Chapter 6
Chapter Six
As the world came back to Maggie, she was aware of two things. The first was the extreme pain in her head and the second was the assurance of a firm hand gripping her own. Then slowly everything else began to filter in and she recalled some of what had happened.
Consciousness had been elusive since hitting her head, but she dimly remembered Anatoly pulling her from the upside down car.
His touch had been gentle and respectful, yet it had sent a jolt of warmth through her, even as she’d tried to function on her own.
Her body hadn’t cooperated. Even now, her limbs felt uncoordinated and weak.
As she processed her surroundings, she found the person holding her hand was Anatoly.
He was crouched beside her, a frown of concern straining his features.
In the distance, she could hear sirens and deduced it had only been a few minutes since the wreck occurred. It seemed like a lifetime had passed.
“Easy, Maggie,” Anatoly urged, his voice soft. He squeezed her hand and she felt a modicum of strength return with the gesture. “You hit your head. Judging by loss of consciousness I suspect you have concussion.”
Maggie grunted, pulling her hand away and trying to rise up off the ground. He’d leaned her back against the totaled car and draped his black jacket over her torso. When she pushed the garment away, she realized she had thrown up at some point, too.
Anatoly’s firm hand on her shoulder kept her from rising. “I do not think you should move, Detective.” His rebuke was as gentle as his touch.
“The other driver…” she started to say, but stopped when he shook his head.
“I am afraid they are gone,” he explained.
Gone. The word echoed in Maggie’s head, making it throb worse than it already did. Her gaze searched what she could see from her lousy vantage point and sure enough, the other vehicle, a trash truck, looked abandoned.
“What the fuck?” She swore, not caring that she was in the presence of a priest. The situation more than called for a few curse words. If he was offended, he didn’t say anything, and for that, she was grateful.
Maggie swatted Anatoly’s hand off her shoulder and forced herself to her feet. Head swimming, the ache intensifying, she started limping toward the truck that from the look of the wreckage had struck the rear driver’s side fender.
She didn’t make it more than a step or two before dizziness overpowered her. Thankfully, Anatoly was there to steady her as she swayed dangerously.
“Please, Detective, sit and wait for ambulance to come,” he implored, keeping her steady with a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
Most men she would have pushed away for being so far in her bubble, but there was no discomfort in the priest’s proximity.
She knew he was trying to help and that she’d likely be back on the ground if he hadn’t been there.
She felt his coat go around her shoulders and wanted to allow him to care for her while they waited for the first responders to arrive, but she couldn’t.
“I have to look in that truck.” She took a deep breath and stepped out of his grasp.
Stubbornly, she pushed through the splitting pain in her head and the bout of nausea that assailed her. It seemed to take hours to cross the distance to where the truck had been abandoned when in reality it didn’t take long at all.
The car had rolled over a couple times before coming to a halt and while it was definitely totaled, the garbage truck would probably haul trash again.
It’s front end was smashed, the bumper and headlights toast, but otherwise it had come out ahead between the two.
Maggie was glad the car belonged to the department and that her own mode of transportation was safe in the police parking garage.
As she got closer, she drew her side arm and held it at the ready. The first thing she noted was that the driver’s side door was still open. Whoever had been driving hadn’t stuck around long enough to shut it.
She frowned.
Had they realized they hit a cop and then ran away? That seemed foolish, but not unlikely.
Being cautious, Maggie rounded the open door, aware that anything could be waiting for her. She didn’t let the thought deter her, but as she swept the cab, she was relieved to find it empty.
She felt more than heard Anatoly approach, but she didn’t acknowledge him just yet. They’d have to talk about his boldness later when she wasn’t preoccupied. Until then, she holstered her gun and pulled a pair of disposable gloves from her pants pocket.
“Stay here and don’t touch anything,” she instructed the priest as she wiggled her hands into the nitrile gloves.
Not waiting for a response, she climbed up into the cab and immediately regretted the sudden motion. Queasy, her head spinning, Maggie paused to gather herself and then she began to rifle around.
“What are you searching for?” Anatoly asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
She didn’t answer. She was going through the glove compartment hoping to find out who had been driving or some other pertinent information. That’s when she spotted an envelope with her name written on it in sloppy, scrawling letters.
Without hesitation, she snatched it out and found it unsealed as she flipped it over in her hands.
Anatoly’s voice reminded her of his presence. “Perhaps it is better not to open until police arrive,” he cautioned.
Too late. Maggie slid the card out where he could see it, too. On the front in elegant cursive surrounded by watercolor flowers was the word, “Sympathy,” followed by a poem about loss.
“Is sympathy card?” Anatoly echoed the confusion that Maggie was feeling.
“Seems to be,” she answered, hesitating for just a second before flipping it open. The card was blank inside except for the phrase, “I’m coming for you, bitch.”