Seaside Secrets. Dana Mentink

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      “Man,” said one of her captors. “That dude is strong.”

      Leaping onto the trunk, Dan kicked the rest of the glass in.

      Another man, younger, wearing a Giants baseball cap, ran up waving a fire extinguisher. Without another word, he began spraying the powder against the flames coming from the front end of the vehicle.

      She wasn’t sure if Dan registered the second rescuer. Angela watched, pulse racing in terror, as he crawled through the back window.

      “He’s gonna be toast,” said her captor. “Dude’s gonna fry.”

      The fire extinguisher did little against the rising flames and the oily black smoke. She could hardly see the man in the cap, but the encouraging shouts of the onlookers meant he was still doing his best.

      “Fire department’s on its way,” a lady shouted.

      A minute ticked by, and she could see nothing through the smoke-shrouded windows. Had Dan decided to administer first aid right there in a burning car? Was he unable to get her seat belt unfastened? She swallowed. Had he been overcome by the smoke?

      The driver’s-side door was flung open with a groan of metal.

      “He’s unlocked it,” she breathed.

      A young couple raced up, took hold of Lila’s shoulders and dragged her away from the flames. They laid her down gently on the pavement. Angela finally succeeded in breaking loose from her captors. She ran to Lila, dropping to her knees. To be sure she was still breathing, she held her cheek next to Lila’s lips and felt the faint puff of air. Lila’s pulse at her wrist was steady though faint. Alive. Angela stripped off her jacket and draped it over Lila’s torso.

      “We’re going to get you to a hospital. Just hang on, Lila.”

      There was no response. Had she suffered a head trauma? Would she still be alive when they delivered her to the emergency room? There was such a minuscule distance between living and dead. Julio’s crooked smile flashed through her mind. He’d smiled just before he’d died, smiled at her, the reason he had been cut down at the tender age of twenty. That smile would never leave her heart until her dying moment.

      Angela wanted to pray aloud, but she found her mind whirling, a sickening cold enveloping her body. She clutched Lila’s hand, squeezing, willing herself not to run away.

      Shouts erupted all around her.

      “Get out of there, man,” someone yelled. “You’re gonna burn alive.”

      It was several moments before she realized they were talking about Dan. The car was now enveloped in flames, black smoke filling the air. The driver’s door stood open like a gaping mouth. No Dan. Several people tried to get closer, but the intensity of the heat drove them back.

      Her face warmed at the nearness of the fire, but inside she remained cold. She wanted to help, but her legs would not move. Then pray, her heart begged. Pray to God that the rescuer in the car will be delivered.

      But the prayer could not penetrate the surreal numbness. All she could do was watch.

      * * *

      Dan realized after Lila was pulled through the door to safety that he wasn’t going to get out that way. The upholstered seats had begun to melt, and the flames licked up the steering column. He retreated the way he had come, over the front seat and into the back, just as the side window shattered. He dropped to the seat, covering his head from the cubes of safety glass that rocketed the width of the vehicle. His mind took him right back to Afghanistan, the moment when he had driven in the armored vehicle they affectionately nicknamed Nellie to assist a badly wounded soldier who could not be extracted from his Humvee quickly enough.

      He remembered the rocket-propelled grenade that struck the road twenty feet from their transport, shaking the ground worse than any earthquake the California boy had ever experienced. A haze of dust, shouts of confusion, the intensity of the gunny who took charge and got his men to safety before they returned fire. Running boots, the punch of bullets into the ground, the groan of a shell-shocked man he finally realized was himself. The incredible courage he’d been honored to witness in the men and women he served, the realization that life was as delicate as a spring flower and as tenacious as a bulldog.

      He’d learned not to try and shut out the memories, but to let them come, experience the pain again and extract himself from it. He did so now, as the glass settled all around him. Then he uncurled himself and continued on to the rear windshield, where there were helping hands, Good Samaritans braving the smoke, to assist him out and away.

      Coughing, shaking the bits of glass from his hair, he saw that the ambulance had arrived and paramedics were working on Lila. A heavyset police officer had pushed the crowd back; another was talking into the radio and taking statements. He twisted around, blinking against the smoke that stung his eyes. Where was Angela?

      A stocky cop approached, a smudge of black on his tanned face. “I’m Lieutenant Torrey. Do you need medical attention?”

      “No. I’m looking for someone. There was a woman here, with Lila.”

      “Lila?”

      “Lila Brown, the lady trapped in the car. I need to find the woman who was with her.”

      The kid with the goatee pointed toward the cliff. “She ran. That way. We tried to stop her, but she looked wild, you know?”

      He thanked them. “I’ll be back,” he said to the cop.

      The officer’s thick brows drew together. “This is a crime scene and I need to talk to you. I’ll send an officer to find your friend.”

      “No,” Dan said. “I’m going to find her now.”

      “I need you here.” There was a warning in the tone.

      He had no patience for questions. Not then. “My name is Dr. Daniel Blackwater. I live just up the beach. Here’s my cell phone and wallet so you know I will return. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.” He strode away, feeling the officer’s gaze burning into him, hearing a muttered oath behind him.

      She looked wild, you know?

      He did. He’d seen the seeds of that look when he’d not been able to save Julio Guzman, and he suspected her departure from Afghanistan had not been the end of it. In spite of some soreness along his belly from the glass that had cut through his shirt and into his skin, he moved through the crowd and jogged again to the beach.

      The sun sank below the horizon just as he made it to the stairs, leaving him blinking to adjust to the meager light. The fog didn’t help. Everything was gray shadows and glittering sea. He moved down to the sand, calling softly.

      “Angela? It’s Dan Blackwater.”

      The only answer was the waves scouring the shore. A distant boat motored by, heading to tie up at the nearby marina for the evening.

      “Angela?” he said again.

      He must have sensed her rather than noted any sound. She sat, curled into a ball, knees drawn up under her chin, hands СКАЧАТЬ