they didn’t deserve to get into an accident.
Putting on my hazards, I keep driving, closing the distance between me and the car. The SUV behind me keeps pace, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror shows the reflection of his hazards on the rain-slicked road.
As soon as I’m close enough to spot the New Jersey plate on the back of the car, I pull off to the side of the road and shift into park. Through the rain, the taillights glow eerily. The horn is still blaring.
Before I do anything else, I call 911, quickly telling the operator my location and what I can see. Without giving myself time to debate it, I push the door open and venture out into the storm.
I have to, I reason. I can’t just stay in my car, waiting for help to come along. Around here, it could take emergency services valuable time the driver—or passenger—doesn’t have. So it looks like I’m their only option for now.
Ending my call, I shove my phone into my pocket and glance both ways along the road before crossing it. To my left, there’s just the driver behind me, who appears to have pulled over as well. And to my right, there’s—
Oh, CRAP.
Breaking into a jog, I run towards the second set of taillights.
This car didn’t go off the road. It’s in the water, instead.
Water that’s cutting across Route 30, a road that’s been flooded out before.
Water that’s already midway up the car doors, trapping the passengers inside.
Water that could be deadly. Because I know just how dangerous these floods can be. Long Lake has suffered catastrophic road failures before, caused by dam failures and heavy rain, just like we’re getting right now.
Fear flutters in my stomach, both for the passengers and myself.
Helping them puts me at risk, both from the floodwaters and an oncoming driver who isn’t paying attention. I could get hit by a car while I’m trying to help. Or dragged into the rushing current, myself.
But I know first aid. I took a class while I was in Kentucky, where Vince was based. I can do basic triage and apply a tourniquet and… crap. How can I not help?
Who to help first, though? The car stuck in the trees? Or the one in the water?
“Hey!” a voice calls from behind me. “Are you hurt?”
I spin around to face the man running towards me. And for a second, I just take him in.
He’s tall. With his clothes already drenched and sticking to his body, I can tell he’s in shape. And as he draws closer, I note the water slicking his muscled forearms and biceps.
Very nicely muscled arms, the voice that’s been silent for the last six years whispers. Attached to a very handsome face.
I have no idea why the voice decided to come out of hibernation now, given that it’s the absolute worst time to do it. But here it is. Reminding me that yes, I’m still a woman who apparently can be attracted to a man again. In the middle of a freaking deluge, no less.
“Miss?” The man touches my arm. Unexpected heat sears into my skin. “Are you okay?”
Crap. Why am I staring at this guy and trying to figure out what color his eyes are—it’s too dark to tell, but they’re very nice, framed by enviably long lashes and set off by strong cheekbones—instead of, I don’t know, helping the people who need me?
“I’m fine,” I reply as I make a useless attempt to wipe the water from my face. “I stopped to help. That’s all.”
The man’s gaze moves from the car in the woods to the other, stuck in the water. Then he looks back at me. Worry clouds his expression. “Maybe you should get back in your car. If someone comes along and they’re not paying attention—”
“I know. But I have to do something.”
Not just because it’s the right thing to do. But because, after what I’ve done, any risk is penance.
The man frowns. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”
Irritation surges. I’ve met plenty of guys like this, who think that women are these helpless creatures who should just stand by while the men take the risks.
Vince was like that sometimes, even though he tried to temper it.
But I loved him, and I understood why he got all protective.
Given his job as an enlisted soldier, and later, a Night Stalker, he’d seen true evil, and he just wanted to shield me from it.
But I don’t know this guy from a hole in the wall. And with people’s lives at stake, I’m not in the mood to debate my capabilities with him.
Crossing my arms across my chest, I give him my best don’t argue with me glare. “I’m trained in first aid. And there are people out there”—I jerk my chin towards the car half-submerged in the rushing water—“who need help. I called 911 already, so if you want to wait for them...”
His brow creases. His features set. “No.” He takes a quick glance at the two cars. “I’ll check the car in the water. You check the one in the trees.” He thrusts a black bag I didn’t even realize he was carrying at me. “Take this. It’s fully stocked.”
Automatically, I take the bag from him. It’s heavy, and after taking another look, I recognize it as a first-aid kit. But not just any first-aid kit. This one is like the medi-kits Vince’s teammates used, packed with all the supplies they might use out in the field.