Shadows on the Sand by Gayle Roper Page A

there internal injuries I couldn’t see? Broken ribs? Pierced lungs? What if there was a life-threatening hematoma forming under that bump on his forehead?
    I looked at the constable, who was just standing there, and found him hanging up his cell.
    “Nine-one-one,” he said. “They’ll be here pronto.”
    Greg frowned. “They were coming for Chaz anyway.”
    “Yeah,” the constable nodded, “but now they’ll hurry.”
    I took a deep calming breath. Greg was conscious. Conscious was good.And he could talk. Talking was excellent. Slowly my heart returned to my chest and began beating in regular rhythm again.
    “Ambulance?” the constable asked.
    Greg shook his head and grimaced. “Nah. Just a bump or two. I think I hit one of the parking barriers on my way down.” He pushed himself to a sitting position, grabbing his shoulder as he did. He tried to rotate it and made a face.
    “A bump or two, my eye. You need to be checked out,” I said.
    He put out a hand. “No.”
    I hadn’t realized he could be so stubborn.
    He stared in disgust at the great hole in the side of the Sand and Sea. Siding, cinder block, insulation, drywall, and glass littered the dirt and bled into the parking lot. “Would you look at that!”
    I gave up on him and medical care as a lost cause and looked at the wrecked building. I could see all the way through the apartment to the front window.
    “There’s broken furniture in the living room.” I knew the Hummer hadn’t done that.
    “Yeah.” Greg tried rotating his shoulder again. “Chaz protesting his eviction.”
    A cop car pulled into the lot, lights flashing but no siren. Officers Maureen Trevelyan and Rog Eastman climbed out.
    Rog surveyed the damage and shook his head. “Talk about irate tenants.”
    “He tried to run Greg over!” My indignation must have been a little over the top because they all looked at me with strange expressions. I dialed back my outrage. “Well, he did. I saw it all.”
    “But he missed, I see,” Maureen said as Greg pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the nearest car. I stood too, my arms spread as if I wouldcatch him if he fell. There was a bruise already forming on his forehead bump, and his cheek was turning purple beneath the bloody cut.
    “Was he after you, or were you just in the way when he went for the building?” Maureen asked him.
    Greg shrugged and winced at the movement. “Hard to tell.”
    “Think about it,” Maureen said. “You too, Carrie. There’s a big diff between attempted homicide and willful destruction of property.”
    “So what was he driving?” Rog asked.
    “A yellow Hummer.” Greg, the constable, and I spoke in near unison.
    The constable added, “Heading toward the bridge.”
    “His name’s Chaz Rudolph.” Greg gave them the license number.
    I stared. “You memorized the license number of a car about to run you over?” The man was amazing.
    “When it first showed up on the lot, I automatically committed it to memory.” He looked at Maureen and gave a half smile. “Old habits.”
    She nodded.
    “Its front end is all messed up,” I added.
    Rog glanced at the building again and laughed. “I bet.” He leaned in the squad car and spoke into his radio, ending with, “Cover the bridge exits.”
    Greg lurched a bit as he tried to take a step, and I grabbed his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “I’m fine.” He forced a smile as he contemplated the building. “What an idiot!”
    “I’ve pulled a couple of people from cars in living rooms when they’ve lost control or couldn’t stop on a slick road,” Rog said, “but on purpose is a new one for me. And just when I thought I’d seen it all.” He grinned at Maureen. “Days like this, I love my job.”
    Maureen grinned agreement as three people ran into the lot and joinedthe young mother and the older couple who’d stuck around to see if there would be any more excitement. Reality TV was never this interesting.
    Maureen’s smile