He’d waited stiffly, afraid his pursuers may have overcome the driver and were now in charge of the vehicle, but then he’d heard the woman call the dog to her. Her voice had been a little tense when she spoke, but not the terror stricken type of tense he was sure he would have heard had she found herself in the hands of the captors he’d just escaped. It seemed he’d eluded his pursuers, he’d reassured himself solemnly. Although there was no guarantee they weren’t following them even now, waiting for the opportunity to steal him back. He needed to heal and get his strength back so that he could ensure he didn’t land in their hands again before he could call Mortimer or Lucian and tell them what was happening. To do that, he needed blood.
His gaze focused on the blanket hanging half off the bed and he almost sighed. He didn’t have the strength to pull himself onto the bed, let alone drag himself over it and open the door so that he could see his driver, slip into her thoughts, and make her come to him. It seemed he’d have to wait for her to come to him on her own. He just hoped she didn’t wait too long to do so. The woman may not realize it, but she was in danger. Even if his pursuers hadn’t shown themselves to her, they must have seen the RV. He had no doubt they would come searching for them. The good news was the men would have to make their way back to the house where they’d been keeping him and Tomasso to fetch their vehicle. It would buy a little time at least, but not much, he feared. If the woman didn’t come to him immediately on stopping, they could both be in trouble.
“Damn,” Mary growled as she stared at the broken face of her cell phone. It must have bounced off something as it had tumbled from its holder. Or perhaps she’d stepped on it in her rush to get out or into her seat. Whatever the case, the glass front was shattered and the phone was dead . . . so much for calling the police.
Frowning, Mary set the phone back in its holder and then picked up the pen attached to the tiny memo clipboard she’d affixed on the dashboard, and quickly wrote down the cross street and the miles from it to the accident site. Setting the pen back, she then glanced toward the road, looking both ways before taking her foot off the brake and starting forward again. She’d have to stop at the first store or gas station she came across and use the phone there to call the police with her directions. It meant delaying her arrival at the campgrounds even further, but it had to be done. Her conscience would never rest if she didn’t.
The good news was Mary didn’t think she would have to go far to find a phone. As she recalled from her perusal of the map that morning, there was at least one truck stop coming up where the 87 met the 10, and this road should take her to the 87 soon, from what she could tell by the quick glance she took at the Garmin GPS. She would have to get gas while she was at the truck stop too, Mary thought, noting where the needle was on the gas gauge.
A whine from Bailey reached her ears, and Mary glanced around but still couldn’t make out the dog. A niggling worry that perhaps the shepherd had been injured after all by something falling when she’d accelerated made Mary frown and she coaxed, “Come on up here, sweetie. I know you’re tired and we’ll be there soon, but come sit with Mama now so I know you’re okay.”
When that didn’t elicit any reaction, Mary eased her foot off the gas and risked leaning quickly to the side to grab the flashlight off the passenger seat. It was quite a stretch and was probably incredibly stupid, but she managed to snag the flashlight and not swerve all over the road while she did it.
Switching the flashlight on, she shone it toward the back of the RV and risked a quick glance over her shoulder, relieved when she spotted Bailey simply lying in front of the bedroom door. She looked fine in the quick glimpse Mary got. Deciding the dog was just tired and complaining of the long journey, she switched off the flashlight and laid it on the huge dashboard.
Bailey liked a certain bedtime and, when tired, would let it be known. Usually she did so by pawing at your arm and giving you the “sad eyes,” as Joe had always called her expression when she did that. Fortunately, the dog knew better than to paw at her while she was driving so was apparently making her complaint more vocal. At least, Mary hoped that was the case. But she intended on giving the dog a good look-over when she reached the truck stop anyway, just to be sure a falling object hadn’t injured her.
Her mind taken up with this worry as well as what she would say when she called the police, Mary was a little startled when the Garmin announced the approaching turn onto 87. It gave enough warning that she was able to slow down and make the turn without sending anything else clattering to the floor from the cupboards and drawers. Relieved by this, she squinted into the distance, looking for the truck stop despite knowing it was past the I-10 and surely out of sight for now.