Tears blurred Lacey’s vision, and wails of protest erupted from her lips. She did not want to kill this dog.
Then things got worse.
In addition to the sitting dog, a man now raced out from behind the trees, straight for the canine.
Lacey screamed louder than ever. The skid moved as if in slow motion. The whole incident couldn’t have taken more than a minute from the first bump to this final skid, but in that minute she saw the devastation her impulsiveness was about to cause. If only she had thought this trip through. If only she had been more like the wise Adelaide Phillips.
If only.
Lacey closed her eyes, unable to watch the outcome to her choices, a prayer of forgiveness on her lips and regret in her heart.
* * *
Head. Check.
Feet. Check.
Arms. Check.
Wade Spencer lay in a cold, snow-filled ditch between the trees where he’d landed when he saved his dog from the out-of-control driver. All was negative with his self-exam, a routine that four tours overseas had formed into a habit. His next exam consisted of judging the well-being of Promise, his faithful dog.
Wade lifted his hand to look her over. He burrowed his fingers through her snow-covered fur for injuries. She jumped to all four paws without any problem and shook off the white flakes with little effort. His battle buddy would live to serve another day.
Now, as for the driver, he should be serving, too.
Time.
Wade gained his feet and trudged through the knee-deep snow of the ditch. He stomped up onto the road where the car spun out and came to a halt—right where Promise had been sitting under his command.
If Wade had known a car had been aiming for her, he would have commanded Promise to run, not sit. Out of the hundred and fifty commands the dog knew, any of them would have been better.
At the top of the driveway, he’d heard the car spinning out. His mind had gone to one of the many dark places of his tours where mishaps had been deadly. His feet had responsively set out to be of help in this mishap. Promise had kept up at her place beside him, but she must have thought they were playing, because she’d quickly raced ahead of him. All Wade could do was yell for her to sit. Being the good service dog she was, she did—right in front of the car.
Wade faced the hood of the heap of rust now and heard the words, “You have arrived at your destination” coming from the mechanical voice of the driver’s GPS. The message nearly knocked him over again.
The driver meant to stay?
“I don’t think so.” Wade approached the driver’s side. “This is not your destination. You can keep right on driving.”
A woman in her late twenties sat stock-still behind the wheel, her window blown out from the tree branch she’d collided with. She wore a jean coat and a knitted cap, and her long hair, smooth as liquid chocolate, spilled out from beneath it. The GPS repeated its words again, but all Wade focused on was the terror in the woman’s saucer-size eyes.
Wade pulled the car handle and swung the door wide; the tinkling of falling glass fizzled his tension a bit. The cabin light illuminated the fear in the woman’s face, a pair of brown eyes shimmered and a tear spilled down her blanched cheek. He let the rest of his anger go on a grunt. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, but her lips trembled in silence. She squeaked out, “Are you? Or the dog? Did I k-kill the dog?”
Wade gave two sharp whistles, and Promise sidled up beside him with her tail wagging, her bushy eyebrows bouncing up and down as was her typical inquisitive way. “See for yourself.”
A wail escaped the woman’s lips, followed by a bucket of tears.
Wade sighed and reached for her hand to pull her out.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t see... The car was in a skid.”
“Your South Carolina plates give away your knowledge of the winters up here in New Hampshire, so I’ll cut you some slack, but—”
“And someone was following me. They nearly killed me when they banged into me.”
“Banged into you?” Wade searched up and down the empty street. He dropped her hand to step to the back end of the car. The dent proved her statement. “Which way did they go?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “I was too busy staying on the road and not going over the ledge.”
“Ledge?” Wade snapped his attention from the dark road to the very ledge that had brought the endless tunnel of darkness to his whole life. An image of another woman, his mother, dead, her neck twisted, flashed in his mind. Just one of the many images of dead people his mind remembered on a daily basis. His breathing picked up.
“Yes, the ledge. I thought I was going over it for sure.” She pointed to it then grabbed her head, pulling the cap off in her anxiety. “I can still see it coming closer and closer.”
Wade nearly grabbed his own head, knowing firsthand the terror she spoke of.
Except, he’d actually gone over—and lived to remember every horrifying detail.
“I need to go,” he said quickly, needing to get away. “You need to go. I can’t help you. Side, Promise.”
He didn’t need to command. Promise already stood by. Wade grabbed the bandanna tied to her collar. She should have her leash on, he admonished himself for his gaffe. The leash was his lifeline to her. Through the leash, Promise could get a read on his physiological well-being. She could sense his heart rate just by his tugs and pulls. But he’d left her leash at the house in their rush to get some fresh air away from his sister. Now he willingly rushed back to Roni’s never-ending pleas for him to retire from the military and move back to New Hampshire. He’d endure her plights.
Anything but reliving that crash.
Wade’s hands trembled, and vibrations shook his whole body. His hypervigilant state of mind brought on fierce shakes that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature and everything to do with the injury deep inside him. It was an injury no one could see, except for the few effects that showed on the outside.
“Wait!” the woman called on his heels. Wade picked up his steps.
“I’ll call the police for you when I get to the house,” he said, hoping that would suffice.
“Please, stop. I can’t go anywhere until I speak with Captain Wade Spencer.”
Wade tripped in the snow at her words, but the squeezing of his chest still propelled him forward. He wondered what this woman could want with him. Did one of his men need him? As captain, he needed to be there for them, even when he couldn’t function himself.
“Please,” she pleaded. “I can barely breathe, never mind have my faculties about me to operate a car. I really need to speak with Captain Spencer. Are you him?”
He walked on, calling out, “What do you want with Wade Spencer?”
“My brother sent me to see him.”
“Who’s your brother?”
“Jeff Phillips.”
“Liar.” Wade whipped around to face her, now ready to fight instead of take flight. In a hypervigilant state, either worked.
Promise didn’t miss a beat. She sat at attention by his side, eyes sharp, body poised for her next instructions.
“I’m not lying. He told me to come.” The woman’s lips trembled.
“He’s dead, so he couldn’t have told you anything.”