Her Dying Breath (23 page)

Jake cursed. “Doesn’t sound like our unsub.”

“No, but the MO is similar to Emanuel Giogardi’s death.”

“True. Did you find anything proving a connection?”

“No, but I’m with the crime team and ME now.”

“Good. Listen, Nick—” Jake hesitated. “There’s something else. A nine-one-one call just came in. Someone reported an accident on the mountain not too far from Amelia’s.” Jake’s breath rattled out. “The car belonged to Brenda. An ambulance is on its way.”

Nick had to clear his throat to talk. “Is…she all right?”

“I don’t know any details, my deputy took the call.”

Fear knifed through Nick. What if Brenda was seriously hurt? “With Brenda’s face plastered all over the news working this case and her confrontation with the Commander, he could have ordered a hit on her like he did with Sadie.”

“You could be right,” Jake agreed. “Which means we’re on the right track.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” Nick said. And if he found out the Commander had put a hit on her, he’d finish choking him himself.

Brenda couldn’t breathe. Something was smothering her. She opened her eyes, dazed, confused, a hammer pounding her head. Where was she?

Bright blue and yellow lights danced across the dash of her car, blinding her and intensifying the pain splitting her temple. Her chest ached as if a fist had slammed into it, and her leg and shoulder throbbed.

Her mouth felt dry, but when she swallowed, she tasted blood.

Noises from outside the car echoed around her, and someone yanked open the car door.

“Miss, are you all right?” a voice shouted.

The voice boomeranged in her ears, once, twice, three times, but it sounded muffled and far away.

Suddenly she felt the air bag being ripped away, and gentle hands touching her face. “Stay still, ma’am. I’m a paramedic. A deputy sheriff is here, too.”

Brenda frowned. A deputy? Paramedic?

“What happened?” she whispered.

“You had a car accident. We’re going to take you to the hospital.” He tilted her head back to examine her eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “My head hurts, and my chest, but I think I’m just bruised.”

She tried to wiggle her toes and feet, but she couldn’t move them. Her limbs felt heavy, weighted. “Oh, God. I…can’t move my legs.”

“Just stay still and try to remain calm,” the medic said as he yelled for a board. “The dash is crushed in, so your legs are trapped right now.”

The world swayed, lights spinning in a sick, drunken rush. The sound of men shouting at one another echoed again, then the seat shifted slightly, and she felt the medic sliding something around her neck.

She must have passed out for a minute, because the next thing she knew, she was lying on a stretcher, and they were loading her in the back of an ambulance.

“You have a nasty bump on your forehead,” one of the medics said. “And the air bag probably did a number on your ribs.”

Fear seized her, but this time when she tried to move her toes, they tingled and she could move them.

“My car,” Brenda whispered. “What about my car?”

“The deputy will see that it’s towed,” the medic said.

“I’m right here, Brenda,” Deputy Waterstone said in a gruff voice. “What happened?”

Brenda forced her eyes open, although the throbbing in her head intensified as the bright lights assaulted her. “I…” What had happened? She’d just come from Amelia’s, was on her way home, then…another car ran up on her. “Someone hit me from behind,” she murmured.

“Hit you?” Deputy Waterstone said. “You’re sure?”

Brenda tried to nod, but the movement only made her head swim faster. “Yes,” she whispered as she swallowed back nausea.

“Did they stop?” he asked.

“I don’t know…I must have lost consciousness.”

“So you didn’t see who it was or what kind of car they were driving?”

“No…wait…” She clutched the blanket the medics had put over her. “It was a sedan. But I couldn’t see the color.”

One of the medics attached an IV, then closed the back door, and the ambulance jerked, tires grinding over gravel as they sped onto the highway.

She closed her eyes as the world rocked back and forth, the memory of the car ramming into her growing more vivid.

Dear God. Someone had tried to kill her.

By the time Nick reached the site of the accident, the ambulance had left. Deputy Waterstone was waiting on a tow truck and directing traffic with his flashlight.

“How’s Brenda?” Nick asked.

“She was awake, had a concussion—the medics rushed her to the hospital.”

Nick’s stomach churned at the sight of the car. It had slammed headfirst into the mountain ridge and was twisted like a pretzel. He walked around the side of the vehicle and noted the way the axle was bent. The passenger side had borne most of the brunt, although glass covered the seats and blood dotted the dash.

A truck roared past, slowing as the driver noticed the police car and accident, but Nick motioned for him to keep going.

The deputy shined his flashlight along the rear bumper. “What are you looking for?” Nick asked.

“Brenda said someone hit her from behind.”

Nick’s blood ran cold. “Where’s the other driver?”

“He didn’t stop.”

Damn. “Who called it in?”

“A nine-one-one operator said a trucker—he didn’t think anyone was in the car, but thought we should check it out.”

Nick knelt to examine the rear as well. “Did Brenda see the vehicle or the driver?”

