Shield Of Refuge. Carol Steward

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СКАЧАТЬ probably scared him. Where could he have disappeared to in a residential area like this? She searched for open garages or alleys where he could have hidden.

      The sirens were getting louder. She looked up just in time to see a silver vehicle cross in front of her. She slammed on the brakes and straightened her arms, pressing her hands into the steering wheel as she heard the crunch and scrape of her van hitting the back fender.

      The SUV spun in slow motion, police lights flashing, sirens screeching. Then the silver vehicle tipped up on two wheels, flipped over to its roof and twirled like a top.

      Amber screamed as her van fishtailed before coming to a stop at the opposite curb. “Oh, no…. I hit him! Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, please let him be okay. Let him be okay, please. Help! 911, send help, fast!”

      TWO

      The woman who had hit him jumped out of her van and ran toward his police cruiser. He smelled fumes, turned and saw gasoline flowing toward him.

      Hanging upside down from the seatbelt, Garrett Matthews looked out the window to see a woman’s legs in black tights and black suede fashion boots. She kicked the shards of glass aside with her boots, then dropped to the ground, a black-and-turquoise patterned dress floating over her knees.

      “You’ve got to get out. There’s gas gushing out all over,” she said frantically.

      He glanced at her, disoriented, then pressed the button on the mike. “Dispatch, Officer four-six-three involved in two-car rollover accident at intersection of—” he glanced around “—where are we?” he said to the woman.

      “Just get out of there!” she yelled. “I’m still on with 911, they’re sending help.” She took a deep breath and coughed from the fumes. “Come on, we need to get you out.”

      He turned the key to off and removed it, handing it to the woman for safekeeping. She looked at it oddly, furrowing her brows.

      What was he thinking?

      Tugging on the seat belt strapping him upside down, Garrett struggled with the buckle to release. “It’s jammed.” He reached for the glove box, hoping to find an emergency kit. It was out of his reach. His knife was in his belt, securely trapped under the seat belt. “I need something sharp.”

      “Just a minute.” She ran to the van and returned with a ten-inch serrated knife. The woman was gorgeous. She dropped to her knees and reached inside, directing the knife to the gray strap stretched across his chest.

      His eyes opened wide and suddenly the fog lifted from his mind. “Aren’t you in enough trouble without threatening an officer? Give me that.”

      “What?” She backed away. “I’m trying to save your life. I don’t mean to panic you, but gas is spilling—the car may blow up.”

      “The car’s not going to blow up,” he insisted. “May I borrow your knife?” She hesitated, then handed it to him. He took the handle, and with a sawing motion he cut through the mesh strap and fell to the ground, landing on his head. “Why are you carrying a knife around in your car?”

      “I’m a cake decorator. It’s in my delivery kit. Come on, you have to get out.”

      He twisted his wide shoulders, shoving the objects that had scattered across the roof out of the way while reaching for the window opening. He looked up to her huge blue eyes as he tried to find something to push against. “I don’t suppose this door will open, will it? When I pull on the latch, you pull on the door.”

      The woman found a place with no glass and tugged as he pushed. “I don’t think so. Do you want me to try the other side?”

      “No, I’ll get out somehow.”

      “Let me get the glass out of the way so you don’t cut yourself.” She kicked at the tiny pellets of glass with her boot.

      “Don’t bother,” he growled, then, realizing she was right—he just needed to get out. If they had to pull glass from his back, so be it. The fumes were making him sick. He waved her aside and used his legs to push himself out the narrow window, all the time trying to ignore the Marilyn Monroe look-alike waiting for him.

      “Come on!” She tapped her boot, holding the billowy skirt of her dress against her legs as he pulled his ticket can from the cruiser and collected a few more belongings. She pulled on his arm as he stumbled to his feet and picked up his ticket can. “Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down.”

      With a healthy tan and shimmering brownish-blond tendrils of hair softening the dramatic high cheekbones and narrow nose, she was gorgeous. How could he be angry with that look of concern in her brilliant blue eyes?

      He shrugged, sending a pain down his arm. He needed to ignore the niggling reminder that he should have slowed down at each intersection. Much as he wanted to blame her, and her alone, he couldn’t. He needed to get on with his job. He looked around, assessing the situation, then started to radio in their location.

      “I’m so sorry. I wanted to find that car and get the license plate number….”

      He took his hand off the mike. “You’re the reporting party? You’re Amber?”

      She looked terrified, but nodded.

      He reached for his notepad and pen in his chest pocket, realizing too late that they’d fallen out when he turned over in the SUV. “They didn’t give your last name.” He opened the lid of the clipboard and pulled out a ticket and pen.

      “Amber Scott,” she said softly. She backed away. “I was afraid to try to stop him. I could’ve at least yelled…I should have backed my van into him, but I just had it painted….” She looked at it and shook her head. “Lot of good that did—look at it now.”

      Paintings of bright-colored balloons and streamers were crumpled and smooshed all over the front fender of the minivan. “It’s just a machine. It can be repaired.” His head started spinning. His shoulder burned. “You did the right thing not getting involved. If you had tried to intervene there may have been two women apprehended. Only thing you shouldn’t have done was follow him. How’re you doing? Are you hurt?”

      “No, I’m fine.”

      He gave her another once-over, concurring with her assessment. She looked mighty fine. He forced himself to process the accident as if he weren’t a victim. If he focused on the scene, maybe he wouldn’t hurt so bad. “We’ll let the paramedics check you out just as a precaution.” He looked at his police cruiser and shook his head. So much for his perfect record.

      “They really don’t need to do that. I’m so sorry about the accident. Are you okay?”

      “I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” he said, hoping that saying it would make it so. “So what kind of car was it?”

      “What kind of car?” Amber stared at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It looked like a police car except it was white and didn’t have the logo and police stripes.”

      “A Crown Vic?”

      “A what?”

      “Crown Victoria…that’s the model of car used by the police around here. Huge boat, СКАЧАТЬ