“Going on eight o’clock.”
He said, still not opening his eyes, “Loosen the tie around my leg.”
She did. “Good, the bleeding’s stopped.”
His head listed to the side, then he straightened. “All right, let me take a look at your car. Maybe it’s something easy I can fix.”
Probably not, Rachael thought. Nothing was easy in her life. FIVE
As Jack straightened, he grazed his head on the raised hood and thought he’d pass out. He grabbed the dirty fender, closed his eyes tight, and let the world spin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being laid flat again; it might save his head from exploding. He felt her arms come around his chest to prop him up. She said, “Hold still for a moment. That’s right, I’ve got you.”
When he finally got himself together and pulled away, she said, “Are you okay?”
“Better days,” he said, “like yesterday. Thanks.”
She grinned up at him, and wanted to say, Me too. “Can you tell what’s wrong with my car? Can you fix it?”
“Any chance you’re out of gas?”
“Nope. I filled up in Hamilton.”
“Okay, the hoses look okay. Crank the car.”
She turned the ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again, still nothing.
“Okay, there’s no fuel coming out of the fuel line. Your fuel pump’s busted. It’s got to be replaced. I wish I could jury-rig it, but I can’t. That sign says we’re in a town called Parlow. Is it big enough to have a decent mechanic?”
She nodded. “Yeah, population’s maybe three thousand. It’s only a mile up the road. Is a fuel pump major?”
“Nah, and it’s not too expensive.”
“I was starting to walk to Parlow when I heard your plane coughing and sputtering. You said it was a bomb. I don’t understand.”
Now didn’t he have a big mouth? “I was probably wrong. It’s over, don’t worry about it.” He tried his cell again, knowing there wasn’t magically going to be a signal when there hadn’t been one the last dozen times he’d tried.
Sure enough, no signal.
She said, “Right, I won’t worry my pretty little head about it. You moron.”
He somehow managed a grin over the grinding pain in his head. “No one’s called me a moron since I forgot the condoms and Louise Draper walked out on me.”
“Well, there you go,” she said. “Forget the cell phone. It’s the mountains, and too few towers out here, like I said.”
“Okay, then, Parlow, Kentucky, here we come.” He looked once again at Timothy, still unconscious on the backseat, his face ghostly pale. But Timothy was alive, thank God, and Jack just had to keep him that way. At present, that was a pretty big joke—he was nearly ready to fall facedown onto the blacktop.
This was all she needed, Rachael thought, but what else could she do? She couldn’t leave this man here to fend for himself. Okay, so she’d arrive at Slipper Hollow later rather than sooner, no problem. Since Uncle Gillette didn’t know she was coming, he wouldn’t worry. She said, “I don’t think there’s anything more either of us can do except make it to Parlow and get some help.”
“Have you been here before?”
For the barest instant, her face froze before she said, “No, I haven’t.”
He studied her through a haze of pain, watching her hair curtain her face as she looked down, that braid cupping her cheek, then slowly nodded. “It’s okay, I haven’t, either.” He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen the shock of panic in her eyes, heard the lie, and wasn’t that strange? Who cared if she’d been in a little town in Kentucky? He ran his fingers through his dark hair, making it stand on end. “Parlow’s bound to have medical facilities, an ambulance.”
“Seems likely,” she said, and the way she said it—too studied— another lie.
Parlow would have a police chief or a sheriff, Jack thought. He really didn’t want to involve local law enforcement, but given his and Timothy’s current condition, he doubted he’d have a choice.
Walking beside the two-lane road was slow going. Jack was a big man and she had to take a lot of his weight to keep him upright and moving. After twenty steps, Rachael, now panting, said, “Stop a moment.” She leaned him against an oak tree beside the road. “This rest stop is as much for me as it is for you. Okay, okay, we don’t have much farther to go, we can do it.”
“Sorry, I forgot, what’s your name again?”
“Rachael—ah, well, last names aren’t really important, are they?”
His cop antennae flashed red again even though the Devil was pounding nails into his head. At least his leg was hurting a bit less so his brain could function a bit more. He wanted to ask her who she was and what she was afraid of, but he said, “I guess that would depend on why you don’t want to tell me. Do you think I’m going to hit on you and you don’t want me to follow you home?”
Hit on her? Her? “I guess your head injury is making you blind.”
“Oh no, a man is never blind when it comes to a woman. Well, unless he’s dead.”
She laughed, shook her head at him, pushed her hair behind her ear. The braid fell forward to dangle alongside her cheek again. He’d have told her it was sexy, if he’d had the strength. She said, “I saved your bacon—drop it. Well, to be honest here, you saved your own bacon, but then you dropped it and I picked it up. I figure you owe me.”
“Yes, ma’am, I surely do. I wonder if Parlow has a hospital.”
“Oh no—well, who knows? There’s probably a community hospital not far from here. We’ll see, won’t we?”
Got you on that one, kiddo.
“Ihope you’re not dangerous,” she said, looking straight ahead, her shoulders and back hurting now from supporting so much of his weight. She looked up to see an amused look on his face. “If you weren’t leaning on me, like a drunk, you would look dangerous with your face all black like a night-ops soldier.”
“Nah,” he said, swallowing down bile and wishing he could simply fall over into those nice soft-looking bushes on the side of the road. No, he had to get help for Timothy, but the dragging pain was pulling him under. Concussion, he knew, remembering too well getting his brains knocked stupid in a college football game. Not pleasant, but he’d get through it.
She said, “Hey, I see a house. We’re nearly there, Jack. Hold on. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me your last name?”
“Nope. Can you help me another fifty yards?”
She was panting hard. “Sure, I was on the high school wrestling team.”
He laughed, the pain in his head flashed hard and hot, and he thought he’d bite the big one right there.
They finally reached the small white house she recognized very well. Two goats eyed them with little interest as they shuffled up the weed-choked drive She remembered dogs, mongrels, a good half dozen, lazing in the sun. Jack said, “Thank the good Lord, I see phone lines.”
Rachael wanted to tell him not to hold his breath, that in her childhood Mr. Gurt had been known for not paying his bills until his creditors camped on his doorstep.
There’s no way Mr. Gurt will recognize me and blurt out my name, none at all. Trouble is, dammit, I’ve never been a good liar, and from Jack’s reaction, I must really suck at it. I’ve got myself back on track, I’ve got to try to sound honest and straightforward, I’ve got to think before I simply bleat out everything. I can do this, I’ve got to, no choice. If it gets back to them somehow that I’m alive, that I’ve been seen, they’ll come after me again.
Rachael didn’t think there was much likelihood of this happening, but they had such power, so many resources, she was afraid to take the chance. No, she would remain dead until she was ready to take them on. Well, first she had to make sure it was Quincy and Laurel, then she’d get them. As for right now, she was safe. You couldn’t get safer than dead. Showtime.