Detectives

58

She was so shocked to hear his voice, she didn't answer.

"Where are you?" he demanded again.

"About a mile and a half out. I just turned onto the gravel road." It was the perfect place for a carjacking, scrub trees on both sides of the road, not a house in sight. She was all alone. "Oh God, here he comes again."

"Try to stay ahead of him," Phillips said.

"Liam . . ."

"He's on his way to you," Phillips told her. "Keep your head low. Don't be a target. Help is coming." His voice was calming, and that freaked her out almost as much as being hit.

Don't be a target? Did he think the maniac driver might have a gun? She didn't have a chance to ask him what he meant. She got hit again, and this time it was spot-on. The angle was perfect. She lost control of her car and started spinning around and around. She couldn't get the car to stop and made the mistake of hitting the brakes hard. That error sent her flying down a hill. The dead bushes didn't impede her fall. The fat tree stump did. It was only a couple of feet high, but the car hit it full on and flipped over again and again. She felt as though she were in a barrel, rolling down a hill. Her backpack landed on her chest just a second before her airbag deployed. It took most of the impact and protected her.

She became a firm believer in miracles at that very moment. The car landed upright. Both sides were caved in; glass from the shattered windshield was all over the bucket seats; the tires were blown . . . and she didn't have a scratch on her. Her laptop had fallen out of the bag and, crushed by the imploding car door, lay in pieces on the floor. She thought she might be dead and just didn't know it yet. She whispered a prayer and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. She realized then she was perfectly fine except for one little thing. She couldn't seem to let go of the steering wheel.

When she looked up through the broken windshield, she could see headlights on the hill. They quickly retreated and she could hear the car zoom away. The sky went black, and it was eerily quiet. Then suddenly there were spotlights shining down on her. She heard Liam calling her name. He sounded frantic. If she hadn't heard his voice, she would have panicked. She was already thinking about the gas tank blowing up. That usually happened in movies with car chases, didn't it? Of course the driver was usually killed, and here she sat, as fit as ever.

The seat belt was jammed, and the window wouldn't open, but Liam got her out. He had to break the side glass and cut the belt. He also had to peel her hands away from the steering wheel. His expression was grim, and yet he was being so gentle with her as he lifted her through the window. Phillips was there, too, and he looked almost as worried as Liam. How had they gotten there so fast?

Liam didn't let go of her. He held her tight against him. She could feel him shaking when he asked, "Are you all right? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"I'm fine," she said, surprised she could raise her voice to little more than a whisper.

"Whoever did this to you . . ."

Hoping to calm him, she motioned for him to put her down. She brushed herself off and said, "All right, then. I'm going to need a ride."

Phillips actually smiled, a first for him, but Liam still looked as though he wanted to go to war. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders for support and said, "You're going to the hospital. You could have internal bleeding . . . a brain injury . . . or a-"

"I am not going to the hospital," she argued. "I didn't hit my head, and my backpack protected me from the airbag." It wasn't until she got a good look at her car that she started shaking. Then she spotted the remains of her laptop. "My computer . . . ," she began.