Killer Physique (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (30 page)

Then there was a long, awful silence.

The smel of gas was so strong that Savannah gagged—and it reminded her of the urgency of the situation.

She shouted down into the dark interior, “Waycross, y’al gotta get out of there, now! Tammy, crawl over that seat and take our hands! Move!” Suddenly, there was a light. Savannah turned and saw Dora shining the beam of a strong, LED flashlight through the empty space where the rear window had been.

Looking down into the backseat area, Savannah saw Tammy lying white-faced and stil , amid the tangle of wreckage that had once been the side of Dirk’s car.

Her eyes were closed. Her beautiful blonde hair was covered with blood and broken glass.

Savannah wouldn’t realize until much later that she had screamed. Or that Dirk had leaped back into the car. Or that Waycross had begun to sob uncontrol ably.

And whatever Ryan or John did . . . that was al just part of the awful blur that the memory would forever be for her.

But she would always, vividly remember Dora Jones, in her new-old dress, climbing through that narrow space where the rear window had been, getting into the car and pushing Waycross and Dirk aside so that she could examine the stil , pale girl crumpled in an unspeakably tight crunch of metal, upholstery, and glass.

She yel ed, “Be quiet!” and everyone fel silent. Instantly.

She put her face down to Tammy’s. She listened and said, “She’s breathing.”

Placing her fingers against the side of the girl’s neck, she announced, “She has a pulse.” Savannah wanted to utter a prayer of thanksgiving, but she didn’t dare breathe.

With the light, confident touch of an expert, Dora checked Tammy’s skul and the back of her neck. Then she ran her hands up and down her arms, around her ribs, her abdomen, pelvis, and each leg.

“No obvious fractures,” she said.

Dirk leaned close to Dora and said gently, but firmly, “We have to get her out of here. Now.”

“No. You can’t move her. She could have spinal injuries and—”

“We have no choice. The gas. Smel it?”

The nurse stared at the cop for what seemed like forever, but it was truly only a couple of seconds. Then she nodded curtly. “You,” she said to the weeping Waycross. “Take off that tee-shirt and rip off some strips for me.” She turned to Savannah, John, and Ryan, who were watching in horror from outside. “I need a board. Something flat to bind her to.”

“We’ve got a boogie board in the trunk of the Bentley.”

“Get it.”

Ryan jumped off the Buick, disappeared for a moment, then came running back with the board under his arm.

He passed it to Dora through the back window space.

“I’m going to hold her head and stabilize her spine,” Dora told Waycross and Dirk, “while you two slip this down behind her head and back. Fast, but easy. Got it?”

They worked as best they could within the tight confines, while Savannah held the flashlight.

Once the board was in place, Dora strapped Tammy’s head to it, using the strips torn from Waycross’s shirt. Final y, she wrapped the rest of the shirt around Tammy’s neck.

“Okay, now al you guys—as gently as you possibly can—lift her out. Smooth moves! No jerking or yanking.” Savannah held the light, and Dora supported Tammy’s head as the four men pul ed Tammy and her attached boogie board out of the tiny space where she was wedged. They moved her around and over the front seats, then straight up and out the passenger door.

The moment they had her out, Dirk shouted, “Everybody away from the car!”

“Nice and gentle!” Dora told them as Savannah helped her climb out as wel . “Slow and easy!” The men carried Tammy’s short, makeshift stretcher a safe distance down the road, then careful y laid her down on the grassy shoulder.

Then Waycross sat on the side of the road nearby and covered his face with his hands. Ryan and John sat beside him and tried to offer the distraught young man some comfort.

Savannah knelt at Tammy’s side, lifted her hand, and kissed it. “You’re going to be al right, sugar,” she told her. “You wil be. The boys got you out, and Dora here’s taking good care of you.”

For a moment Tammy’s eyelids fluttered, and Savannah thought she was going to open them, but she didn’t.

Dora squatted on Tammy’s other side and looked at the bleeding wound on her scalp. “I need another piece of cloth for this cut,” she said.

Savannah glanced down and saw the silk scarf she had twisted around her neck right before they had left for the restaurant—a mil ion years ago.

She’d thought her outfit needed a bit of color.

