Land's End (12 page)

But Sarah, in spite of her current state, was no princess in a tower. She didn't want to be protected. She wanted to be part of the fight.

“Sarah—” But what could he say? He didn't have any rights where Sarah was concerned. He didn't want any, did he?

“Now, you just drink this.” Geneva hurried in with a steaming mug. “It's hot, and it'll do you good.”

He used her fussing over Sarah as an excuse to get a safe distance away. The doorbell rang.

“That'll be Dr. Sam. I'll let him in.”

 

“She'll be fine.” Dr. Sam rose from his position next to Sarah as Trent entered the family room a half hour later.

“You're sure she shouldn't have that shoulder X-rayed?” He couldn't quite get all the worry out of his voice.

Dr. Sam stretched and cocked an eyebrow at Sarah. “Permission to discuss your case, Doctor?”

Sarah's face relaxed for the first time since she'd stumbled out of the car. “Tell him I'm all right.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” Dr. Sam's face sobered as he turned to Trent. “It's just a good thing—well, never mind. Torn ligaments, bruising, scrapes. All of that will heal, but I want that left arm to stay in a sling for a few days, at least.”

Sarah looked rebellious, but she nodded.

“I've given Sarah some medication for the pain and swelling. Make sure she takes it.”

Trent nodded, relief moving through him. Sarah would be all right. “I'll sic Geneva on her if she doesn't behave.”

Now the job was to catch the person who'd done this to her. The man would regret this night for a long time.

Sam picked up his jacket, and Trent clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Dr. Sam. I'll walk you out.”

When they reached the door, Gifford was strutting up the steps. Dr. Sam's face tightened. “I'll say good night.” He skirted Gifford and headed for his car.

Trent focused on Gifford. “Well?” He held the door, ushering him into the hallway. “Did you find him?”

Gifford shrugged. “If anybody was there, he was long gone by the time my people got there.”

“If?” He invested the word with the full force of his anger. “
If
you had seen Dr. Wainwright when she came in, you wouldn't doubt that.”

The chief might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he caught a whiff of the anger. “Sorry. Didn't mean I doubted the lady's word. Just a figger of speech, y'know.”

Trent jerked a nod toward the family room. “In here. You'd better talk to her yourself.”

He might think Sarah shouldn't be bothered with this tonight, but he knew she wouldn't agree. Any attempt to soften things for her just made her fighting mad.

She pushed herself up as they went in, and he understood. She didn't want to appear weak before Gifford.

“They didn't find the man,” he said quickly.

“What about Mrs. Jackson?” Apprehension colored her eyes.

Gifford took off his hat belatedly and turned it in his beefy hands. “Well, Lizbet wasn't there. The dogs had been fed, everything looked okay, but there was no sign of her.”

“You've started inquiries of the neighbors?” Trent said sharply, making it more an order than a question.

“Yessir. Trouble is, nobody's house overlooks hers, so there's no one to say she's come or gone 'cept the folks in the graveyard, and they're not talking.”

When his attempt at humor didn't raise a smile, his look soured. “Anyhow, I've got my people trying to trace her down. She's got kin all over these islands, and if she wants to disappear, ain't nobody gonna find her.”

“Did you find any trace of the man?” Sarah adjusted the sling as if it bothered her.

He tensed, waiting for Gifford to imply this had been a figment of Sarah's imagination, but Gifford just shook his head.

“Lots of grass trampled down in the cemetery—that was about it. We could see where your car had been parked, but no other trace. He'd be smart enough to leave it on the gravel.”

“It had to be beyond the house, then. I'd have noticed a car if I'd passed one.”

“We'll look in the morning. Could be we'll find something by daylight. You got a description of this fella, Doc?”

“I never saw his face. I'm not even sure it was a man.”

“To do that much damage to your shoulder—” Trent began.

“Plenty of women wield a tennis racket hard enough to do that,” she said. “My impression is that it was a man. Dark clothes, something dark over his head and face.”

Gifford shook his head disapprovingly. “Not much to go on. That's not what we'd call the most salubrious part of the island.” He produced the word with a humorless smile. “Seems like you'd have better sense than to go out there after dark.”

