upset. It was dark and snowing hard, and the roads were covered with snow and ice. Is it possible you were in his lane?”
Peyton paused, as if she hadn’t ever considered the possibility. “I don’t see how.”
“You don’t?” he said, sounding as if he did.
“Why would he have turned off his lights and then flashed me like an incoming jet.”
“Maybe it wasn’t even the same car. You said yourself the conditions were getting worse by the minute. Maybe you didn’t see what you thought you were seeing. The car you were watching at first could have pulled into a driveway—disappears, as you put it. Then another car pulls out from a different driveway or maybe a side street. You’re driving in his lane. He flashes every light on his vehicle to make you move out of his way. You overreact and end up in the pond.”
“I didn’t overreact.”
“I’m not saying you’re a bad driver. In these conditions, the slightest error can have disastrous consequences.”
“Tell me this,” said Peyton. “Why wouldn’t that car have stopped after running me off the road?”
“He might not have even known you lost control.”
“I think he was trying to hit me.”
“Dr. Shields, if that were the case, we’re talking about a suicide mission. My gut doesn’t tell me that somebody’s out there looking to trade his life for yours in an intentional head-on collision. Now, I might be more concerned if you were Jennifer Aniston or Shania Twain. Not that you weren’t pretty. Aren’t pretty, I mean.”
Peyton caught the slip but let it go. Nothing pretty about bandages. “What about that man I got arrested at the Haverhill clinic? Didn’t Kevin tell you about him?”
“He did. Took two minutes to check that one out. Thatboy’s still in jail. Didn’t make bail. No way he could have run anyone off the road.”
Kevin asked, “Isn’t there something the police can do to put us at ease?”
Bolton asked her, “Did you get a license plate number?”
“No.”
“Make and model of the car?”
“No. Could have been a Ford. Maybe.”
“I see.”
His “I sees” were getting on her nerves. “You think I’m paranoid,” said Peyton.
Bolton softened his tone. “I think you’ve been through hell. The best thing for you to do is rest and get well. Stop worrying about whether someone is out there trying to get you.”
She sought out Kevin’s eyes, but he seemed to agree with the detective. He laid his hand atop hers and said, “You’re going to be fine.”
Bolton left his card on the tray beside the bed. “If there’s anything you’re concerned about, you call me. Good luck to you, Doc.”
Peyton watched quietly as the two men shook hands and stepped into the hall. She took his card and read it. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was best to stop worrying. She took another look at his card, however, and committed his phone number to memory.
Just in case.
8
THE SHRILL RINGING OF AN ALARM CLOCK PIERCED THE DARKNESS. A long, languid arm swung from beneath the covers and silenced it. For a moment, he lay motionless beneath the bulky blankets. He had slept for several hours, but it hadn’t been restful. This was not his normal bedtime, and he’d fallen asleep chiefly from exhaustion. Three straight days was a long time to go without sleep, even for him.
Rather than switch on the lamp, he simply allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. Half-opened venetian blinds cut the moonlight into slats on the opposite wall. Across the room, another slat of light streamed from beneath the closed closet door. On the nightstand beside the bed, the alarm clock’s glowing green numbers announced the time: 10:55 P.M.
He slid out of bed and walked sleepily, but dutifully, to the closet. The tile floor was cold beneath his bare feet. As he reached for the handle, the light from beneath the closet door stretched all the way to his toes, giving them a reddish pink hue. From the other side of the door emerged the faint
Peyton paused, as if she hadn’t ever considered the possibility. “I don’t see how.”
“You don’t?” he said, sounding as if he did.
“Why would he have turned off his lights and then flashed me like an incoming jet.”
“Maybe it wasn’t even the same car. You said yourself the conditions were getting worse by the minute. Maybe you didn’t see what you thought you were seeing. The car you were watching at first could have pulled into a driveway—disappears, as you put it. Then another car pulls out from a different driveway or maybe a side street. You’re driving in his lane. He flashes every light on his vehicle to make you move out of his way. You overreact and end up in the pond.”
“I didn’t overreact.”
“I’m not saying you’re a bad driver. In these conditions, the slightest error can have disastrous consequences.”
“Tell me this,” said Peyton. “Why wouldn’t that car have stopped after running me off the road?”
“He might not have even known you lost control.”
“I think he was trying to hit me.”
“Dr. Shields, if that were the case, we’re talking about a suicide mission. My gut doesn’t tell me that somebody’s out there looking to trade his life for yours in an intentional head-on collision. Now, I might be more concerned if you were Jennifer Aniston or Shania Twain. Not that you weren’t pretty. Aren’t pretty, I mean.”
Peyton caught the slip but let it go. Nothing pretty about bandages. “What about that man I got arrested at the Haverhill clinic? Didn’t Kevin tell you about him?”
“He did. Took two minutes to check that one out. Thatboy’s still in jail. Didn’t make bail. No way he could have run anyone off the road.”
Kevin asked, “Isn’t there something the police can do to put us at ease?”
Bolton asked her, “Did you get a license plate number?”
“No.”
“Make and model of the car?”
“No. Could have been a Ford. Maybe.”
“I see.”
His “I sees” were getting on her nerves. “You think I’m paranoid,” said Peyton.
Bolton softened his tone. “I think you’ve been through hell. The best thing for you to do is rest and get well. Stop worrying about whether someone is out there trying to get you.”
She sought out Kevin’s eyes, but he seemed to agree with the detective. He laid his hand atop hers and said, “You’re going to be fine.”
Bolton left his card on the tray beside the bed. “If there’s anything you’re concerned about, you call me. Good luck to you, Doc.”
Peyton watched quietly as the two men shook hands and stepped into the hall. She took his card and read it. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was best to stop worrying. She took another look at his card, however, and committed his phone number to memory.
Just in case.
8
THE SHRILL RINGING OF AN ALARM CLOCK PIERCED THE DARKNESS. A long, languid arm swung from beneath the covers and silenced it. For a moment, he lay motionless beneath the bulky blankets. He had slept for several hours, but it hadn’t been restful. This was not his normal bedtime, and he’d fallen asleep chiefly from exhaustion. Three straight days was a long time to go without sleep, even for him.
Rather than switch on the lamp, he simply allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. Half-opened venetian blinds cut the moonlight into slats on the opposite wall. Across the room, another slat of light streamed from beneath the closed closet door. On the nightstand beside the bed, the alarm clock’s glowing green numbers announced the time: 10:55 P.M.
He slid out of bed and walked sleepily, but dutifully, to the closet. The tile floor was cold beneath his bare feet. As he reached for the handle, the light from beneath the closet door stretched all the way to his toes, giving them a reddish pink hue. From the other side of the door emerged the faint
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