the rescue truck. Suddenly the dark night was bright with vehicle lights and people carrying brilliant halogen spotlights.
With a sense of profound relief, Cassie had never been so glad to see human beings in her life. People she knew and trusted. Good people, who made up in love and commitment what they lacked in fancy equipment.
“Where’s the patient?” Creed Carter asked. She was especially glad to see Creed. The husband of her close friend Haley the chopper pilot was medic trained in the military and often ran medi-flights out of the mountains. He was cool as ice water in an emergency and always seemed to know what to do.
“Down there.” She pointed her flashlight. “His leg is trapped. Not sure how bad, and I think he has a head injury. He was talking but—”
“Trapped?” Creed whirled toward Evangeline, a large, rawboned hill woman who lived with a pig. Literally. Cassie should know, she painted the pig’s toenails for special occasions. “We’ll need the ram.”
The crew grabbed a tackle box of gear, a length of hose, and something that looked like a small generator and followed Cassie through the damaged brush and trees to the accident site.
In seconds the crew, along with Austin and JoEtta, swarmed the still-running SUV. Cassie realized she was shaking all over, an adrenaline flush, she supposed, in addition to the cold and wet. She wanted to climb back into the car with Heath and make sure he was all right but there didn’t appear to be room. Evangeline was in the front seat, taking vital signs while Creed shined a penlight at Heath’s pupils.
She wasn’t needed now, though she’d developed an odd kind of bond with the stranger and was reluctant to leave. So she stood a few feet away, shivering, and watched as the rescuers did their work.
A boom of thunder shook the earth. Rain started to fall again, peppering her and the rescuers.
“Go to the car,” Austin called, looking up from his spot next to Creed. The two men, both strong and fit, were wedging some sort of long, metal tool between the door post and the dash.
She wasn’t leaving. Not until she knew Heath would be all right. They were in this thing together. And she owed him a pedicure. “Is he okay?”
“He’s still with us.”
That was something anyway.
“Did you call Moreburg for an ambulance?” The town of Whisper Falls had no hospital and had to depend on a nearby town or Creed Carter’s helicopter for medical transport. She doubted he could fly in this storm.
“’Course I did.” The police chief pushed away from the SUV where she’d been shining her light on the impact site and clumped to Cassie’s side, gear rattling. Over fifty and gruff as a Rottweiler, JoEtta Farnsworth was a career police officer with more quirks than this road had curves. Dressed in her usual leather vest and brown boots, tonight she was minus the aviator goggles and helmet she normally wore on her scooter patrols through Whisper Falls. Instead, she’d wisely worn a flat-brimmed hat. “They may be a while.”
“Creed can’t fly in this weather.”
“Nope. Don’t worry, we’ve handled emergencies up here before. Problem though, we’ve got our hands full in town, too.”
“What’s going on?”
“Tornado touched down on the east edge.”
“A tornado? Oh, no!” Remembering the violent thunderstorm, Cassie shouldn’t have been surprised. “Is anyone hurt?”
“Got people out checking. State police will be along as soon as they can to help out. Mostly looks like trees and power lines down, but we won’t know for a while, it being dark and all, and you never can tell for sure until daylight.”
“Was there damage to any of the businesses?” Her shop was smack in the middle of the main street area.
JoEtta gave her a long look. “Don’t know yet, missy. We’re doing the best we can, and then this feller has to run his car off in a ravine.”
“I’m sure he did it to annoy you, Chief.”
JoEtta snorted. “I figure you’re right. What happened here? Did you witness the accident?”
“I saw him lose control, saw his taillights spin away, but in the dark, I didn’t see him leave the roadway.” She shivered and huddled closer inside the jacket. Austin was right. Drowned rat.
“He was lucky you came along.” The chief peered at the SUV, thinking. “Speeding?”
“I don’t think so. The rain was a deluge and visibility was terrible. I think he probably didn’t see the sharp curve until he was in it.”
“Likely you’re right. He wouldn’t be the first.” Rain trickled off her hat brim. “I didn’t want to get in the way while they were doing the extraction but I stuck my head in. I didn’t notice any alcohol or drug smells, did you?”
“No, nothing like that.” The only smell she recalled was the cologne-scented air freshener dangling from his mirror. “He has a bump on his head.” Suddenly remembering that important detail, she yelled, “Creed, check the left side of his head near the temple.”
“Got it.”
“Was he coherent enough to give his name? Any info about what he was doing out here? Anything at all to help with this investigation?”
In all the excitement, Cassie had forgotten. “He said he was on his way to Whisper Falls to see you. I thought he might be a relative.”
“Me?” The chief’s head spun to the accident and without another word, she stomped toward the SUV and the rough whine of a gas-powered generator. Metal screeched, a high-pitched sound worse than a fork on a plate, as the hydraulic ram slowly pushed the dash away from Heath’s body.
Cassie clenched her back teeth against the noise, fighting a queasy fear about the man’s leg. Praying the rescue wouldn’t damage him more, she trotted to catch up with the police woman. “His name is Heath Monroe. Do you know him?”
“Heath Monroe is my new assistant chief,” JoEtta barked, “if he hasn’t gone and killed himself.”
* * *
“Bust me out of here, Doc.” Heath punched the end icon on his cell phone as the doctor, lab coat flaring out at the sides, breezed into the hospital room. Already this morning, Heath had touched base with Chief Farnsworth and run some digital errands, but being stuck in a Fayetteville hospital felt as confining as a Guatemalan jail cell. To his regret, he’d spent some time there, as well.
“In a hurry to get somewhere?” The doctor tapped a screen on his smartphone and stared at it while they talked. Heath wondered if he was playing fantasy football or reading Heath’s medical reports.
“Yeah, I am.” He was always in a hurry. Criminals didn’t take days off.
Dr. Amil, a short, pleasant-looking physician with white at the temples, stashed the phone in his jacket and unwound a stethoscope from his neck, stuck the ends in his ears and pressed the cold end to Heath’s chest. While he listened to whatever doctors listen for, he asked, “How’s the
