with a resounding thud. She groaned. The sound of gravel churning close to her head sent terror racing through her heart.
Shivering with icy panic, Christina opened her eyes a fraction and saw Dylan Hunter staring down at her. “You okay?”
“I...um...” Christina shifted her head to see the rain and dusk swallowing up the taillights of the vehicle that had officially ruined her evening.
Dylan rolled off her and stood. He held out his hand to help her up, his gaze locked on the departing car. Her wet hair whipped against her face. Before she had time to mourn the loss of her BLT—now scattered across the gravel—she acknowledged her gratitude.
Thank you, Lord, for protecting me from that car. For keeping me safe.
Getting to her feet, her hand still in his solid grasp, she shook her head in disbelief. “What in the world...?”
“I was only able to get a partial plate. It’s something. And he had a busted taillight,” Dylan bit out between breaths.
Where had Dylan come from?
It was then that she noticed his truck and the driver’s side door yawning open on the side of the road, as if he had arrived just in time to push her out of the way.
Something drew her attention to the front door of the clinic. In the dim light of the bulb on the overhang, she saw a heap of fabric. Renewed fear zinged through her system, immediately making her forget about her near-death experience.
Christina yanked her hand out of Dylan’s and ran toward the door. As she approached, she recognized the traditional Amish dress, boots and bonnet.
Her pulse spiked. “Naomi!” The young Amish woman, now curled up by the brick wall of the clinic, cleaned her office twice a week.
“Naomi,” Christina said again, this time more urgently. She touched the young woman’s face and her head lolled back, her eyes closed. Christina glanced over her shoulder and yelled to Dylan who was only steps away, “Help me get her into the clinic.”
With wet, cold, shaky fingers, Christina struggled to dig her keys out of the back pocket of her jeans, all the while repeating a prayer for poor Naomi. The metal key skidded across the lock before Christina was able to insert it into the slot and unlock the door.
Christina pushed the door wide for Dylan and pressed herself firmly against it as he carried her Amish friend over the threshold like a bride. “Follow me to the back exam room.”
Christina strode down the narrow hallway, slapping at light switches as she went. Her heartbeat jackhammered, her body’s automatic response to an emergency. It had served her well as a physician. Her brother always laughed at her and told her she would have been good in times of war. But that had been his gig.
Hers was helping people who couldn’t afford healthcare.
Hers was saving lives.
“Back here,” Christina repeated unnecessarily as Dylan strode down the hall right behind her, carrying Naomi. The young woman’s head flopped against Dylan’s chest. Christina willed Naomi to open her eyes. Respond to them. Respond to something.
Christina reached the first exam room and pushed open the door. It bounced off the wall with a force she hadn’t intended. She reached in and flipped the last switch. The fluorescent bulbs flickered and buzzed to life. One of these days she’d have to replace these migraine-inducing lights, but she hated to ask her parents for additional funds that didn’t go directly toward patient care.
Despite her parents’ wealth and generosity, funds weren’t unlimited. They had drilled that into her when she was a little girl. The Jenningses understood the value of money and what it could achieve. People had to be good stewards of their blessings. And, like on most everyone else, the economy had been tough on Jennings Enterprises.
Christina shuffled out of the way and grabbed her stethoscope from the hook. Dylan laid Naomi down on the crinkly paper covering the table. Christina found a steady pulse and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Grab a blanket from the top shelf in the closet in the hallway,” she commanded Dylan without turning to look at him.
He slipped out of the room.
“Hello, hello... Naomi.” Christina patted the young woman’s cheek. “You’re at the healthcare clinic with Dr. Christina... You’re safe.”
“Here, I have the blanket and I found some dry clothes in the same closet,” Dylan said as he burst back into the room. He moved with the efficiency of a man who was good at dealing with emergencies. The FBI had probably instilled that in him.
“Thank you.”
Dylan unfolded the blanket and placed it over the Amish woman. “You know her?”
Christina nodded. “Yes, she does some light cleaning for me here at the clinic a few days a week. Her name’s Naomi Mullet. I’ve gotten to know her because I’m usually still working when she arrives to clean.”
The young woman stirred and Christina snapped her attention back to her patient and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “You’re safe, Naomi. It’s Dr. Christina.”
Dylan pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “I’ll call the sheriff.”
“Neh...neh...” The Amish woman muttered, her voice groggy.
“You’re safe,” Christina repeated. She brushed the back of her knuckles across Naomi’s cool cheek—Christina would have to get her to change into the dry clothes—and watched as Naomi struggled to open her eyes a fraction.
The woman strained against the blanket and Christina put her hand on her shoulder to reassure her. “Take it easy. You’re safe. You’re at the clinic.”
“No police. Please. And don’t tell my mem and dat.” Naomi’s voice was racked with panic as she gained awareness of her surroundings.
Christina nodded, understanding Naomi’s aversion to the police, but not sure why she wouldn’t want her parents notified. As far as the police went, the Amish customarily preferred to deal with things on their own.
However, someone had hurt Naomi and dumped her at the clinic’s front door. This was the second woman who had been injured in Apple Creek in recent weeks. Christina’s mind immediately jumped to the first logical thought: were the assaults connected? It seemed a stretch, yet both women were rendered unconscious and things like this didn’t often happen in the small town.
But Naomi’s panicked expression gave Christina pause. Calling the sheriff would have to wait. Naomi’s well-being came first. Maybe she could convince the young Amish woman later, once she had a chance to clear her head. Christina had to swallow the anger simmering below the surface. Not only for this woman, but for the other victim and a younger version of herself. A younger version who had been too afraid to accuse her attacker. A younger version who had also chosen to remain silent.
Christina brushed her hand across her face and forced away the thought. She studied Dylan, hoping he hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness.
“Hold off on making any calls.” Christina’s tone was far calmer than the emotions rioting inside her. She wanted to find whoever
