Page 72 of Riptide
He crossed to Cara, reached out, and gently tilted her chin to examine the cut on her forehead. It was shallow but still bleeding, mixed with dirt and gravel.
"You need to get this looked at," he said.
"I'm fine. It's just a scrape."
"It needs cleaning. Probably a tetanus shot." He held her gaze, willing her to understand what he wasn't saying. "You should go. Both of you. Now."
Cara's eyes widened. "Gabe, I can't let you?—"
"You're not letting me do anything." His voice was firm. "You're an injured witness leaving a scene to seek medical attention. That's standard procedure."
"But your report?—"
"Will note that I arrived on scene, found the victim in the vehicle, and secured the area pending emergency response." He released her chin, stepped back. "I'll need to take your statement later. Yours and Wade's both."
Wade moved to Cara's side, hand on her elbow. He understood. Gabe could see it in his eyes—the recognition of what Gabe was doing. What it could cost him.
"We'll be available," Wade said carefully.
Gabe met his eyes. "I expect I'll have trouble tracking you down for a day or two. Small town. People move around."
A beat of silence.
Wade nodded once. One professional acknowledging another.
"Come on," he said to Cara, tugging her arm. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Cara didn't move. She was staring at Gabe with something that looked like grief. Like gratitude. Like a thousand things she couldn't say.
"Gabe..."
"Go." His voice softened despite himself. "I'll handle this."
"You shouldn't have to?—"
"Cara." He stepped closer, lowered his voice so only she could hear. "I know you didn't try to kill her tonight."
"How?" The word was barely a whisper. "How do you know?"
"Because I know you."
It wasn't enough. Wasn't logic or evidence or anything he could put in a report. But it was true.
Cara's eyes glistened. She opened her mouth, closed it. Then Wade was pulling her away, toward her Subaru, and she was going, looking back at Gabe one last time before the fog swallowed her.
Gabe stood alone in the parking area, the crashed Mercedes steaming behind him, sirens growing closer.
He'd just compromised an investigation to protect a woman with secrets she wouldn't share. Had put his career, his integrity, everything he'd built on the line for someone who might be exactly as guilty as she looked.
No. Not guilty of this. He was certain of that much.
But guilty of something. Something she was terrified he'd discover.
Red and blue lights flickered through the fog. The ambulance, finally arriving.
Gabe straightened his shoulders, composed his face into professional neutrality, and walked toward the approaching vehicle.
He had a crime scene to process. A victim to interview, assuming she regained consciousness. An attempted murderer to find.
