him, her eyes wide with terror. “John, there may be someone else in trouble. Someone named Derek. Before she passed out, she said something about Derek needing help. At least, I think that was it.”
“Derek St. James? He has a cabin not too far from here. I hadn’t heard he was back in town, though.”
“Maybe that’s who she was talking about.” Colin shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll check it out after this scene is secured.”
“Be careful. Someone in the woods has a gun.” Colin realized he was stating the obvious, but he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. Chills encased him in a cold sweat. He threw a last glance toward the area where he thought someone had hidden and shot at the mystery woman. “Look over that way. I think that was where the shot came from.”
“I thought you didn’t see anything?”
“Nothing like a person or a flash when the gun went off. I didn’t even hear anything with the music on in the car and the windows up. I was too busy trying to avoid the woman. But from the way she spun and fell, that has to be the place. Good cover for a shooter.” He knew more than he wished about guns, cover and death.
“I’ll have the crime-scene boys check it out.”
Heading toward the teenagers, Colin took a calming breath, a coldness embedded deep in his bones. Crystal Springs might be near Chicago, but crime rarely occurred in his little corner of the world, one of the reasons he had been so attracted to the town. It had always been a safe place to raise a family. But the shooting of this woman had altered all that. Deep in his gut he felt their peaceful little slice of heaven was about to change. Icy tentacles burrowed deeper. He shook, his hands balled at his side so tightly that pain zipped up his arms.
TWO
Colin paced from one end of the waiting room to the other. The strong antiseptic odor reminded him of what he disliked most about his job—visiting people in the hospital. His wife had died at Bayview County Hospital, and every time he stepped into its corridors, he remembered Mary Ann’s lingering death from cancer. The clean, disinfectant smells, sounds of beeping machines and murmured voices made his stomach clench whenever he came here. He needed to get past his automatic reaction. But even after four years, he hadn’t been able to.
“Reverend, she’s been moved from recovery to her room now,” a nurse at the door said.
Colin nodded, forcing his stomach muscles to relax. Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, he headed for Emma St. James’s private hospital room. Dread leadened his steps. He hadn’t seen her since the ambulance had taken her away from the wreck. First, he had been at the sheriff’s headquarters giving a statement about the accident, then when he had finally arrived at the hospital two hours ago, Emma St. James had already been wheeled into surgery to have her shoulder repaired.
A deputy stood at her door. “Good afternoon, Reverend.”
“Hi, Kirk. How’s your wife doing?”
“Better. She should be at church this Sunday.”
Colin started to enter the hospital room, but Kirk held up his hand. “Sorry, the sheriff is inside questioning the woman.”
Colin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. The sights and sounds he had come to know so well when Mary Ann had been here surrounded him. Slowly, any relaxation he had achieved dissolved, leaving him tense again. Time crawled by painfully slowly. A doctor was paged. A phone rang at the nurses’ station. An orderly wheeled a patient to the elevator.
The door to Emma’s room swung open, and J. T. Logan left, followed by a tall, slender woman with short brown hair. Colin pushed himself away from the wall, preparing to go into the room.
“Reverend, I hope you can help her.” J.T.’s deep, gruff voice halted Colin’s progress.
“You told her about her brother?”
J.T. gave a curt nod. He gestured toward the woman at his side. “This is Madison Spencer. She’s a detective with the state police. She’ll be assisting me with the investigation. This is Reverend Fitzpatrick.”
“The man who hit her?” Madison angled her head toward the sheriff. “Are you so sure him visiting is a good idea?”
Colin flinched at the bald truth. How was he going to help Emma St. James when his SUV had struck her and he was riddled with guilt?
“If anyone can help her, it’ll be Colin.”
The sheriff’s words fueled Colin’s self-confidence until he saw the woman’s pinched frown and her assessing expression. “Could she give you any information?”
“No. She doesn’t remember much and—” J.T. glanced toward the closed door “—she can’t—” his dark gaze fixed on Colin “—see.”
“She’s blind?”
“Yes.”
“Because of the accident?” Colin’s heartbeat accelerated, his throat dry.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk with the doctor yet.” J.T. started down the hallway. “If she remembers anything, let me know.”
Colin stared at the door, a dull gray color. What had he done? Lord, give me the strength to help this woman.
“You can go in now, Reverend.” Kirk’s voice cut into Colin’s prayer.
He pushed open the door and entered the room. Bright sunlight streamed through the window and a large bouquet of yellow roses, an elaborate arrangement of lilies and a potted ivy plant already graced the window ledge. Colin looked at the small woman in the bed, her eyes closed, the white sheet and a blanket pulled up over her chest as though she was cold. Her arm with the IV in it lay on top of the blue cover across her midsection.
Slowly she opened her eyes. “Who’s there?” she whispered, a raw edge to her voice as though she wasn’t used to talking.
Did I do this to her? The question kept playing over and over in Colin’s mind as he stood frozen a few feet from the bed. She looked so vulnerable with her face bruised and scratched, a bandaged shoulder peeking out from the top of the covers.
“Who’s there?” Panic laced her words. She fumbled for the call button.
Colin stiffened, aware he had caused her undue tension. “I’m Reverend Colin Fitzpatrick.”
Her hand relaxing her search, she turned her head toward him, her brow creasing. “I didn’t ask for a clergyman to visit.”
The defensiveness in her statement firmed his resolve. He would be here for her even if she didn’t think she needed his help. That was the least he could do. “I know.” He moved closer. “I thought you might like to talk to someone about your brother.”
She shrank away from him, her hand clutching the blanket. Her eyes slid closed for a few seconds. “How do I know you’re a reverend? For all I know, you could be a member of the press. I’m sure they’re having a field day over this.”
“If