Sarah's mouth tightened into a thin line. “I had an appointment. Are you saying it's my fault?”

“No, ma'am. I just figure—”

Trent caught Gifford by the arm, silencing him with a look. They didn't need to know what Gifford figured. “Thank you, Chief. Check in with me first thing in the morning, please.”

Gifford nodded to Sarah and then lumbered to the door. “Will do. 'Night.”

Trent waited until the door had closed behind him before he turned to Sarah. She was looking at him disapprovingly.

“I suppose you agree with your pet police chief. This is my fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Actually, he was relieved at the snappish tone in her voice. The encounter with Gifford had banished the shock from her eyes, and a little color had come back into her cheeks.

“Strange though it may seem to you, I'm on your side.”

He sat down on the hassock. That was as close to her as he intended to get for the moment, or he might give in to the temptation to tell her how worried about her he'd been.

She shook her head and winced at the movement. “I don't understand why you don't see this situation the way I do. If Miles and Lynette were having an affair, why would someone be so eager to keep me from talking to Lizbet, they'd try to kill me?”

He couldn't let himself agree with her, even though the same questions were ricocheting around his brain. “I know how serious this was, but it's possible the attacker didn't intend to hurt you so badly. He may have miscalculated the damage the branch could do.”

“If he just wanted to frighten me, he didn't need to keep coming after me.” The fear was back in her eyes again, and he wanted to kick himself.

“I don't have the answers.” He wrapped his hands warmly over hers. “But we'll get to the bottom of it. We'll find Lizbet, we'll get answers. I promise you.”

That brought the faintest suggestion of relief to her face. “Thank you.”

He wanted to tell Sarah this couldn't be what she thought, that her suppositions were ridiculous. But somehow he couldn't. Because what if she were right?

S
arah knew what she'd prescribe for a patient in this condition, but she wouldn't spend the day in bed. She frowned in the mirror and adjusted the silk scarf she'd arranged over Dr. Sam's canvas sling. Not beautiful, but it would have to do.

When she'd first looked in the mirror this morning, she'd been appalled at the gaunt, shadowed face that stared back at her. Just the sight had been enough to start her shaking, reliving that terrible race through the cemetery.

The discreet application of makeup had improved matters, and she could face the world without frightening little children. She had a shift at the hospital, and she intended to do it, even if she did look more like a victim than a doctor.

Slinging her bag awkwardly on her right shoulder, she managed to get the door locked and headed for the breakfast room. Geneva had made a valiant attempt to bring her breakfast in bed, but she'd managed to forestall that. It would only remind her of how helpless she'd felt the night before.

The only person in the room was Melissa. She checked on the doorstep, wondering if she were letting herself in for a repetition of Melissa's accusations. But the child stared at the sling, a shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Good morning.” Sarah headed for the coffee. If Melissa didn't want to talk, she wouldn't press it.

Melissa slid off her chair, and she thought she was going to run out of the room. Instead, she came to Sarah and took the cup out of her hand.

“I'll get your coffee for you. And your breakfast. Do you want scrambled eggs?”

“Thanks—that would be great.” And quite a turnaround.

Melissa deftly fixed a plate with eggs, toast and fresh fruit, then carried it and the coffee to the small round table where Sarah sat. Beyond the table, the French doors gave a view of the swimming pool, its water sparkling in the morning sun.

“There. Anything else you want?”

“That's fine, thanks.”

Melissa hesitated for a moment and then slid onto the chair opposite hers. “Does your arm hurt much?”

“Not too much,” she fibbed. She'd skipped the painkillers. She couldn't function at the clinic with them in her system.

“Geneva said you were really brave. She said you fought off the man who attacked you.”

That trace of hero worship in Melissa's tone probably explained her changed attitude. “Mostly I hid and ran, but that's nice of Geneva to say.”

“Were you awfully scared?” Her eyes were wide, and Sarah sensed something—she wasn't sure what—behind the questions.

“Yes.” She didn't have to think twice about that. “I knew I had to keep running. And keep praying.”

