Annie knew that against the two of them she had no defenses. She didn’t with her kids either. That was one of her big problems; she enjoyed going along with life and, unfortunately, that could have bad as well as good results.
In this case she wasn’t sure which it would be.
But the idea of a month away…
How bad could it be?
Especially since they were only looking.
Chapter One
Haut, Holland: One week later
Tires screeched. Metal boomed against metal. All forward motion in the car stopped, except for Annie who suddenly flew forward, still propelled by Newton’s Law. Her hands lost their grip on the steering wheel. Pain erupted in her legs, her chest, her head as she met the resistance of the abrupt cessation of the vehicle.
Stars danced in brilliant colors before her eyes.
A wreck.
She’d been in a wreck.
Vaguely she heard noises around her, but as for focusing, that wasn’t possible.
Drums pounded in her ears as she sat trying not to pass out.
Her first day in Holland.
Her entire body throbbed in pain. Forcing her eyes open, she groaned as the bright light from the sunny day increased the throbbing agony in her head. Absently she reached for her head but stopped as she saw people coming toward the car—including an angry looking man who was stalking his way to her, looking for all the world as though he was going to tear her apart as soon as he got close enough.
Short, round and wearing an apron, he shook his meaty fist before pounding on her window. With each slap to her window, her head pounded out a cadence of objection to the noise.
He shouted, loudly, in Dutch.
Her head nearly exploded.
She had to calm him down, had to apologize, make him understand that she hadn’t meant to hit his car. What was she doing? Why had she come here? Did they arrest foreigners for auto accidents?
Lifting her hand to her aching head, she felt something wet and sticky. Glancing at her fingers, she saw her hand come away with blood. Oh dear. She felt dizzy and turned her head away from the sight.
She couldn’t help her eyes from slipping closed. Her hands went to her eyes and pressed gently as if to relieve the headache. “Do you speak English?” she asked.
Alarmed at how weak her voice sounded she tried to speak up. “Does anyone speak English?” When no one answered, she lowered her hands and opened her eyes.
Her window was still up. No one could hear her—and the man still screamed.
Fumbling, she reached for the knob to the window and proceeded to roll it down. “Does anyone speak English?” she repeated, her voice still sounding weak. She hurt from head to toe and didn’t think she could move.
The man ignored her question and jerked the car door open.
She gasped as she realized she could move—but it caused her a lot of pain. The throbbing noise in her head increased, drowning out some of her attacker’s unintelligible words. He pointed at his car and then back at her.
Had she been in the wrong lane? She tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy. All she could remember was she had been driving down the street on the way to the hotel just outside of town…
She turned to get out of the car. A crowd was gathering. Panic edged up her spine. She had to do something, say something, find someone who could help her. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick with sweat.
Why hadn’t she listened to her son and daughter? They’d both nearly disowned her when she’d told them of her plans last week. She’d seriously considered not coming, but Cynthia and Amy had convinced her she would have a great time.
She reached up and grasped her head. It pounded viciously from her movements. The front window of the car was smashed. She must have contacted it with her head. That would explain the lump that was forming on her forehead as well as the blood.
Pushing herself around, she gasped in pain as she moved her right leg. Looking down she saw both knees were bloody too.
Hearing the murmurs, she glanced carefully back up.
“Does anyone speak English?” A large crowd swarmed around, talking and pointing. A mob? Did they have mobs here? What would they do to her? Her vision narrowed as she felt herself breathing faster.
Oh no. She had never been in a situation like this. Never. She tried to slow her breathing.
A policeman appeared and started asking questions. She wanted to cry.
She couldn’t understand a word he said.
Again she asked herself why she had come to Holland.
“English. Eng-lish!” she cried out.
“Do you need some help?” The deep baritone voice came from in the crowd. Desperately she looked around, trying to find who had spoken.
The crowd obviously knew. People turned, pointed and started babbling.
The noise level doubled, which in turn, doubled her headache. “Please, yes. Who said that?”
She reached for the car door, intending to stand.
“I did.”
A tall man, at least six foot, stepped forward as the crowd parted. Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and paint-splattered top, he looked vaguely familiar—American, she thought. Long hair to his shoulders, slightly wavy and pulled back in a ponytail, and deep blue-gray eyes; he had a casualness that bespoke comfort in his surroundings.
Funny she should notice all of that about a stranger. “I can’t understand the policeman. I’m a tourist.”
The man turned and spoke to the officer, who in turn motioned for the people to move back. Another officer showed up and began directing people out of the way.
The man who had been yelling at her now turned to the officer and began telling him something in rapid-fire Holland-ese. What language did they speak? She didn’t remember.
Finally her link to the local language turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”
Insurance papers. Driver’s license. What all was she supposed to show the officer? “Yes.”
Annie gripped the side of the car and the door and started to lift herself out.
“Wait—” the American said.
The first bit of weight on Annie’s right leg told her more than anything else that she really wasn’t okay.
She cried out in pain and pitched forward—right into the arms of the American.
She saw stars, and then, the next thing she knew, she was lying in the man’s lap on the sidewalk, staring up at a blue sky.
“Why did I do this?” she moaned.
“I tried to warn you that sometimes shock will prevent a person from noticing injuries. Now lie still until we can get you to a hospital.”
Annie blinked. Warm strong arms surrounded her, holding her gently.
“Who are you?” she asked, more than willing to take his advice because moving, she decided, wasn’t a priority.
“Call me Victor,” he said simply.
She nodded, or tried to. She realized Victor was holding a hankie to the lump on her head. “Ow.” The pressure hurt.
He gentled his ministrations. “You have a small cut there.”
“I want to go home,”