Page 70 of Riptide
Cara's heart stopped.
Gabe.
22
Cara was bleeding.
That was all Gabe could see as he ran toward the wreckage. Not the crumpled Mercedes. Not Wade Patterson emerging from the shadows. Not the steam rising from the destroyed engine or the one headlight still blazing into the fog.
Just Cara. Blood running down her face.
But standing. Alive.
The relief that flooded through him was staggering. Unprofessional. Completely inappropriate for a police chief arriving at a crime scene.
He didn't care.
"Cara." He reached her, hands hovering without touching, scanning for injuries. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
"I'm fine." Her voice trembled. "Gabe, what are you—how did you?—"
"The car." He forced himself to focus, to think like a cop instead of a man who'd just watched the woman he was falling for nearly get killed. "Did she hit you?"
"No. I dove out of the way. It's just scrapes."
Just scrapes. She'd thrown herself onto gravel to avoid being run down, and she was calling it just scrapes.
He wanted to pull her into his arms. Wanted to hold her until the shaking stopped—hers and his.
Instead, he made himself step back and look at the scene with professional eyes.
The Mercedes had hit the rock wall head-on, the front end crumpled like aluminum foil. Steam hissed from the destroyed radiator. Through the shattered driver's window, he could see Blaire Mitchell slumped over the steering wheel, blood on her face, unconscious.
Wade stood near the passenger side, rifle slung over his shoulder, face grim. The man had appeared out of nowhere, which meant he'd been watching from the shadows. Providing backup Cara hadn't mentioned she'd have.
Good. At least she hadn't come alone.
"She's alive," Wade said, reading Gabe's expression. "Pulse is steady. Breathing's shallow but consistent. Probable concussion from the head wound."
"You moved her?"
"No. Got the passenger door open to check her vitals, but she's pinned behind the steering column. Driver's door is jammed." Wade shook his head. "We'll need the fire department to cut her out. I told dispatch when I called it in."
Gabe nodded. Standard procedure. Moving someone with potential spinal injuries could cause more damage than the original accident. Better to wait for professionals with the right equipment.
He moved closer, peered through the open passenger door. Blood still seeped from the gash on her forehead, but head wounds always looked worse than they were.
"Blaire. Can you hear me?" No response. He didn't expect one.
Gabe's mind clicked into investigator mode, even as his heart was still racing. He'd parked his truck a quarter mile downthe road, killing the headlights before Cara could spot him in her rearview mirror. Had told himself he just wanted to make sure she was safe. That he'd watch from a distance, confirm she wasn't meeting with anyone dangerous, and leave before she knew he'd followed her.
A secret meeting. At an abandoned cottage.
With her blackmailer.
He'd found a position in the shadows, close enough to respond if things went wrong. And he'd waited, watching the cottage door, barely breathing.
When Cara had finally emerged, walking toward her car, he'd felt the tension drain from his shoulders. Safe. She was safe.