She unwrapped it and handed it to Dora, who folded it several times and then pressed it to the wound.

“Could . . .” Savannah started to speak but was unable to. Then she tried again. “Could I please do that for her?” Savannah choked on the sobs that were gathering like hard rocks in her throat and strangling her. “I real y, real y need to do something for her. Anything. I love her.” Dora gave her a sweet, infinitely understanding look. “Of course you can. Here.” She handed Savannah back her scarf and said, “The EMTs wil be here soon. We cal ed 911 as soon as we saw you’d crashed.”

“Thank you, Dora. For everything.” Savannah placed the scarf against the awful gash and pressed.

Then she felt someone’s presence, standing beside her. She looked up and saw Dirk. He was watching her, looking at Tammy—a terrible expression of rage and pain on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Hush. She’l be fine. Just fine,” Dora told him.

He looked around, as though suddenly remembering something. “Where’s Richard?” he asked. “Where’s my dad?” And at that moment, Savannah also realized that she hadn’t seen Richard during this entire emergency. He should be okay. To her knowledge the Bentley hadn’t been involved.

That was also when she remembered the SUV. She looked around and saw it lying, nose down, in a nearby ditch.

And, as though in answer to her mind’s next question, they heard footsteps and voices coming out of the darkness down the road toward them.

Dora chuckled. And it was the first happy sound any of them had heard for what seemed like forever. “If I know my husband,” she said, “he’s been hunting down your bad guy.”

And sure enough, at that moment—retired thirty-year career cop Richard Jones walked out of the shadows and into the moonlight with his prisoner in tow.

“Nico?” Savannah said with a gasp. “Nico? No way!”

An instant later, Dirk was on him. He had thrown the giant bodybuilder onto the ground and was astride him, pounding him with his fists and shouting, “You sonuvabitch! Try to kil my family? You’re dead! You are—”

“Son,” spoke a quiet voice of reason as Richard took Dirk by the shoulder and shook him.

But Dirk continued to slug and curse with equal vehemence.

“Stop it, son,” Richard said, shaking harder. “I know how you feel. But the man’s hands are zip-tied behind his back.” It took a few more punches for the words to register on Dirk. But when they did, he stopped, shook his head, and climbed off the now deeply repentant muscleman.

“I was just doing what I was told,” Nico sobbed. “I didn’t wanna, but you don’t say ‘no’ to Fabio.” Savannah looked down at her sweet, injured friend, lying on the makeshift stretcher at the side of the road. Maybe she and Dirk shouldn’t have antagonized a career criminal the way they had this afternoon, she thought. Maybe, in some measure, it was partly their fault that this had happened.

But Savannah pushed the thoughts aside for the moment, to be considered later.

One crisis at a time.

And with one of the people she loved most in the world at her feet, hurt—God only knew how badly—this one terrible moment in time was al Savannah’s heart could handle.

Chapter 25

Savannah stood beside the hospital bed where Tammy lay, stil unconscious. And even though she had held that position for more than five hours and had her own aches and pains from the crash, it never occurred to her to desert her post.

What bothered her most was seeing that sweet, pretty face so stil , so blank. Of al the people Savannah had known over the years, Tammy was the most lively, animated person she had ever met. She was never stil . Her face was never blank.

This person with the frozen nonexpression, the bandaged arm, and the neck brace who was lying motionless on the bed—that wasn’t Savannah’s Tammy.

Just behind Savannah was Waycross, standing his own post. When they had first arrived at the hospital Waycross had refused to be examined or have his own wounds tended, because he wouldn’t leave Tammy and Savannah.

Final y, when Tammy was taken in for X-rays, Savannah insisted that he al ow them to stitch a particularly bad cut on his arm. But the moment Tammy had been placed in ICU, he was there, right with Savannah, and neither of them had left Tammy’s side, not even to go to the restroom.

Dora stood to the left of the bed, where she busied herself, checking the IV, reading Tammy’s chart, adjusting her oxygen mask, and mostly just keeping a close eye on her latest patient.

A few steps away, near the window, Ryan and John sat in a couple of uncomfortable, plastic chairs. They had tried to get Savannah and Waycross to sit down, but they had refused. So Ryan and John were performing their vigil, watching and waiting for the moment when they could be helpful, and yet staying out of the way.

