She Can Hide (She Can #4)(84)

They must have turned off onto a back road. But which one? Where would Joe want to go?

Joe was from Atlantic City. How well did he know Westbury? Not well, would be Ethan’s guess. How would a stranger find his way using back roads?

Ethan cruised through an intersection. Wait. He braked. This was the road that led to the Packman Creek. He turned. Joe couldn’t know every road in the area, but he’d definitely scoped this one out when he’d planned to kill Abby the first time. Ethan spun the wheel. The Mercury skidded, the ass end of the vehicle swinging forward. He steered into the skid. The car straightened, and he sped forward.

He slowed at a sharp curve in the road.

There! Just ahead, a blue pickup was door-deep and sinking in the raging creek. Wet from head to toe, Joe was stumbling up the bank. His knees gave out, and he fell face-first into the shallow water. Ethan called for backup as he hit the brakes. The car slid. The pedal vibrated under his foot as the antilock system kicked in. He parked and leaped from his vehicle. He sprinted to the water’s edge.

The well-being of Joe Torres wasn’t a blip on Ethan’s radar.

Where was Abby?

She must be trapped in the nearly submerged pickup. Ethan plunged into the creek. The frigid water shocked his body as it lapped up his thighs.

A splash caught his attention. Ethan spun. Joe was on one knee, gun in hand. Ethan drew his weapon. Too late. The first bullet caught him in the chest. The impact spun him around. He dropped to his knees. He lifted his gun. Before he could aim or shoot, the second bullet knocked him off his feet and into the icy creek.

Abby…




Abby surfaced and sucked in a painful breath. The truck rested on its side. Cradling her injured limb close, she stood on the steering column and pushed her shoulders out the passenger window. A toehold on the dashboard sent her body up and out the opening. She landed on her back in the creek. The current was strong enough to move a pickup. Could she make it to shore?

What choice did she have?

She paddled with one arm, angling toward the bank as if caught in a riptide. Her feet dragged on the bottom.

A gunshot rang out over the roar of the flooded creek. Abby lurched to her feet and spun toward the sound. A few yards from her, Joe was pointing his gun at Ethan, standing twenty feet away. Abby spread her feet for balance against the thigh-deep current. She fumbled with the tight bottom hem of her jacket. Shoving the fabric up, she grabbed her gun and brought it around.

Joe fired again. Ethan recoiled from the bullet’s impact. He slid under the water.

Abby screamed, “No!”

Joe turned toward her and brought his gun around. Abby squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession. Joe fell backward, crashing through the sheets of thin ice at the water’s edge. His head sank beneath the surface.

Abby rushed toward Ethan. The freezing water slowed her steps. She spotted him floating just under the surface in two feet of water. She grabbed the back of his jacket and rolled him over. His eyes opened, and he coughed. Abby’s heart resumed beating as she used her good arm to drag him to the shoreline, then collapsed on the muddy riverbank. Ethan’s breaths rasped. Abby knelt by his side and cradled his head on her lap. He was too heavy for her to pull all the way out of the frigid water. His skin was pale gray, and his eyes lost focus.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, her heart aching. He couldn’t die.

Sirens approached. A minute later, two patrol cars and an SUV roared onto the scene.

“Please don’t die.” Abby cupped Ethan’s face. Why had it taken her so long to open her heart? “I love you.”

Please, let it not be too late.





CHAPTER THIRTY

The tiny surgical waiting room was cold and the plastic chair hard. Abby shivered. An X-ray had revealed her elbow was fractured, but all the bones were in the right place. Her arm was casted at a ninety-degree angle. She’d been warmed up and released. Brooke had brought her dry clothes and a heavy sweatshirt, but she’d had to cut the left sleeve off for Abby to put it on. A blanket draped around her shoulders, and her arm was elevated on a pillow. Brooke wanted to take her home, but even though the ER doctor had said that Ethan’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, Abby didn’t want to leave until he was out of surgery.

Chief O’Connell appeared in the doorway. “Any word?”

“No,” Abby said. “How’s Derek?”

“The plastic surgeon is working on him now.” The chief lowered his bulk into the chair next to Abby.

Though the cuts on Derek’s face were small, the ER doctor hadn’t wanted him to have any facial scars as permanent reminders of his trauma.

Abby shifted her position but couldn’t get comfortable. “Maybe I should run down and check on him.”

“Derek wouldn’t know you were there. They sedated him to work on his tongue.” The chief swallowed.

Abby’s stomach turned.

“Yeah. The idea gives me the willies too.” The big man shuddered. “Brooke is with him. Did Joe Torres say why he was after you?”

“No,” Abby said. And he certainly wasn’t going to talk in the morgue.

The chief didn’t say anything, but Abby could feel the tension rolling off of him. He wasn’t comfortable with the loose ends Joe’s death left hanging.

Movement in the doorway startled Abby, but it wasn’t the surgeon. Ethan’s mother, Lorraine, hurried into the room. She hugged the chief. “It was sweet of you to send a car for me. I would’ve been fine driving. The weather is clearing.”