Not having an air bag didn’t matter, though, because it wasn’t the first impact that killed her. It was the second.
He paused briefly on the crumbling road edge, judging the best path to take, then went sideways down the sharp slope at a breakneck pace, half kneeling here, grabbing a bush there, digging his heels in when he could. “Drea!” he yelled, though he didn’t expect an answer. He paused briefly to listen, and heard nothing other than what was almost a vibration in the air, a sensation rather than a noise, as if the violence of the impact still reverberated.
The drop was too long, and there were too many trees. When a car took on a tree, the tree usually won. Still, maybe she wasn’t dead; maybe she was unconscious. People survived car wrecks every day, even those that looked unsurvivable, while one that seemed not much worse than a fender bender would pop someone’s spine and that was that. It was position, it was timing; hell, it was luck.
He couldn’t explain why his heart was pounding and his stomach felt as if it were filled with ice. He’d seen death many times, up close and personal. And most of the time he was the cause. The transition was fast, the blink of an eye, the flight of a bullet, and that was it: lights out. No big deal.
But this didn’t feel like no big deal. This felt like-God, he didn’t know what this felt like. Panic, maybe. Or pain, though why he’d feel either of those was beyond him.
He pushed through scrub brush, lost his footing, and slid the last twenty feet on his ass. The car was to his right, half-hidden in broken tree limbs and bushes, a heap of tangled metal from which dust still floated. Broken glass from the headlights and taillights was everywhere, shards in red and white and amber, glittering in the sun. One wheel had come completely off, the tire exploded by the force of the impact. Other pieces of twisted, sheared metal lay here and there.
He reached the rear end of the car first. He could see the top of her head, just above the headrest; she was still in the seat. The driver’s door was completely gone, and he could see her left arm dangling limply, blood slowly dripping from her fingertips.
“Drea,” he said, more softly.
No response. He shoved through the brush and wreckage until he reached her side, then momentarily froze.
God. A pine sapling had come through the windshield-or rather, where the windshield used to be-and impaled her chest. She was sitting upright only because she was pinned to the seat, which was already soaked black with her blood. He reached out his hand, then let it fall. There was nothing he could do.
A breeze fluttered the trees around them, and a few birds sang their evening songs. The heat of the setting sun burned his back and shoulders, and bathed everything in a clear golden light. Details were crystal clear, but oddly detached. Time was moving on around them, but he felt as if they were enclosed in a bubble where everything stood still. He had to make certain, for himself. He leaned half into the car, reaching out to feel for the pulse in her neck.
In the strange way things happen, her pretty face had only a few small cuts. Her pure blue eyes were open, her head turned toward him as if she was looking at him.
Her chest rose in a slow, shallow breath, and with a jolt that ran all the way to his feet he realized that she
“God, sweetheart,” he whispered, abruptly remembering exactly how she tasted, how soft and silky her breasts were, the sweet scent of a woman underlying the expensive perfume she wore. He remembered how she’d felt in his arms, how hungry for affection she’d been, the tight slick heat of her body as he slid into her, and the lost look in those blue eyes when he left her. He remembered how her laugh sounded as musical as bells, and the realization that he’d never hear it again was a punch in the chest that left him winded.
He didn’t think she heard him. Her expression was as calm and serene as if she’d already gone, her face porcelain white. Yet her gaze remained locked on his face and slowly her expression changed as it softened and filled with wonder. Her lips moved, shaped a single word…and then she was gone. The blue eyes set, began to dull. Automatically her body took one more breath, still fighting for a life that was already gone, then it, too, stopped.
The breeze flirted with a tendril of her hair, blowing it against her pale cheek. Gently, Simon reached out one finger and touched the tendril, dark and straight now, but still as silky as it had been when it was blond and curly. He smoothed it back, tucking it behind her ear, then he stroked her cheek. There were things he needed to do, but for the moment he could do nothing except stay exactly where he was, looking at her and touching her, feeling as if the ground had dropped from beneath him. He watched her, waiting, hoping for another breath, but she was gone and he knew it. There was nothing.
He drew several deep, ragged breaths, then forced himself to straighten from the car. Sentiment had no place in his life; he couldn’t allow anyone or anything to matter, to get inside his emotional and mental shields.
Moving briskly, he did what had to be done. He looked around until he found her purse, lying several yards away. Swiftly he removed her cell phone and the driver’s license from her wallet, slipping both into his pocket. She didn’t have any credit cards, no other identification, so he returned the wallet to her purse and tossed it onto the front floorboard. Her laptop was easier to find, because it was in the backseat, though getting to it was far more difficult. Finally he reached it and dragged it out.
One thing more: the bill of sale for the car. He worked his way around to the other side of the car and used his pocketknife to pry open the crushed glove box. Removing the bill of sale, he paused a moment to think if there was anything else that could give away her identity. No, he had it all.
The last thing he did was use his cell phone to take a picture of her. It was ghoulish, but necessary.
Carrying the laptop, he climbed back up to the road. No more than five minutes had passed since the accident, if that long. No other vehicles had come by, but then this wasn’t exactly an interstate highway. Opening the door of the still-running truck, he put the laptop on the passenger seat, then took Drea’s cell phone out of his pocket and checked to see if there was any cell service out here. There was, but not much; maybe he could make himself understood. He punched in 911, and when the operator answered he said, “I want to report a car accident, with a fatality, on highway…”
He gave the pertinent information, then, when the operator began asking questions, he flipped the phone closed and ended the call.
He’d wait until he heard the sirens. He’d stand watch over her body, guarding her and keeping her company, until he knew someone was coming to take care of her.
Standing with one boot on the running board and one arm resting on top of the truck, he watched the sun set behind the far mountains, watched the purple twilight begin its rapid progression. Finally a faint wail reached him, carried by the clear dry air, and several miles away he could see the flash of red lights.
He got in the truck and sat for a moment, his arms crossed on top of the steering wheel, remembering the way she had looked at him and the way her expression had softened, then she had said one word: “Angel-”
And died.
He cursed, and banged his fist once on the steering wheel. Then he put the truck in gear and drove away.
17
SHE DIDN’T HURT. DREA THOUGHT SHE PROBABLY SHOULD be hurting, but she didn’t. That was okay, because she wasn’t a fan of hurting.
Everything seemed distant and unreal. She knew she should be trying to get up, that there was an urgent reason why she should run, yet she had no desire to move. Moving didn’t seem to be an option, anyway. Maybe after a while she’d get up.
No, no, she couldn’t lie to herself, even now. Especially now. She was dying. She knew it, and it was okay. If
