got a cell, call 911.”
She pulled a phone from her pocket and shook her head. “There...there’s no coverage.”
The gunshot victim needed an ambulance and needed it fast. Frustration bubbled up within him. After ten years with the US Army’s Criminal Investigation Division, Frank didn’t like the only conclusion he could make with the information at hand.
“Why’d you shoot her, ma’am?”
Red shook her head, her eyes wide. “I did no such thing.”
He pointed to the demolished car. “This is your Honda?”
She nodded.
“How’d she end up in your car?”
“I...I stopped at the picnic park about a mile from here. She needed help. I opened the passenger door, and a shot rang out.”
“Did you see the shooter?”
Red rubbed the swollen lump on her forehead. “I...I don’t remember.”
“Don’t remember or don’t want to remember?” Even he heard the annoyance in his voice.
The woman stared at him, her face blank. Maybe she was telling the truth.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Colleen...Colleen Brennan.”
“You’re from around here?”
“Atlanta.”
Which didn’t make sense. “But you just happened to pull into a nearby picnic park?”
Her green eyes flashed with fear.
Trauma played havoc with emotions and memory. Frank wanted to believe her, but he knew too well that the pretty woman with the tangled hair could be making up a story to throw him off track.
Duke sniffed at her leg. She reached down and patted his head.
A raspy pull of air forced Frank’s attention back to the gunshot victim. She moaned.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
He leaned into the car. “Stay with us, ma’am. Help’s on the way.” Hopefully it would arrive in time.
Her glassy eyes focused on Colleen. Frank turned to stare at her.
The redhead blanched. The lump on her temple cried for ice, and the scrapes to her cheek and hands needed debridement.
“After your friend’s treated, we’ll have the EMTs take a look at you.”
“I’m fine.” Colleen’s voice was lifeless.
Slipping past her, he waved his arms in the air at the approaching first responders. Two ambulances and a fire truck from one of the rural fire stations.
The emergency crew pulled in front of the Craft Shoppe. Frank motioned them closer to the barn, where they parked and jumped from their vehicles.
“Two women are injured.” Frank pointed to the collapsed structure. “One with a bullet wound to her gut. She’s lost blood. The other woman has a knot the size of a lemon on her forehead and could be in shock.”
Hauling medical bags and a backboard, a pair of EMTs waded through the collapsed wreckage around the car. A second set of paramedics set up an emergency triage area near the second ambulance.
“We’ll need you to step away from the car, ma’am,” one of the EMTs told Colleen.
Her brow furrowed. She peered around them at Frank.
Seeing the confusion in her gaze, his anger softened. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “They’re here to help.”
Despite the niggling worry that Colleen Brennan may have been involved in the shooting, he reached for her. “Come toward me, and we’ll get out of their way.”
She offered him her hand. Her skin was soft, but clammy, which wasn’t good.
“Let’s see if someone can check your forehead.”
She shook her head. “Vivian’s the one who needs help.”
“You know her name?” Although surprised by the revelation, Frank kept his voice low and calm. “What’s her last name?”
“I...I don’t remember.” Colleen pulled her hand from his grasp. “We were trying to get away—”
She hesitated.
“Away from—” he prompted.
“A man. He was in the woods. Tall. Dark jacket. Hood over his head. He had a rifle.”
“Did you see a car?”
She shook her head. “Not that I remember.”
Selective memory or a partial amnesia brought on by trauma?
“Come with me.” Frank ushered Colleen to the triage site. Duke followed close behind.
A pair of EMTs helped her onto a gurney pushed against the side of the ambulance. One man cleaned her hands and face and treated the scratches on her arms while the other took her vitals, checked her pupils and then applied an ice pack to the lump on her forehead.
“You’ve got a slight concussion, but you don’t need hospitalization,” he said. “Is there anyone who can check on you through the night?”
She shook her head. “I...I live alone.”
“In Atlanta,” Frank volunteered.
An Amish man stumbled toward the ambulance. Blood darkened his beard. The EMTs hurried to help him.
“You’ll spend the night here in the Freemont area,” Frank told Colleen. Before she could object, he pointed to the one-story brick ranch visible in the distance. “My sister, Evelyn, owns the house on top of the knoll. There’s an extra room. You can stay with her.”
“I...I need to get back to Atlanta.”
“From the looks of your car, travel anytime soon seems unlikely. Downed trees are blocking some of the roadways and won’t be cleared until morning.”
“Is there a bus station?”
“In town, but you need to talk to law enforcement first.”
The downward slope of her mouth and the dark shadows under her eyes gave him concern. She looked fragile and ready to break.
“I...I don’t know your name,” she stammered.
“It’s Frank Gallagher, and the dog’s Duke.”
Her face softened for a moment as Duke licked her hand, then she