Ryan leaned over and whispered something in John’s ear, and John nodded.

“May I fetch us al some coffee?” John asked, as he stood and walked over to the bed. “Perhaps a bite to eat, as wel ?” Savannah started to refuse, then thought better of it. “I don’t want anything to eat,” she said. “But coffee would probably help.”

“Yes, sir,” Waycross said, “I’d be much obliged. Black please, if you don’t mind.” John nodded graciously, then silently slipped from the room.

As though for the first time, Savannah became aware of Waycross standing behind her. She forced herself to release Tammy’s hand, turned around, and pul ed her brother into the spot where she had been standing. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “You stand here for a while.” He wasted no time at al stepping up to the bed and taking his girl’s hand. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her forehead.

Tears wel ed in Savannah’s eyes. And rather than let her brother see them, she walked over to the window near Ryan and stood quietly, looking out.

The sun had risen, and San Carmelita was coming to life.

Her fel ow townspeople were driving by in their vehicles, rushing to their various destinations. Others walked the sidewalks, crossed streets, bopped in and out of the diner and drugstore nearby.

A surge of anger swept through Savannah. What the hell’s wrong with them? she thought. They’re going about their business like it’s a normal day. As if one of the best people in the world isn’t lying there unconscious on that bed.

The unshed tears of exhaustion, fury, and fear burned her eyelids, and she knew she had to push down al of these terrible feelings or she would explode then and there.

And she didn’t have that luxury. Her family needed her strength, even as she needed theirs.

She thought of Dirk and the distraught, conflicted look on his face when he had left her a few hours ago to take Nico to the police station for booking.

“Are you sure, Van?” he’d asked her. “I can stay here if you want me to. I’l cal a radio car to take him in.”

“No, you need to question him. Put him in the box and sweat him. Find out what this is al about.” He had hugged her to him, long and hard. Then, as he released her, he said, “If you need me, you cal . I mean it. I can get over here in five minutes.”

If I need you? she thought as she looked out the window toward the direction of the station house. Of course I need you. You’re my husband now. I’ll always need you.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ryan looking down at her, his green eyes ful of concern.

“She’s going to be okay,” he told her. “I know she is.”

Savannah didn’t reply. She couldn’t. How many times had she uttered those exact words to people in the same type of situation? She, of al people, knew how meaningless they were. The only purpose they served was to get people through horrible, stressful times as they clutched at any form of hope they could find.

Ryan had no idea whether Tammy was going to be okay or not. At this point, even the physicians who had examined and treated her didn’t know.

“She’s not out of the woods yet,” they had said. “We’l know more in twenty-four hours.” They didn’t know. Ryan didn’t know. Nobody knew whether their Tammy would ever return to them, would ever be her sweet, bubbly self again.

“Thank you,” she told Ryan, trying hard to sound like she meant it, whether she did or not.

“You should go home,” he said, “and get some rest. You were in a bad car wreck. And now al the stress about her. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m not going home,” she replied. Her voice sounded bitter and angry, even to herself. “If I were going anywhere, I’d go to the police station and pick up where Dirk left off—beating the shit outta that yayhoo that did this to her.” No one said anything. Ryan, Dora, and Waycross just stood there with mixtures of surprise, sadness, and agreement on their faces.

Final y, Dora left Tammy and walked over to Savannah. She placed her hands on Savannah’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.

The older woman radiated strength, wisdom, and confidence. She wasn’t the chattering, bossy, annoying nitwit she had appeared to be when Savannah had first met her. Now she was a nurse, a woman who had saved lives, who had healed sick and injured people more than half of her adult life.

“Leave. Go to the police station,” she said. “You won’t beat anybody up—though I’m sure you’l want to. You’l help Dirk, like you have for years.

You guys are a team, and he needs you.”

“But Tammy,” she protested.

“I’l take care of your friend, Savannah. It’s what I do best.” She placed her hand on Savannah’s cheek and gave it an affectionate pat. “Go do what you do best.”

“How goz it?” Savannah texted to Dirk’s phone as soon as she pul ed into the parking lot of the police station.