When Hearts Collide

When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra

Chapter 1

No one ever said life was fair.” Molly clutched the leather-wrapped steering wheel of her Elantra, her grandmother’s favorite saying echoing in her head.

Well, wasn’t that the truth. Fight or flight. Those were her two options. But was fleeing the right decision?

The sun had set an hour before, and the cloudy sky overhead hung like a mantle of coal. Molly tried to banish the fatigue descending on her. She should have stopped at that last motel, even if it did look like it would qualify for a five-star roach award. She could add that to her list of regrettable decisions.

The highway, arrow-straight when it left Hillsborough, now twisted and turned like a corkscrew. Pine trees bordered the roadway, encroaching like shadowy ghosts. Scenes from horror movies with lonely highways sent a shiver down her spine. Why hadn’t she left while it was still light?

Molly tried to suppress a yawn. Wake up girl, you need to stay alert.

She flipped the airflow to maximum. Maybe the cool air would keep her going for a few more miles. She glanced in the rear-view mirror—no one else on the road, nothing to distract her, nothing but blacktop and an inky saw-toothed line of trees. She turned the radio up and listened to the lonesome country tunes.

It wasn’t working. She switched to a rock station. “I’m not ready to make nice, I’m not ready to back down.” That was better. Just the way she felt. Molly sang along. Opening the window, she let the pine-scented breeze slap her awake.

A car approached, its bright headlights flickering like fireflies between the thick trunks of the evergreens. At last, a sign of life, the first she’d seen in the past half hour. The lights came closer, causing the pavement to take on the appearance of a striped swamp snake. The roar of a high-powered engine amplified as the distance between them shrank. Thankfully, the high beams switched to low.

Molly jerked herself alert. What’s wrong with you? He’s on his side of the road, and he isn’t speeding. Why did she have a sudden sense of apprehension? Calm down. The road’s wide enough to share.

There was a flash of movement. A white-tailed deer darted across the highway fifty feet in front of her. Instinctively, she white-knuckled the steering wheel. Her foot eased off the gas, and the car slowed.

At least something was going right. Her hands loosened their grip, and she settled back into the seat. A screech of tires broke into her thoughts. Her back stiffened and her heart rate spiked. She clutched the steering wheel again, but her palms were sweating and she had trouble maintaining her grip. The oncoming car veered towards her, its headlights hitting her full in the face, momentarily blinding her. Molly froze. Oh God, no. Her breath wedged in her throat. There was nothing she could do. Her heart skipped several beats as she battered the brakes. Too late. She was heading straight for the car. She hunched forward, bracing for the inevitable crash.

Unable to breathe, Molly watched as the sports car lurched to the left and hurtled away from her.

Hands trembling, Molly relaxed her foot and eased the Elantra to the side of the road. One car out of control was enough. She watched in horror as the Jaguar’s wheels caught the ridge where pavement met gravel. It freewheeled sideways. There was a thunderous crash. A mushroom cloud of sand and gravel littered the darkness, obliterating the car.

Where was her cell phone? She fumbled through her purse. When would she learn to keep it on? The phone had migrated to the bottom corner of her canvas bag. Her fingers grasped the oblong object, and she flipped it open. Molly pressed the ‘on’ button. Only three numbers, why was she having trouble finding them? Seconds crawled as she waited for the screen to illuminate.

She twisted in the seat. Like a theatre curtain drawn in reverse mode, gravel and dust sifted back to the ground. In horizontal slices, the car inched into view. The hood and driver’s side were crunched into the base of a large pine tree. Her thumbs finally managed the number.

911. What is your emergency?”

There’s been a car accident...on Highway 57...about 15 minutes north of Arva. There’s someone in the car...he swerved to miss a deer...the car slid into a tree. Get an ambulance!”

How many are injured?’

Still clutching the phone, Molly raced to the car and peered inside. “A driver. He doesn’t seem to be moving.”

Is there anyone else?”

Molly squinted through the tinted windows. “I don’t see a passenger.”

I’ve dispatched an ambulance. Keep your phone on in case they need directions.”

Molly snapped the phone shut and shoved it into her jeans pocket. She looked into the car again. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. The tinted glass obstructed her view, and she couldn’t detect any movement. She heard her heart, each slow, thudding beat. Was the man alive?

She jerked the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. The Jaguar’s gleaming hunter green front end was crumpled like a recycled pop can, and the driver’s door wedged into the frame. She wiped her sweat-coated palms on her jeans and tried again.

