Hollis tried again. “I’m okay. I think the truck blew me away.” Her comment struck her as funny, and she giggled.
“Jesus Christ,” the boots said. “She’s fucking crazy. She’s laughing, for Chrissakes. Lady, I don’t know why the hell you and your goddam dog decided to run in front of me, but it sure as hell is no fucking laughing . . .”
MacTee. Where was he?
She angled her head until she saw the man’s face.
“The dog, what happened to my dog?” She gathered herself together and staggered to her feet. Afraid to and afraid not to, she risked a glance in the ditch.
No dog.
The highway. Cars had pulled off. People climbed out, slammed doors and peered toward her. Nothing like an accident to collect a crowd.
No dog.
Where was he?
There. Alive and well.
MacTee, ever the opportunist, leaned on a woman in a tan Burberry raincoat and red rubber boots who patted him as she, along with the other spectators, stared at Hollis.
Explanation time.
As she climbed shakily to her feet, she considered telling the trucker she’d been running because a killer had shot at her. Impossible. He already thought she was crazy.
“I’m sorry. I misjudged the speed. Thank goodness you stopped. I hope nothing in your rig was damaged?”
“Jesus Christ, lady, that really takes the cake.” With his hands on his thighs, he bent forward to emphasize his point. “You scare the shit out of me and tell me you didn’t figure out how fast I was driving. It’s a damn good thing it’s raining and I was going slow.” A shake of his head released the raindrops gathered on the brim of his Stetson. “I’d suggest in future,” he spoke belligerently, “in future, you cross on the green light.” Hollis sensed he’d like to belt her one.
She realized she’d scared him, but he needn’t be so damn macho about it. “I’m sorry. If anything’s wrong with your truck or anything broke inside because you had to stop fast—I’d be glad to pay for it. Do you have a card?”
“Lady, I don’t want nothing else to do with you. You’re not only nuts—you’re a bloody menace. You should be locked up.” The trucker stalked to the cab of his truck. The crowd, except for the woman grasping MacTee, seeing the show was over, drifted to their cars.
Hollis collected MacTee. “Thanks. I feel stupid for causing all this trouble.”
The woman studied her. “I saw you running like the hounds of hell were after you. Are you really okay?”
“No.” Her lower lip trembled, and she bit down to stop the palsy. “Do you have a cell phone?’
When the woman nodded, Hollis glanced back the way she’d come. Was the man in the black raincoat following her?
There was no one on the road.
She had time for the woman to call, but whose number to punch in? 911. Since childhood her mother had drilled into her to demand help only in a real emergency. Did having a stranger take pot shots at you qualify? Probably, but did she want a cast of thousands—fire trucks, emergency vehicles, police, sirens?
She felt obliged to tell Simpson as quickly as possible, but she hadn’t memorized her number. How to contact her? She’d ask the woman to phone Tessa and Kas and tell whoever answered to call Simpson. After they reached her, either one could pick her up at Carleton and either one could do something about her leg.
If neither was home she’d have to move to plan B—and ask the woman to phone the Ottawa Police.
“I’m headed to Carleton, but if you’d phone the number of my friends who live nearby, and ask whoever answers to collect me at the university student centre I’d appreciate it. And would you tell whoever it is to phone Rhona Simpson and say I’ve had an . . .” she paused for a moment, “an accident and must talk to her right away.”
The woman surveyed her, starting with her filthy hair and ending with her wet muddy shoes. “You’re as white as can be and your voice is funny. I think you’re in shock.” She bent and pointed to Hollis’s pant leg. “That’s blood.”
A moment of panic. Maybe she was bleeding to death. A quick glance. “I must have landed on something sharp in the ditch. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.” She loosened her deathlike grip on MacTee’s leash and snapped it on his collar. “Really, I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, the woman relinquished MacTee and walked to her car to use the phone.
With the dog leashed and leaning against her, Hollis waited until she received the high sign indicating the call had gone through. She checked again to make sure the track coming from the farm was empty before she scurried along the verge of the highway. The gunman would have figured out where she was going, and he’d be on his way—she had to hurry.
She ignored the throbbing leg and loped toward the slippery walkway over the canal. Once there, she stepped cautiously on the rain-washed wood. MacTee, always a coward about heights, flattened on his belly and refused to move.
“MacTee. A biscuit. I’ll give you a biscuit,” she pleaded dragging on his leash.
Reluctantly, he edged along the narrow walkway. On the far side he expected his reward and waited, eyes bright and tongue lolling.
“Later, I’ll give it to you later,” she promised and felt guilty as she hauled him across the road to the student union building.
A wave of exhaustion slowed her.
Had she lost quarts of blood? Was she going to collapse and die? Stupid idea. No one could run, be knocked in a ditch, and continue running if she were bleeding to death.
After the early morning conference, Rhona listened to her messages. Dr. Yantha had called half an hour earlier and said Rhona should come immediately to the doctor’s house because Hollis had had an accident.
An accident? At Yantha’s. Why wasn’t Hollis at the hospital? As Rhona reached for the phone book and turned to the Ys, the phone rang.
“It’s Hollis. I’ve been shot.”
Hollis was capable of phoning. Her voice was strong.
“How badly?”
“Superficial. Just a scrape. On my thigh. Kas cleaned it up.” Hollis’s voice quivered. “He was trying to kill me.”
He? Did she mean Kas Yantha? But, if he’d shot her, why would he fix her up?
“Who? Who tried to kill you? Where were you?”
“Running with MacTee on the Experimental Farm.”
“It’s a big farm.” The wrong tone. Sarcasm wasn’t the right approach. “Sorry, where on the farm?”
“South of the big yellow barn in the middle of the farm fields nearest to the university. On the track running south towards the horse barns.” Hollis paused and continued in a firmer voice. “He shot more than once. Four times, I think. I heard the first one without recognizing what it was. The second one grazed my thigh. Two missed.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll send police to the farm immediately. If you’re up to it, I’d like to take you to the scene and have you show us exactly where you were. By the way, when did this happen?”
“I left the house about six-thirty.”
Rhona butted her cigarette as she pulled into the drive of the doctors’ house and