Melissa glanced at the display of photos on the wall opposite her—pictures of Melissa at various stages, a younger Trent proudly holding his baby daughter, a studio portrait of Lynette. That portrait was what held Melissa's gaze.

“My mother hated cemeteries,” she said suddenly. “Dad wanted her to go to where his grandparents are buried, but she wouldn't. He goes by himself, every year on Memorial Day.”

She censored a number of responses. “Some people feel that way about cemeteries. Now that you're old enough, you could go with your father. He'd probably like that.”

Melissa looked startled at the idea. “I guess.” She glanced at Sarah, then back at the picture of her mother. “My mother was really beautiful, wasn't she?”

“Yes. Very.” She could say that without reservation, relieved that Melissa seemed to have eased up on blaming her for Lynette's unhappiness.

“I wish I looked more like her.” She tugged at a lock of brown hair, as if wanting to turn it red.

What did she say to that? Melissa would see through insincere flattery.

“I think you look like your father. Sometimes girls do.”

Melissa's gaze jerked back to hers. She stared at her for a long moment. Then she shoved her chair back.

“No! I don't!” She almost shouted the words, and she turned and ran out of the room.

Sarah stared after her blankly. That hadn't gone well. What on earth had she said to provoke an outburst?

She'd just been feeling relieved that her relationship with Melissa was improving. Obviously she'd been wrong.

She forked Geneva's perfect scrambled eggs into her mouth, trying to concentrate on the breakfast rather than Melissa. She'd be better off to avoid the Donner family.

But that plan proved destined to failure when she went out the front door and nearly ran into Trent coming up the steps.
Ran
was the operative word, since he wore shorts, T-shirt and sneakers, and had clearly been jogging on the beach.

He caught her good arm. “Whoa. Where are you going?”

Battle ahead, she decided. “To the clinic. I'm on duty.”

“Dr. Sam said you were supposed to take it easy.” He frowned, tightening his grip.

“Trust me, they won't let me do too much.” She met his gaze. They stood so close that she could see the tiny fan of lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight beads of perspiration on his forehead. “I have to go. If I sit here and do nothing, I—I'll think too much.”

That was probably the one thing she could have said that he'd understand. He nodded reluctantly.

“All right. But you're not driving with that shoulder. Give me five minutes to change, and I'll take you.”

“That's not necessary.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It's the only way you're getting out of here. I still have the keys to your car after putting it away last night. I won't give them back until Dr. Sam says so.”

Pick your battles, she reminded herself, and much as she hated to admit it, he was probably right. She shouldn't drive in this condition.

“All right. Five minutes.”

When he'd vanished into the house, she walked across to the railing. Ahead of her the low dunes rolled down to the beach. The tide was out, and pale sand stretched invitingly. No wonder Trent had wanted to jog this morning. She'd be tempted herself, if every inch of her body hadn't been in protest mode at the very thought of moving.

The breeze off the ocean lifted her hair, carrying the salty tang that would have told her she was at the ocean if she'd been blindfolded. This view was totally different from the rocky New England coast where she'd summered as a child, but familiar nonetheless. Gulls swooped and screamed, the
waves murmured. Last night's dark terrors seemed an eternity away.

This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it. It's Your day, Lord, and it's a beautiful one. Help me to follow the path You have for me this day.

A car pulled around the house from the garage area, with Trent at the wheel. He'd forsaken the Rolls for a midsize sedan. He drew to a stop and got out to open the door for her.

“That was less than five minutes,” she said, getting in, careful not to bump her arm.

He slid behind the wheel. “I didn't want you to get any ideas about stealing one of my cars and taking off.”

“I might be tempted by the sports car,” she admitted. “With the top down, on a day like this.”

“It'll be hot later,” he said, glancing at the clear sky.

True enough. “I'm glad I didn't need a cast. That would be miserable in the heat.”

Her comment seemed to remind him of something unpleasant, because a frown settled between his brows. “I didn't want you driving because of that arm, but that's not all there is to it. I don't think you should go anywhere alone for the time being.”

She studied his hands, strong and tanned on the steering wheel as he took the road along the shore. They were competent and sure, like everything else about him.