Nothing.

Would the passenger door be the same? Using the car to support her jellied knees, Molly stumbled to the other side. Was it her imagination, or was there a faint odor of gas?

She let out a sigh. This side was less damaged—barely dented, barely dimpled. She pulled on the handle. The door screeched open, and the interior lights flashed on. Molly leaned inside.

The driver hadn’t moved. His head, tipped forward, rested on the leather-wrapped steering wheel and the remnants of the deployed airbag lay beneath him like a white plastic morgue sheet. Wavy black hair curled over the nape of his pale, immobile neck. His craggy silhouette reminded her of an aristocrat’s granite profile.

Sir, sir are you okay?”

There was no response.

Molly’s hand trembled as she reached out to touch him. He was warm. Did he have a pulse? Her fingers traveled along the powerful arc of his neck. She pressed two fingers just below his jawbone and felt the blood pulsing through the carotid artery.

Thank God. He’s alive. The thudding in her chest faded as her heart rate returned to normal.

She counted his pulse. It was faster than it should be, but at least he had one. She placed her palm on his chest and waited. Her hand moved in and out with the expansion and deflation of his chest. He was breathing.

Sir, can you hear me?”

A sound coming from the back seat startled Molly and she gasped out loud and glanced over her shoulder. A child of about four was strapped in a car seat. On seeing Molly, the toddler began to cry.

It’s okay. I’m here to help you.” Molly tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Are you hurt?”

The child sobbed. “I want my daddy.”

Molly glanced at the man’s limp form. What do I tell her? Her dad had a pulse, but was he unconscious? She hoped her nose didn’t grow with the lie. “He’s sleeping right now. I’m going to get you out of the car, then I’m going to help your daddy.” The child’s eyes were bright as silver dollars. That was a good sign. There was no visible blood—another good sign.

My name is Molly. What’s yours?”

Another sob racked the tiny frame. “I’m Gracie. Gracie Melissa Taylor.”

Molly said another prayer. The child was alert and knew who she was. The bad sign was the smell of gas seemed to be getting stronger. Was there a chance the car could explode? Molly needed to get them out. She couldn’t wait for the ambulance.

Do you hurt anywhere?”

Gracie shook her head.

I’m a nurse. I want to check you. Is that okay?”

The child nodded, and Molly climbed part way into the back seat. “I’m going to feel your head, your arms, your legs. I want you to tell me if anything hurts.”

The child stared, her eyes serious and intent. There was no facial blood so Molly started at the child’s crown. “Keep very still.”

Gracie whimpered but remained quiet.

Molly ran her fingers through the child’s hair. She dreaded coming in contact with any warm, sticky fluid. She was relieved when her fingers remained dry. “You’re being very good, Gracie.”

A curved pillow behind the child’s neck had probably protected her in the impact. Right now, it was perfect for what Molly needed.

Can you stay very still?”

The child tipped her head.

I’ll be right back.”

Molly ran to her car, and popped the trunk. She was glad she’d decided to buy the super-size first–aid kit. What else could she use? A couple of gray flannel car blankets—they would be useful. She tucked them under her arm along with a couple of beach towels.

As she grabbed the towels, she uncovered a telescoping window scraper. She didn’t know why, but she took that, too. Draping the blanket and towels over the Jaguar’s open door, Molly placed the first-aid kit on the ground. She shoved two rolls of tape into her pocket.

I’m going to make you a special necklace, okay, Gracie?”

Molly wound tape around the small curved pillow, securing the ends under the child’s chin to form a cervical collar. Molly didn’t know if Gracie had a neck injury, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. She grinned at the child. “That’s a special necklace to remind you to stay still. Do you think you can remember to keep still?”

Gracie nodded.

Good girl. I’m going to check your arms and legs. You tell me if it hurts.”

Molly ran her fingers down both arms at the same time, feeling for any abnormalities and searching for any cuts or any bleeding. The legs were next. The child didn’t even wince. Molly let out another sigh. No broken bones. No apparent injuries. Great.

Now I’m going to tickle your tummy.” Molly placed her hand on the child’s abdomen and gently ran her fingers across it. It was soft and non-tender. Good. The child didn’t seem to have any abdominal injuries. With the damage done to the car, this was one lucky little girl.

She had to get her out of there. It would be safer to keep her supported in the car seat than risk moving her. “Gracie, I’m going to put you in my car, then I’m going to help your daddy.”

