With the subtle whir and beep of monitors in the background, she remembered that terrifying soar into the water again, her pain and overwhelming fear for the children, then Riley’s quiet voice, offering strength and comfort.
She wasn’t imagining. Somehow during the night, full recollection had returned. Riley had been there, out in that cold water with them. He had saved them. She considered it nothing short of a miracle that he’d seen them at all. That stretch of canyon could be sparsely populated at night. If they had gone off the road when no other cars had been in sight, they might have frozen out in that lake before someone else sighted them there below the roadway, trapped and helpless as the car filled with icy water.
She certainly wouldn’t have had the strength to extract the children on her own, not with her injuries. If not for Riley, she didn’t want to think what might have happened to them.
Riley. The most unexpected rescuer she could imagine. Teasing, tormenting, hell-raising Riley. Somehow he had been there right when she needed him and had risked his own safety to make sure she and the children were okay.
She hoped he hadn’t suffered any ill effects from being out in the water so long. She should call Alex. Alex would know. Probably once the doctors allowed visitors today, one of the McKnights—Alex, Angie, Maura or even Mary Ella—would stop by to check on her.
When she heard a quiet rap on her closed door a moment later, she called out “Come in,” expecting a nurse to bustle in with more antibiotics or a breakfast tray or something.
Instead, a tall, dark-haired figure appeared in the doorway as if she had conjured him with her thoughts. He wore a dress shirt and tie and a pair of slacks and had obviously dropped in on his way to the police station.
“Riley. Hi!”
In an instant, she was aware of how terrible she must look. Her hair was probably matted and tangled, she was wearing an oh-so-attractive hospital gown and she hadn’t seen the inside of her makeup bag in thirty-six hours. She was mortified for just a moment, then gave herself a mental eye roll. She was alive. That was the important thing. She couldn’t do anything about the rest of it anyway.
She must be feeling better if she could worry about her vanity, she thought, as Riley moved into the small hospital room, taking up more space than he should given the laws of physics and particle displacement.
“Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
She worked the button on the bed that raised her head to more of a sitting position. “I’ve been up for a while. I was just thinking about you, actually.”
Surprise flickered in the green of his eyes. “Oh?”
“I was hoping you didn’t suffer any hypothermia or anything from the accident. You were in that water with us a long time.”
“Nothing some hot coffee and a couple of blankets didn’t take care of. I’m fine.”
He didn’t smile when he spoke and she again had that strange, instinctive sense that something was terribly wrong. Like her mother, he looked haggard and tired. A few more lines fanned from his eyes, a new tightness around his mouth.
“What about you?” he asked. “You’re looking good.”
She made a face. “And you used to be such a good liar.”
Now he did smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he pulled a chair over closer to her bedside.
“So what does the doc say? What are the damages?”
She thought of her conversation with Jeff and then later in the evening with Dr. Murray, who had indeed been kindly and avuncular. “My arm is broken in two places and my left ankle now has more hardware than the robot Owen built for his science fair project last fall. The right ankle is sprained. The head is okay. Mild concussion and only four stitches. Dr. Murray tells me to expect to feel like I was hit by a truck for at least a month.”
His mouth tightened even more. “I’m sorry, Claire. So damn sorry.”
The words seemed to vibrate through the room, much more intense than just casual sympathy for an injured acquaintance. She frowned and studied him more closely.
Through those signs of exhaustion, she saw something else. Something that looked oddly like guilt. “Why do you say it like that?”
He was silent for a moment. “Do you know what caused your accident?”
“Yes. I remember that much. Some joker coming down the canyon took a curve too fast for conditions and veered into my lane. I swerved away to avoid him and went off the road.”
“Right. That joker was a suspect trying to get away from me.”
She blinked, aware of the machines beeping and the low buzz of activity outside, probably doctors beginning their rounds.
“A suspect? In what?”
He sighed. “Burglary. Multiple burglaries.”