“I thought you might agree with Chief Gifford that the attack was nothing personal.”

“The day I start taking Gifford's assessment for fact is the day someone else better take over running the company.” Grim lines bracketed his mouth. “You'll be driven and picked up wherever you want to go.”

She could argue, but she didn't want to. The terror of the previous night was too fresh in her mind. “All right.”

He flashed a sideways glance at her. “It's going to be that easy?”

“Only for the moment,” she said primly.

He laughed. “That's our Sarah.” He turned onto the road that led to the clinic, reminding her of the back roads she'd traversed the night before.

“Any news on Lizbet Jackson?” She knew he'd have told her if he had any news, but she had to ask.

“Nothing. I have Gifford and his people going door to door. They'll come up with her sooner or later.”

Judging by the determined set to Trent's jaw, Gifford better hope it was sooner.

“I'll try talking to Esther about Lizbet again, but she hasn't been very cooperative so far.”

Trent pulled up to the clinic door, ignoring the No Parking sign. She started to get out, but he reached across to put his hand over hers.

“Just call the house when you're ready. Someone will come to pick you up.” His grip tightened. “And be careful. I can guarantee your safety when you're inside Land's End. It's outside that you could be in danger.”

She nodded, because if she tried to speak, she'd probably trip over the words. Trent was way too close—his hand over hers, his face scant inches from hers.

Trent was wrong. She was in danger inside Land's End as well as out—in danger from her own foolish heart.

 

The clinic was quiet and apparently deserted when she walked inside, but the door had been unlocked, so someone must be in. “Hello? Anyone here?”

Someone straightened from behind the counter. Esther. She always had been the first person here.

“Morning.” Esther studied the sling, her face giving nothing away. “We didn't expect you'd be here today.”

Welcoming as ever, obviously. Sarah pinned on a smile. Regardless of what had caused Esther's antagonism, Sarah wouldn't contribute to it by taking offense.

“I'm on the schedule. I can manage.”

“No need.” Esther rounded the counter. “Dr. Sam said he'd fill in this morning. We'll get along fine without you.”

Maybe because she was already edgy, maybe because of the pain, the careful control she kept on her temper suddenly shattered into a million pieces. She slammed her bag down on the counter with her good hand.

“What is it with you, Esther? You act like I'm a raw intern who can't be trusted with live patients. Haven't I proved my worth to the clinic?”

She should be ashamed of herself, yelling at the nurse that way. Esther was staring at her as if she were a total stranger.

She shook her head. “Look, I didn't mean to yell. I suppose you feel I deserted the clinic when it needed me, but—”

“You've got it backward,” Esther snapped. “You deserted the clinic when
you
needed
us.
”

She blinked. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You were in trouble. Bad trouble.” Esther planted her hands on her hips. “We wanted to help you, but you couldn't turn to us.”

“But I—”

Esther swept on, obviously letting out what she'd thought for a long time. “You always had to be Lady Bountiful. You could give, but you couldn't accept help. That would have meant you were a real human being like the rest of us.”

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!” To her horror, she was shouting at the woman, and she couldn't seem to stop. “I don't think I'm superior to anyone.”

“Ha!” Esther waggled her finger under Sarah's nose. “Miz ‘I'm the fancy lady doc from Boston, here to help the poor folk' not think she's better than us! 'Course you do.”

“I do not think any such thing.” She grabbed Esther's finger. “And if you dare call me Lady Bountiful again, I'll throw the nearest chair at you!”

For a moment they stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other. Suddenly Esther threw her head back and laughed—that rich, hearty, belly-shaking laugh that made everyone within earshot want to laugh with her.

Sarah let go of Esther's finger, shocked. She never acted that way. She'd always hated doctors who took advantage of their position to yell at nurses, and she never—

“Okay.” Esther pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “Now you're treating me like an equal. Like a friend.”

Still chuckling, she headed for the door to put out the Open sign.

Sarah sagged against the counter. What had just happened here? Had Esther meant what she'd said?

More importantly, had she been right? Had Sarah been coming across that way to the very people she wanted to help? She'd always thought she was treating the people at the clinic with respect, but apparently she'd been wrong.