The Colonel's Daughter. Debby Giusti

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СКАЧАТЬ skidded. Her feet slipped on the wet grass. Stumbling, she righted herself and hurried on. Michele reached the road on the opposite side of a sharp curve from where she had parked her car.

      The sky opened up as if it, too, were weeping for the dead. She dug in her purse, searching for her keys, and raced around the bend, hardly able to see because of the tears flooding her eyes.

      The sound of tires rolling over asphalt startled her. She glanced up. Her heart jammed in her throat.

      A car loomed in front of her.

      Black sedan, tinted windows. The chrome hood ornament was headed straight for her.

      She lunged, trying to jump clear.

      The fender and outer side panel swiped against her thigh and sent her flying like a rag doll. Hot streaks of pain ricocheted through her body. She fell to the ground, clutching her leg and gasping for breath.

      Unable to cry for help, Michele lay in pouring rain enveloped by darkness.

      * * *

      Jamison’s heart stopped as he pulled into the cemetery. In one terrifying flash, he saw it all play out.

      Michele!

      Accelerating, he raced forward, taking the turns at breakneck speed. Please, God, let her be okay.

      Punching Speed Dial on his cell, he connected with the local police. “Hit-and-run at the Freemont Cemetery. Send an ambulance and police. Now!”

      Fear clamped down on his gut. Would he get to her in time?

      Halfway into the last curve, the tires lost traction. Jamison eased up on the accelerator and turned the wheel into the skid. Once the car had straightened, he put his foot on the gas and closed the distance to where she lay.

      Leaping from his car, he charged across the rain-sloshed grass. His only thought was Michele.

      Fingers of dread clawed at his throat. The rain eased as he dropped to his knees beside her.

      “Michele, it’s Jamison. Talk to me.”

      Water-drenched hair covered her face. He pushed away the wayward strands. Her skin was pale, too pale.

      Please, God!

      Long lashes moved ever so slightly, fanning her cheeks.

      He touched her neck, feeling a steady pulse, and gasped with relief.

      She jerked at his touch.

      “It’s okay, honey. An ambulance is on the way.”

      Sirens screamed in the distance.

      “Open your eyes, Michele.”

      She groaned. Her lashes fluttered, revealing cornflower-blue orbs clouded with confusion.

      “You’re going to be all right. There’s nothing to worry about.” As he tried to comfort her, Jamison worked his hands over her arms and lower legs, ensuring that none of her bones had been broken.

      She flinched when he gently prodded her knee, probably where she had taken the greatest impact from the hit.

      Anger surged through him at the maniac who had done this to her and then had driven away, never checking to ensure that she was still alive. Jamison wanted to pound his fist into the wet earth at his own stupidity. He shouldn’t have let her leave the floral shop alone.

      “La...Lance’s grave site.” She tried to sit up.

      He gently touched her shoulder. “Lie still until the EMTs arrive.”

      She grabbed his hand. “The m...monument was desecrated.”

      Sirens filled the air. Two Freemont police cars pulled into the cemetery and stopped close to where Michele lay. An ambulance turned onto the grounds. Overcome with relief, Jamison remained at her side as the officers neared.

      The older of the two made the introductions. “Sir, I’m Officer Tim Simpson with the Freemont Police Department.” Mid-forties, the guy had a buzz cut and thick brows that he raised as he pointed to the wiry, younger officer next to him. “This is Officer Bobby Jones.”

      Jamison flashed his identification, gave his own name and Michele’s and quickly explained what he had witnessed.

      “I saw Miss Logan when I pulled into the cemetery. She was hurrying around the curve in the road toward her car. The rain was falling hard, and she was trying to pull her cell phone or her keys from her handbag.”

      “M...my keys,” she responded, her voice weak.

      “The car appeared to accelerate just before it hit her,” Jamison added.

      She glanced at Simpson. “I...I didn’t hear a motor.”

      “Can you give us a description of the vehicle, ma’am?”

      “Black or dark blue with a silver hood ornament.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure about the make or model.”

      “Were you able to see the driver?” Jamison asked, still hovering over her.

      “The windows were tinted. Earlier, a man...by the oak tree. He had binoculars.”

      “Military binoculars?”

      “I’m not sure. I thought he’d left the cemetery by the front entrance.” She wrinkled her brow. “It could have been the same car.”

      The cop looked at Jamison. “Did you get a visual, sir?”

      “Not on the driver. I was too far away, and he left through the rear exit. The vehicle was a small, four-door sedan with tinted windows, as Miss Logan mentioned. Late model. Dark color. Could have been a hybrid.”

      Simpson pursed his lips. “Which would have been the reason she didn’t hear the engine.”

      “Exactly.”

      The ambulance pulled alongside the police cars, and two EMTs quickly approached. “Sir, can you step back and give us some room?”

      As much as Jamison didn’t want to leave Michele’s side, he had to let the medical team do their job.

      He squeezed her hand. “I’ll talk to the police while the EMTs ensure that you’re okay.”

      Her grip tightened. “Lance’s grave. Someone cut into his marker.”

      “I’m heading there now.”

      As the EMTs strapped Michele to a backboard, Jamison turned to Officer Jones. “Can you get the names off the headstones near the oak tree? The family members need to be questioned in case one of them was the man with binoculars.”

      “Good idea. I’ll take care of it.”

      Jamison motioned to the older cop and then pointed up the incline. “Let’s take a walk and check СКАЧАТЬ