I want my daddy!”

Molly’s hands shook as they scrambled for the clasp holding the car seat. Then the cold metal was in her hands. With a loud click, the belt snapped free. Her arms encircling the car seat, Molly backed her way out of the Jaguar.

Daddy, Daddy.” Gracie’s plump arm reached out toward her father.

Molly kept her voice low and reassuring. “I’m going to get your daddy as soon as I put you in my car.”

By the time she’d settled Gracie in the back seat of her Elantra, her arms ached from the weight of seat and child. She swathed her with a fleece blanket, then gave her a bright smile. “You wait here while I get your daddy out of the car.”

Get Daddy. I want my daddy.”

Molly rolled the back window down. “You call me if you need me. Gracie, what’s your ’daddy’s name?”

Daddy.”

Molly chuckled. “Yes, but what do other people call your daddy?”

Pearce. Pearce Taylor.” Gracie’s blue eyes were large and luminous and trusting. “Get Daddy, now.”

I’m getting him.”

Molly ran back to the Jaguar. The man remained slumped over the steering wheel. It had only taken her a few minutes to assess and move the child, but had it been too many for him? Molly prayed he was still alive. She held her breath as she stretched out a hand to touch his neck.

He was warm. She checked for a pulse. Still there. Was it faster? She wasn’t sure. She squeezed his shoulder. “Mr. Taylor.” There was no response. Why was he unconscious? What were his injuries? There could be so many reasons. Did he have a spinal injury, a head injury? Molly’s heart pounded. How long before the ambulance arrived?

The wind whistled through the evergreens, carrying the soft scent of pine in through the open car door. But something overpowered that scent—the smell of gas. Molly looked at the ground beside the car. A dark stain grew as she watched. Her heart jumped to her throat. A gas leak. Could she wait for the paramedics? The expanding discoloration in the gravel prompted her decision.

Mr. Taylor, I need to get you out of the car.”

Still no response. Not that she’d expected one, but it felt better talking to him. Could he hear her?

Breathing in, she inhaled a mouthful of fumes. What if it caught on fire? What if it exploded? She shuddered at the thought. Reaching for one of the towels she’d left on the doorframe, she rolled it into a long tube and slid one end behind his head. Grasping the ends, she secured them under his chin with the tape. ‘That would protect his neck if he had a spinal injury.

Running her hands over the back of his head, Molly was surprised at how soft and silky the strands of dark hair were. She found a swelling on the left side just behind his ear. Her hand came away coated with warm, sticky fluid. A laceration and a hematoma. Was that why he wasn’t rousing?

Molly hunched on the seat beside him and unsnapped the seatbelt. Securing her hands on both sides of his head, she eased him into the valley between her breasts, then used her chin to anchor his forehead against her. His hair was like a black velvet mantle draping the exposed skin of her neck. The bouquet of pine drifting through the window and his musky, sandalwood shampoo was an enticing mix—a welcome change from the pungent gas fumes.

Girl, this is no time to be thinking about the man’s scent, no matter how agreeable it is. Molly gave her meandering mind a smack, then refocused. How am I going to move him? He must be six two, or three, all muscle and sinew.

Mr. Taylor, wake up. I’ve got to get you out of the car.”

Had she imagined a low groan?

Aligning her arms with his, she grasped handfuls of solid thigh muscle and let the dead weight of his body ease onto hers. A hair’s breadth at a time, she snaked backward. Molly took care to maintain his head in the middle of her chest, then to maintain the critical neutral position and to maintain his fragile hold on life.

It seemed to take forever to maneuver him along the supple leather. Perspiration glued her T-shirt to her back. She tugged again. She was almost to the edge of the seat.

An unexpected groan ricocheted through the confined space. Startled, Molly lurched backward into the seat. Her heart soared up her throat, blocking the intake of air. The pause before it beat again was long, too long. She gasped for breath and waited as her heart sank back in place.

Was he rousing? “Mr. Taylor, can you hear me?”

It was a good sign if he could react to pain. Molly stared at his pallid face. He lay as still and silent as a stonewashed sculpture. “Mr. Taylor.” Her breath expelled in an audible wheeze. “Pearce, open your eyes.”

There was no answer. No response at all. Her nails dug into flesh, and she backed up again. As her knees slid over the edge of the bucket seat, another groan parted his lips.

It’s okay, Mr. Taylor, the ambulance is coming.” Molly’s adrenaline was pumping. She had him out from behind the steering wheel. “We’re almost there.”

