She fought an urge to be sick.
Pull yourself together. He could still be alive. Help him!
She silently begged him to live.
She opened his soft leather jacket, unbuttoned the shirt beneath it, felt again for his heartbeat. There was none. She pressed her ear against his chest, heard nothing, and shouted his name again. No whisper of breath left him. She quickly looked for any sign of bleeding, found none. Not necessarily good, she knew-dead men didn’t bleed. She tilted his head back and began CPR.
With each exhalation of her warm breath into his mouth, with every compression of his chest, she silently exhorted him to live.
No answering breath or heartbeat returned.
He’s dead. He’s dead.
But if you’re wrong?
She did not stop. She began to lose all sense of time and her surroundings, the world distilled down to pressing her hands together just so, just here, counting to thirty, softly pinching his nose, covering his mouth, exhaling, watching his chest rise with the air she sent to his lungs. She was growing weary, and she felt tears of frustration and helplessness spilling down her cheeks, salting her lips and Tyler’s cold face. She ordered herself to stop crying, telling herself she would not be able to breathe if her nose was stopped up with tears.
She kept working, ignoring how tired her arms felt now.
She was exhaling when she felt something very cold touch her neck. She froze. She could hear panting.
She turned slowly, and screamed.
11
The biggest, blackest dog she had ever seen stood inches from her face. Its eyes seemed to glow, its fangs glistened. Its ears were pitched forward, and it was staring at her.
She swallowed hard and held up a commanding-if shaking-hand. “No!”
It came out much weaker than she liked.
The dog ignored her, moving around her to the opposite side of Tyler. It began to lean its face toward his. It made a sound like a sigh.
“Stay away from him!” she shouted.
The dog’s head lifted, then cocked to one side.
She heard a low moan.
Startled, she looked down at Tyler’s face. He was still very pale, but something had changed-his skin was no longer the ashen color it had been. She leaned closer. He was breathing.
“Tyler!”
He moaned again.
This time, she let the tears fall.
She watched him carefully as she rested a moment, catching her breath, regaining her composure. The dog made her uneasy, but it had moved a little farther away from them now. Its nose was lifted, as if scenting something down the dirt road.
As she noticed this, it occurred to her again that they might not have seen the last of the men from the pickup truck.
“Tyler!”
He half-opened his eyes, then closed them again.
“Tyler, we have to get out of here. Those men might come back. Do you know who they were?”
She doubted that he had heard or understood her. But at least his eyes opened again. He stared at her a moment, frowning. He looked around him. When he saw the dog, he made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Can you move?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, but he rolled to his side. She stood, and felt the needles of returning circulation in her feet. She didn’t know how long she had been kneeling beside him. She picked up the flashlight and turned it off. The moon had risen, a nearly full moon, bright enough to see nearby objects. She pocketed the flashlight and her cell phone. Well, big pockets were good for something, weren’t they?
She watched him carefully as she stood beside him. After what seemed like a long time, Tyler raised a hand.
“Yes?” she asked.
He made another sound that was not quite a laugh. “Hell and the devil-I’m not in a schoolroom, am I? Help me to stand up…please.”
Embarrassed, she took hold of his hand, but his grasp was weak, and she didn’t think she had enough strength to help him up. The dog came back to them, circled them, and barked. It scared some last reserve of adrenaline into her, and she pulled Tyler to his feet. Tyler swayed and grabbed hold of her in a clumsy embrace.
“Wait,” he said, leaning heavily on her.
She did her best to keep her balance. The dog kept circling them, its tail wagging now.
Tyler was taking in odd, shallow breaths, as if breathing was painful.
“Are your ribs broken?” she asked.
He shook his head, a no.
“How can you be sure?”
“We have to get out of here,” he said, ignoring her question, but he spoke in the manner of a person who is short of breath, or who dares not take a deep breath.
“Will they be coming back?”
“Undoubtedly. Your car-?”
“Wrecked-not drivable, I’m afraid.”
For another long minute he simply stood there, his arm across her shoulders. “Too heavy?” he asked, starting to straighten. “Should have asked-were you injured?”
“No, no-just relax. I’m fine. I only wonder-maybe you should lie down just a little longer?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“You might have a concussion,” she said. “You were kicked in the head.”
“Hmm…” He reached up and touched his lips, which she could see were swollen.
“CPR,” she said.
He looked at her own swollen lips. “Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, and looked away.
“Let’s walk to my place.”
“You do have a concussion. We can’t walk to Los Angeles.”
“No-my home here. It’s not far.” He paused, caught his breath. “On the other side of the cemetery.”
“Cemetery!”
She looked in the direction he pointed-she now saw that the dilapidated picket fence surrounded a few weatherworn gravestones. Near a cluster of trees, she could just make out the edge of a low building.
“My van is there,” he said. “Do you think you could drive it?”
“Is it an automatic?”
“Yes.” He didn’t smile as he said it, but she thought she detected amusement.
“Oh. Then yes, I can drive it.”
“Do you need to get…any belongings from your car?”
“My purse is in it,” she said. “That’s all I need from it now.”
“I’ll wait here. Get your purse…and anything that has your address…or name on it…set out flares if you have them.”
“Maybe it would be smarter to call the police from your place. And ask them to send an ambulance and a tow truck or two.”
“Don’t have a phone here.” At her look of surprise, he added, “It’s something of a retreat…No computers, no phone, very low tech.”
Since this speech seemed to exhaust him, she told him not to say anything more, contradicted this immediately by telling him to call out to her if he needed her, and saying that she’d hurry back, hurried off.
“So she believes she’s saved my life,” Tyler said to Shade.
Shade regarded him steadily.
“No, of course I won’t behave as if I’m ungrateful.” He drew a painful breath. His ribs hurt like hell. “It’s going to cause complications, though.”
Shade turned his back, staring off toward the intersection, where Amanda was lighting flares.
“Go ahead and ignore me.”
The dog seemed to take full advantage of this permission.
Amanda came running back toward them, the purse banging at her side. She dropped something-the car registration? She stooped to pick it up, nearly fell over, but clambered back up and kept coming. He wondered if he had ever seen a more ungainly young woman in his life. And yet, he decided, there was some sort of grace there, wasn’t there? A kind of sweet, unconscious freedom in her movements. As he kept watching, he remembered that Ron had once said she was only clumsy when she was nervous or upset. Why wouldn’t she be upset, given what she must have experienced tonight? And, of course, he made her nervous. The thought made him frown.