“She said it was a sedan, but she didn’t get the color or the driver,” Deputy Waterstone said.

Nick grimaced as he spotted black paint on the rear bumper of the BMW. “Take a sample of that paint and send it to the lab. If this wasn’t an accident, we need to track down that driver.”

Waterstone scraped the paint off into a small envelope. “Brenda covered that story on the Slaughter Creek sanitarium. Maybe someone doesn’t want her snooping around.”

“You could be right. The Commander or whoever else spearheaded the project may still be trying to cover his ass.” Nick gritted his teeth. “I’m going to the hospital to check on Brenda.”

Deputy Waterstone jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait on the tow truck.”

Nick jumped in his car and raced toward the hospital.

At that late hour, there was hardly any traffic, but the minutes dragged by, and it seemed to take him forever to reach the building. He parked in the lot as close as he could get, then jogged to the entrance to the emergency room. The waiting room was packed with welfare patients forced to use the emergency room as their doctor’s office. One family with a herd of kids were chowing down on food from McDonald’s while they waited. A man in tattered clothes who smelled like stale alcohol and sweat lay groaning, probably in search of pain meds.

Nick crossed the room to the admittance desk. “Excuse me—”

“Sign in and take a seat,” a strawberry-blond girl said between smacks of her bubble gum.

“I’m not a patient.” Nick flashed his badge. Just as he’d hoped, the young girl snapped to attention.

“Oh, sorry, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a patient brought in from an accident. Her name is Brenda Banks.”

“Oh, you mean that reporter.” The girl stood and leaned closer. “She usually looks so pretty, but she got banged up real bad. I asked her if she wanted me to call her parents, but she said no.”

Nick barely heard the last part. He was too busy imagining Brenda’s face black and blue. “Can I see her?”

“I don’t think she’s in a room yet. They took her for X-rays and a CAT scan.”

Those were just routine procedures, he reminded himself. It didn’t mean her injuries were life-threatening.

“I’ll let you know when they move her to a room.” She gestured to the left. “There’s snack and coffee machines down the hall.”

“Thanks. Can I leave you my number in case you need to reach me?”

Her eyes flared with curiosity. “Sure. Most times we just call out names.”

“I’d feel better if you had my cell number,” he said, then slipped her his business card. “It’s urgent I talk to her as soon as she’s taken to a room.”

She tapped the card between her bloodred fingernails, and he strode down the hall.

It was possible that some drunk driver or teenagers joyriding had hit Brenda, and that they hadn’t meant to.

But if the hit had been intentional, then someone had tried to kill her.

Which meant Brenda needed a damn bodyguard. Or leave the town and go someplace safe until the case was solved.

Brenda felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. She clenched her jaw as the doctors and nurses forced her through X-rays and then a CAT scan. She hated hospitals. Hated the smells. Especially the cleaning chemicals and soap…

“I just want to go to sleep,” she said as a nurse pushed her in a wheelchair to a room.

“You can soon,” the nurse said. “But you have a slight concussion, so we’ll be checking on you through the night.”

Brenda didn’t bother to argue. She’d had her tonsils removed when she was younger. Every time she’d fallen asleep, someone had come in to poke and prod her.

It reminded her of her visit to the sanitarium.

She’d have to go home to get some real rest.

The nurse rolled her into the room, then helped her into bed. They’d already confiscated her clothes and given her an ugly hospital gown.

She pulled the sheet up over her and closed her eyes, grateful to finally be left alone.

Maybe soon the room would stop spinning.

Finally she drifted into a fitful sleep. In her dreams, she was driving on the mountain, on one of the curves. A car raced up and rammed into her, sending her into the ridge.

She startled awake. It hadn’t been a dream. She was sore and achy and felt like a punching bag.

Suddenly she sensed someone else in the room. Looking up, she saw Nick standing at the window. She blinked to clear her vision, then called his name.

He walked over to the bed, his jaw set in stone, his eyes feral. Brooding.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Her head and body throbbed. “I’ll live.”

Her attempt at humor failed miserably. “What happened?”

The memory haunted her. “I went to see Amelia again.”

Disapproval flickered across his chiseled face.

“I thought she might be able to draw a picture of Seven.”

The disapproval disappeared, and something akin to admiration flashed on his face. “Did she?”

“She’s going to try,” Brenda said. God, her mouth was dry. She tried to reach the water on the tray table, but winced in pain.

Nick picked up the cup and handed it to her. She took a blessed sip, her parched throat desperate for more. But her hand trembled, sloshing water on her chest.

Nick grabbed a napkin and gently blotted up the water, then held the cup for her. He smoothed down her hair as she laid her head back on the pillow.

“Then what happened?” Nick asked.

Brenda massaged her temple. “A car came up behind me, tires squealed, then the car slammed into me.”

“The driver intentionally hit you?”

Unwanted tears blurred her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. What kind of reporter cries? “At first, I thought he was just going too fast. But then he sped up and rammed me again.”