She yanked at an edge of the blanket and shoved its length under his torso. Now, to get him out of the car without causing him further injury. Molly gathered an edge of blanket in each hand and hauled. He moaned several times, yet she persisted. When his legs slid up over the seat edge, Molly saw the reason for his discomfort. His left ankle was twisted at a forty-five degree angle.

Where’s the ambulance? This man needs help. I need help.

She looked up and down the deserted highway. The night remained silent save for the occasional whine of the wind through the tree branches.

Bracing herself against the pain she knew she would cause, Molly pulled again. His body slid over the leather seats. She tried to control the migration as his body twisted away from the pain. She tried to block out the sharp cry of pain when his feet made contact with the ground. Closing her eyes, Molly waited until the moans ceased and he was still again.

I need to get you away from the car. I’m so sorry, Pearce. I don’t mean to hurt you.” His name slid off her lips without a second thought.

The blanket formed a hammock, and she used it to drag him a safe distance from the Jaguar. His feet extended four inches beyond the border of blanket and the heels of his polished leather shoes left a twin snake’s trail in the gravel.

He lay on his back, his head and neck safely aligned. He was breathing, and his pulse, though rapid, was regular. Molly did a visual exam. Other than the odd angle of his left leg, and the bump and cut on the back of his head, she saw no other injury. She ran her hands over his upper limbs. They seemed intact.

I need to check your chest,” Molly informed him. He remained silent.

Unbuttoning his cotton shirt, Molly surveyed the broad chest. She wished she had a stethoscope to listen to his heart, to hear the whoosh of air into his lungs. Relying on the moonlight to see the rise and fall of his ribcage was like using fireflies to follow a forest trail at midnight.

Molly laid her palm on the dark thatch of chest hair. The movement of his ribcage, though shallow, was even. Her sudden urge to run her fingers through the soft hairs and trace the line of his abdomen had nothing to do with checking for injuries. Shocked at her response, Molly concentrated on determining his injuries. She slid her hand across his abdomen. It was taut, rigid, not totally due to his six-pack abs. Pearce moaned at her touch. Abdominal trauma? How bad? His spleen? His liver?

Where does it hurt?”

He moaned and tried to move, then went still again.

Molly surveyed his left leg. There was no question it was broken. She skimmed her hands over the right leg. There was no blood, no obvious deformity, no moan of pain, hopefully, no injury.

The wind had picked up, and Molly listened to it howl through the forest. She concentrated, but there still was no wail of a siren. The break needed to be stabilized. What could she use? She ran through the contents of her car. The ice-scraper. She could use that.

Molly ran back to the Jaguar and collected the first-aid kit and the telescoping ice-scraper. Another idea came to her as she raced to her car. She glanced in the back. The child seemed to be sleeping.

Was she okay? Did she have concealed injuries? Was she unconscious?

A hard lump formed in her throat as Molly leaned into the car and reached out to touch her. The child’s skin felt warm, and by the car’s interior light, she could see her color remained pink. Sighing with relief, Molly picked up a plump arm and palpated her wrist for a pulse. She tapped her foot with the reassuring rhythmic romp of Gracie’s heart. The child let out a soft sigh, shifted, then stayed sheltered in the deep sleep of innocence. Molly eased the door shut.

She grabbed an umbrella from the trunk’s wheel well and hurried back to Pearce. With the umbrella on one side of his broken leg and the metal ice-scraper on the other, Molly used strips of rag and towel to form a crude splint. Pearce groaned, and Molly saw the momentary wince of pain cross his face as she secured the splint around his leg.

It will settle soon,” she whispered.

She hovered over him, waiting for him to react again, or rouse, or become uncooperative. He did none of those things. As much to reassure herself as him, she whispered in his ear, “Don’t move. You were in a car accident. You need to stay still. The ambulance is coming.” She placed a second blanket over him.

Blood trickled down the left side of his head, matting his hair like crimson styling gel. The swelling had increased. Molly placed gauze over the laceration and secured it with a cloth encircling his head. The wrap, angled across his forehead and part of his left eye, made him look like a dashing pirate.

She examined the aristocratic face. The bones were all angles and harsh edges, conveying character—definitely a face to generate a second look. The salt and pepper sideburns might put him in his late thirties, early forties, but the deep sleep of unconsciousness freed him of life’s stresses and he looked much younger. His black eyelashes looked long and thick.

