She Can Hide (She Can #4)(7)

“Excuse me?”

“By the time I spotted you, it was four forty-five.”

Her color shifted from pale to sickly gray.

Concussion? Blackout? Seizure? Possibilities rolled through Ethan’s head. If she’d been using drugs, she’d likely be less cooperative. “Did you tell the doctor you couldn’t remember?”

Her lips flattened out, and she gave him a quick, short nod. “They’re going to do a CAT scan.”

Damn.

The chief’s request echoed in Ethan’s mind. “I’d like you to consent to a blood alcohol test.”

“Why?” Her eyes went wide, then darkened.

“So we can eliminate that as a cause of the accident.”

Something flashed in her eyes. Fear? “I haven’t had as much as a glass of wine since last weekend.”

“Then there shouldn’t be any problem.”

“All right.” She nodded, but distrust lingered, along with something else Ethan couldn’t identify. Reluctance?

Ethan looked down at his notebook. So far, all he’d written was doesn’t remember two hours before accident. Some interview. He jotted down a few more notes. Abby Foster and her problems were damned distracting. “How long have you worked at the high school?”

She pressed a hand to her mouth and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Ethan reached for a pink plastic tub sitting on the tray table. She grabbed it from him. Embarrassment radiated from her watering eyes.

“I’ll just step out.” Ethan ducked into the hall. A familiar slender brunette in her late thirties rushed toward him.

“Ethan!” Brooke Davenport shoved her keys into her coat pocket. A red tote bag was draped over her arm. “Is Abby in there?”

Ethan nodded. “Is she a friend?”

“Yes. Is she OK?” At the sound of retching, Brooke pushed past him. “Excuse me.”

Ethan had known Brooke for years. She taught self-defense classes for women at the local community center. The Westbury officers took turns donning a protective suit and acting as attackers so her young female students could practice their techniques. As the youngest officer on the small force, Ethan was “volunteered” often. He’d taken more than his share of well-placed kicks.

He watched through the glass. Brooke took charge of the plastic tub and was stroking Abby’s hair away from her face. Feeling like he was invading Abby’s privacy, he turned away. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her tonight. He’d leave the poor woman alone. On a positive note, she’d consented to alcohol testing, which saved him a huge hassle. Technically, Pennsylvania had implied consent laws regarding alcohol testing and driving, but Ethan had no desire to play hard-ass or jump through legal hoops.

He bummed a ride from an EMT back to the police station parking lot where his pickup waited. The wintry mix had changed over to light snow. He started his truck and called the chief.

“Did you get her statement?”

“Partially. I’ll have to get the rest tomorrow.” Ethan transferred the call to hands-free and set his phone on the bench seat beside him.

“What happened?” the chief asked. “Were her injuries more serious than they looked?”

“Maybe. She must have hit her head pretty hard.” Turning onto Main Street, Ethan relayed his brief conversation with Abby. “First I made her cry. Then I made her throw up.”

“I’m sure none of that was your fault.” The chief’s voice was sympathetic. “Try again tomorrow. Maybe she’ll remember more in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Ethan steered toward home, but Abby’s response still nagged him. Despite her evasiveness, his instincts told him she wasn’t lying about the accident. She didn’t remember what happened. If he were in her place, would he be shocked at a request for alcohol testing?

Maybe. Her life had been flipped on its back this afternoon.

“You had a hell of a day. I can have someone cover for you tomorrow if you’re not up to working.”

“No, I’ll be in.” Ethan needed the hours. Plus, he didn’t want anyone else to question Abby Foster. Under her seemingly honest, girl-next-door persona, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something.





CHAPTER THREE

“I’m sorry.” Abby covered her mouth. Her humiliation was complete.

Brooke patted her arm. “Don’t be silly. I’ve raised two kids. It takes more than a little puke to faze me.”

Over her best friend’s shoulder, Abby watched the policeman walk away.

Brooke grinned. “He’s an eyeful, isn’t he?”

Abby coughed. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Brooke lifted her girlfriend eyebrow in disbelief. “Honey, Ethan is the total package. He’s just as nice as he is hot.”

“Do you mind? I’m throwing up here.” Abby wiped her mouth.

“I was just saying.” Brooke raised a hand in mock innocence. Abby knew her friend was trying to distract her from the awful afternoon.

Her head fell back on the hard plastic pillow. Unfortunately, Brooke was right. Why couldn’t Abby have been rescued by a middle-aged cop with a receding hairline and a three-doughnut-a-day paunch? No, fate had to toss a man at Abby who made her hormones wave a foam finger—which was saying a lot given everything she’d been through today. Thirtyish, clean-cut, and boy-band handsome, Ethan Hale had the kind of chiseled good looks that drove young girls to hang posters on ceilings and throw underwear onto stages. And this gorgeous man had handed Abby a basin to barf in.