be doing tonight.”
“Hell, what else is there to do?” Hank countered. “This night is as dead as a doornail.”
Brady slowed the vehicle as they crossed a washboard surface in a road that had narrowed down to little more than a dirt track hugging the side of the mountain.
“Okay,” he relented. “After we reach the county line, we’ll head back to Ruidoso and—” All of a sudden, Brady stomped on the brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. “Hellfire! What’s that, Hank?”
Sensing the urgency in Brady’s question, the other man bolted upright in his seat and leaned toward the windshield. “Where? I don’t see—”
Before he could finish, Brady rammed the gearshift in Park and jumped to the ground. Grabbing a flashlight, Hank quickly followed and lengthened his stride to catch up with his partner.
“Over there,” Brady instructed. “To our left. In the ditch. It looked like a body to me.”
The orb of the flashlight swung to a steep cliff covered with boulders, scrubby pinyon pine, juniper and tall clumps of sagebrush, then dropped to a white object lying in the ditch.
“Man, oh, man, somebody met up with some trouble!” Hank exclaimed in a hushed tone.
“Yeah.”
Before moving to the downed figure, Brady took a few seconds to assess the situation. There were no other vehicles to be seen or any evidence of a driving mishap. No persons or animals. Nor a sound to be heard. Like Hank had said earlier, the night was dead. Brady only hoped to God that wasn’t the case for the person lying several feet away.
“Call this in, Hank.”
To the onlooker, the two deputies appeared equal and for the most part they shared duties just as they shared a friendship. But during critical calls, Brady’s position of chief deputy demanded that he take control. Thankfully Hank was more than happy to accept the protocol.
“Right,” Hank replied. “An ambulance, too?”
“Let me have a look first. We might need the coroner.”
The other man tossed Brady the flashlight, then made a quick U-turn back to their unit. Brady moved purposely forward, his gaze surveying the body lying facedown on the rocky ground. The person was slender, dark-haired, dressed in blue jeans and white shirt and unfortunately showing no sign of life.
Homicides were extremely rare in the county. In fact, during his seven years at the sheriff’s department, Brady had only worked two murder scenes. The last thing he wanted was a third.
His senses on keen alert, he squatted near the body and, using one hand, swiftly slid his finger to the artery at the side of the victim’s neck, the flashlight throwing a narrow beam of light. The faint pulse fluttering against the pad of Brady’s finger sent relief rushing through him.
Behind him, the sound of crunching gravel alerted him to Hank’s approach.
“Is he alive?” the other man asked quickly.
“Yes. But unconscious.”
Very carefully Brady rolled the person to a face-up position and was instantly whammed with shock as he found himself staring at a young woman! One side of her black hair was wet with blood, while dried smears marked her forehead.
“Hank, get a blanket from the unit and call for an ambulance,” Brady ordered swiftly. “It’s a woman. And she has a nasty gash on the forehead.”
While the other deputy hurried away, Brady carefully searched her limbs for obvious broken bones or visible injuries. Other than the head wound, there didn’t appear to be any, but he could only guess what might be going on internally. Except for a crumpled tissue, there wasn’t anything in her pockets.
Hank arrived with the blanket and as Brady folded it to make a cushion for her head, the woman suddenly made a faint groaning noise.
Encouraged by the sound, Brady stuffed the makeshift pillow beneath her head, then questioned, “Miss? Can you hear me? Wake up and tell us what happened! Is there anyone else injured?”
She groaned again and Brady glanced at Hank. “What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”
“Twenty-five minutes. When it’s time, I’ll drive to the highway to signal them,” Hank told him. “Unless you’d rather me stay with her and you do it.”
Brady wasn’t about to leave the woman. Everything about the situation was screaming that some sort of foul play had taken place and he wanted to be around to make sure nothing else happened. “I’m staying,” he said bluntly.
“What the hell could she have been doing way out here?” Hank wondered aloud.
“I can’t make sense of it,” Brady responded. “She doesn’t look like the typical person involved in drug use or trafficking. And this area isn’t a national forest with camp sites or hiking trails for nature lovers. I don’t want to start speculating, but I’m getting a bad vibe.”
“Could be she had a simple accident,” Hank suggested.
“Yeah. But why did a simple accident happen in the middle of nowhere?”
“Maybe she’s been out hunting. Her vehicle might be parked on one of the offshoot roads and we didn’t spot it.”
“Maybe. But there’s no rifle or bow and hunting season is closed. Besides, she isn’t dressed for that sort of thing. Look at those cowboy boots. Small fortune for those hand-stitched babies. And she’s wearing turquoise—the expensive kind—on her wrist and neck. A robber wouldn’t have left that behind.”
“Hmm. That’s why you’re the chief deputy,” Hank said wryly. “You don’t have to study about noticing things. You just see them.”
Brady glanced up at Hank. “Walk the edge of the road and see if you can spot a wallet or handbag lying around,” he ordered, then, turning his attention back to the victim, he lifted her hand and patted the back of it. “Come on, miss, wake up!”
This time his voice must have penetrated. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted. Brady anxiously watched her gaze attempt to focus on him.
“Hello,” he said to her. “Welcome back.”
She stared blankly at him. “What—where … am I?”
Even though her voice was dazed and weak, Brady was relieved to hear her speak. Bending near, so that she could get a look at his face and official uniform, he explained, “I’m Chief Deputy Brady Donovan.”
“A deputy?” she repeated dazedly. “Have I … been in some sort of accident?”
“It appears that way.” He squeezed her hand. “An ambulance is on the way. Other than your head, does it feel like anything else is injured?”
Her free hand slowly lifted to her temple. “My … head is … pounding.”
“Anything else hurt?”
She