Molly startled. Was it her imagination, or had his eyes fluttered? The lids flew open and Molly found herself staring into eyes as bright a blue as his daughter’s. They held her like a magnet.

Mr. Taylor. You’re okay. An ambulance is coming. My name is Molly. I’m a nurse.”

His brow furrowed as if it were an effort to think. “Gracie...?”

His voice was barely audible, and Molly had to lean so close, the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek. “Gracie...”

Gracie is fine, Mr. Taylor. She’s in my car.”

She’s okay?”

Yes, she’s okay.”

His eyes closed and face softened. Seconds later his eyes popped open. His jaw clenched and his pale cheek twitched. “Please, don’t let them take her.”

Let who take her?”

Social Services.”

Now you’re going to be fine. Gracie will be fine.” She said the words in her practiced patient tone, but her heart had sunk like a lead weight when she’d heard the words Social Services, foster care. Memories flooded back. She tried to push them away.

No.” Pearce was attempting to rise. Pain ravaged his face. “No. She can’t go into care. Promise me.” His hand shot out and his fingers clawed into her arm. “Please, please look after her.”

What about her mother?”

Doesn’t have one. Please, look after her.”

I can’t.”

Please...just until...”

She felt the nails digging into her arms.

Mr. Taylor, they wouldn’t let me. There must be someone?”

No.” His head shook slowly. “She won’t. She can’t...”

Who won’t?” Molly felt like she was yelling. “Pearce, who can look after her?”

His eyes bore into hers. “No one. She can’t go in care again.”

Was he delusional? Had his child been in foster care? Why? This man had money enough to have an expensive sports car and clothes that hadn’t come off some department store rack.

Promise me you won’t let that happen?”

I can’t.”

His nails punctured the soft flesh of her forearm. “Please.”

How?”

His eyes closed briefly. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. His grasp on her arm loosened. Molly went to move away, but before she could, he grabbed her again. His eyes burned with an intense fierceness. Heat radiated through her chest, and Molly felt like she’d been shot with a blazing dart. “Pretend to be her mother.” His grip tightened. “Pretend to be my wife.”

That’s crazy.”

They’ll take her...”

All the air in her body drained out, and she sagged like a deflated balloon. Yes, she did know what would happen to her, only too well. Memories flooded back—stark dorm-like bedrooms, bleak birthdays and holidays, and worst of all, the dispassionate caregivers. Molly fought the overwhelming sadness that accompanied the memories.

Please. I’ll never see her again.”

Molly thought of the beautiful, innocent child asleep in her car. A lump formed in her throat and tears pricked her eyes. How could she look after her? No, she couldn’t.

Take...care...of her...” Then, as if the effort was too much, his body slumped into the blanket and he seemed to have fallen into a coma.

Mr. Taylor? Mr. Taylor...Pearce.” Molly squeezed his shoulder. She called again, but Pearce Taylor made no further response. After a few minutes, Molly wondered if she’d dreamed the whole eye-opening episode.

She sat beside him, watching and waiting. For now, he was breathing on his own and his heartbeat was regular. He needed fluids and he needed oxygen, but there was no more Molly could do. So she sat beside him, talking softly, holding his hand, and stroking the strands of wavy black hair that draped his pale forehead like a Cocker Spaniel’s. Her hands trembled with post adrenaline rush, and the activity felt good. As her shoulders relaxed and her heartbeat no longer hammered in her head, she felt the tension ease out of her body. At least he was alive.

Molly prayed Pearce would survive until the ambulance arrived. What were his injuries? The gash on the left side of his head would require stitches. She felt the lump. It had increased. The acorn-sized swelling now felt like an overripe kiwi. Her stomach twisted in knots. If it was swelling this much on the outside, how much swelling was on the inside, pressing on his brain?

Molly was sure he’d sustained a significant head injury. His chances were good, but only if he got to a hospital in time to have it drained. The fractured leg might be the least of his problems. But what was going on with his abdomen? A lacerated spleen or kidney? Also a good prognosis, if treated in time.

Time. The biggest factor.

The head injury might account for his ramblings about Gracie and foster care. She would follow the ambulance to the hospital, get Gracie checked over, and then find someone to take over her care. She studied his face. He looked so peaceful, his eyelids almost transparent, mouth soft, turned up at the corners.

But he was so still, too still. His skin was cool to her touch. She tucked the blanket around his shoulders, then slid her fingers along his neck to a point below his jaw. His pulse bounded through the artery. She counted. Ninety-six. It was accelerated, but at least there were no irregular beats. So far his heart seemed to be tolerating the injury he’d sustained.

She stroked the salt and pepper sideburns, hoping he would be all right for his daughter’s sake. She’d grown up without a father, without parents at all, and she’d never wish that on anyone. Her thoughts were disturbed by the wail of a siren in the distance. It began as a whisper, but within seconds it blared through the night air. She saw the strobe lights flashing intermittently through the dense wall of trees. Each second its brightness increased, along with the penetrating cry of the siren. Would it wake Gracie?

The window was open. If the child roused, Molly would hear her. Hopefully she would stay sleeping until the paramedics took over and transported her father to the hospital. She would follow and have them examine Gracie. The child seemed fine, but Molly needed a doctor to check her. The ambulance screeched to a stop, the side doors flew open, and two paramedics jumped out. They were beside her in seconds. “What happened?”

Without waiting for her answer, they were pulling equipment out of a large navy duffel bag. They slid an oxygen mask on Pearce’s face and a blood pressure cuff on his arm. One attendant wrenched open Pearce’s shirt, the other stuck electrodes on his chest with wires extending to a portable cardiac monitor. Waves of electrical impulses traced across the portable screen. The cuff filled with air, then deflated. The digital readout showed 95/60.

His name is Pearce Taylor. He swerved to miss a deer. His tires caught the edge of the road, and the car crashed into the tree.”

You got him out?” the gangly twenty-something paramedic asked. His tone was terse, full of youthful arrogance and disdain.

Molly instantly felt defensive. “There’s a gas leak. I thought the car might explode. I stabilized his neck and used the blanket like a hammock to slide him out.”

An oximeter clip was placed on Pearce’s thumb. Instantly a number flashed on the screen. 91. It was too low.

Is the oxygen as high as it can go?” Molly asked before answering his question.

It’s on full.” This came from the second, more seasoned, paramedic. “Do you have medical training?”

I’m an intensive care nurse. I’m sure he has a head injury.” She pointed to the bandage on his head. “And some internal injuries. His abdomen is rigid. He roused for a few seconds and was talking, then lapsed back into unconsciousness.”

They performed a rapid assessment as they talked. “I’m Mark, and he’s Gary.” The older paramedic jerked his head toward the younger one. “Looks like you’ve done a good job.” Mark indicated the makeshift splint on Pearce’s left leg.

Let’s put a cervical collar on him. I think we should leave the fine leg splint.” He grinned at Molly. “Looks secure. Might damage the leg more to change it. It will be even better when we put him on the fracture board.”

Gary brought a long narrow board from the ambulance and laid it on the ground beside Pearce. Mark was starting an intravenous when Pearce groaned and tried to pull away.

Molly leaned close and took his hand. “It’s okay, Pearce. The paramedics are starting an intravenous to give you fluid. They’re going to take you to the hospital.”

Gracie...”

She’s fine.”

He grasped her arm and pulled her close, his voice low and urgent. “Promise me, Molly.”

Just until you’re better. Just until then.” Or just until as I find your next-of-kin, only until then. His face smoothed and his smile of gratitude touched a place in her heart. She shook her head. What had she just promised?

Mr. Taylor,” Mark said, “we’re going to put a different collar around your neck and put you on a board. Then we’ll get you to the hospital. Do you understand?”

Pearce tried to nod, but the makeshift collar restricted him.

Mark turned to Molly. “Can you stabilize his head while we change the collar?”

Molly placed her hands on either side of his head and assisted Mark in replacing her makeshift one with the molded plastic. As a well-oiled team, the three log-rolled Pearce onto the backboard, then lifted him onto the waiting gurney.

Pearce imprisoned her gaze. “Look after Gracie.”

Your wife will follow us, sir.” Gary turned to Molly. “Right?”

Molly nodded. “Gracie! His daughter. She was in the back seat. I checked her. I think she’s fine. But she needs to be seen.”

Where is she?” Mark asked.

In my car. I kept her in her car seat. She’s alert and orientated. No apparent injuries, and no blood anywhere. Can you check her?”

Mark followed her to her car and did a quick assessment of the child. “She looks okay. Follow us and have her seen at the hospital.”

Then the paramedics were running, sliding the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Mark jumped in with Pearce, then the vehicle tore off down the highway. Molly watched as red strobe circles cut through the night sky.

What have I gotten myself into?