Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (25 page)

M
eeting or no meeting, he wished Taylor would answer her phone or text he’d sent. The call went to voice mail again, and Nick left another message for her to call him. Reluctantly, he scrolled to his recent calls for the Martin number. He’d already talked to Allison once, explaining that Scott had disappeared.

He never dreamed Scott would steal Charlie’s truck. He’d asked himself over and over why his brother had run. And came up with only one answer—he was afraid to talk to Taylor. According to Kate, after Scott learned Taylor wanted to talk with him, he’d been nervous and then disappeared upstairs. Evidently, when Charlie was taking a nap, his brother had snuck into Charlie’s room and stolen the truck keys. And the whiskey along with sixty dollars. And Charlie’s .22 caliber pistol was missing, presumably taken by Scott. Nausea burned up Nick’s esophagus. Evidently, he didn’t know his brother at all. He touched the Martin number, and it redialed.

“Hello?” Allison answered.

“Have you heard from Taylor?” he asked.

“She just called, but the phone went dead and now she won’t answer. I didn’t get a chance to tell her that Scott’s missing. Ethan just left to intercept her at the exit off the bypass. She said something
about stopping at Walmart, so Jonathan is going to wait there in case Ethan misses her.”

“Call me if you hear from her.” He hung up and paced the floor as thunder rumbled overhead. Finally, he grabbed his keys. Driving to Walmart was infinitely easier than waiting.

Lightning exploded from an ominous wall cloud that dipped almost to the ground. Taylor pressed the trigger on the pump at Walmart and willed the gas to flow faster. She did not want to get caught in the approaching storm. She stopped at ten gallons and didn’t wait for the receipt.

Wind rocked the Rav4 as Taylor drove the SUV faster than she should on the dark highway from town to Coley Road. Headlights flashed in her rear mirror and were lost as she rounded a curve. Another bolt arced across the sky, then darkness swallowed the night once more.

A vehicle approached from behind.

Fast.

Someone else wanted to get home before the storm hit. She hugged the right side of the road, giving a wide berth for the car to come around. High beams reflected in her rearview mirror, blinding her as the vehicle rode her bumper. Had to be a truck—lights were too high to be a car. She tapped the brake pedal, but the warning went unheeded.

Taylor slowed for the driver to pass, but the truck stayed on her bumper. Her chest tightened, cutting her breath. This wasn’t someone wanting to get home. She gripped the steering wheel and stomped the accelerator. The truck matched her speed. She scanned the road ahead and glimpsed pin dots of light. Another vehicle.

Too far away.

The dots disappeared, leaving her alone with the truck once more.

Another two miles before she turned onto Coley Road. She envisioned the winding, lonely road. No, not going there. Her headlights picked up a road sign. The old Memphis–Logan Point Highway that looped back into town. Perfect. She slowed to make the turn. Her body jerked against her seat belt as the truck rammed the Rav4.

Taylor slammed the accelerator to the floor and shot forward, missing the road. The lights swung out and the vehicle pulled even. She cut her eyes toward it.

A flash of light.

Her window exploded.

Another flash.

The jerk was shooting at her!

She yanked the steering wheel to the right and braked hard. The SUV fishtailed. Taylor fought for control as the front tire skidded into loose gravel.

“No!” The scream hung in the air as the Rav4 flipped over. Time slowed to a standstill as glass flew everywhere. The SUV landed hard, jarring her grip loose from the steering wheel. It flipped again, landing on its wheels.

Like a shroud, deathly silence enveloped her.

Her head was braced against the steering wheel. Blood trickled between her eyes and down her nose, dripping on her pants. She raised her head up, but dizziness forced it back down as the odor of gasoline permeated the air.
Got to get out.
Taylor fumbled to unfasten the seat belt.

Footsteps crunched toward her.

She stilled her hand, her whole body. The footsteps stopped. Taylor held her breath and barely cracked her eyelids. Legs stood close enough to touch through the shattered window. Faded jeans. A man’s legs. Her mind snapped a picture to recall later.

If later came.

The deathly quiet was broken only by his raspy breathing.

Rrrack.

No!
She’d heard that sound too many times not to know a bullet had just been chambered. She didn’t want to die.

Dear God, please, no!
She waited for the bullet.
If you’re real, God, help me.

Click.

The empty sound echoed in her brain.

She struggled not to move.

The distant sound of tires broke the tomblike silence. The man spun around, and once again gravel crunched, fast, like he was running. Seconds later, a motor revved to life and tires squealed. Taylor released her pent-up breath and gulped another one, inhaling the musty scent of rain mingled with gas fumes.

Gas. Hot motor. Her fingers fumbled with the seat belt again. Nausea came in waves, and her chest heaved against the seat belt.

Got to
get out . . .

Nick’s unease grew as he turned off Coley Road onto the narrow highway to Logan Point. The impending storm did little to calm him. He hadn’t felt such a strong need to pray for someone since Angie lay dying in his arms.

Minutes later, he glimpsed headlights from the opposite direction. Maybe it was Taylor. He slowed. The approaching lights blazed in his eyes, and Nick flashed his high beams. “Come on, bud, dim them.”

The vehicle roared past. Half-blinded by the lights, he couldn’t identify the type of vehicle, much less the driver. He was certain it wasn’t Taylor, though. She had too much sense to drive that fast on this crooked road. He drove on. If he didn’t meet her by the time he reached Walmart, he’d wait at the exit.

Half-dollar-sized raindrops splattered his windshield. He rounded a curve and spied a car on the side of the road. Wasn’t Taylor’s Rav4, but he slowed. Twin beams of light blazed from the tree line. Someone was in trouble.

He pulled onto the shoulder of the road and jumped out just as the thunderstorm broke. Driving rain whipped him across the highway. A man raced toward him.

“There’s a car in the ditch, and a woman trapped in it.”

Nick could barely hear the man over the din of the rain.

“I can’t get the door open. You got something we can use for a lever?”

Nick wiped rain from his eyes. “Have you called 911?”

“My wife did.”

Nick ran back to his Mustang and threw open his trunk. There was a tire iron somewhere. There. He grabbed it and sprinted toward the wrecked car.

Lightning revealed a gold Rav4. Nick’s heart almost stopped. In the driver’s seat, Taylor struggled with the seat belt. Blood flowed from a gash on her head.

No!
He clambered down the ditch and jerked on the door jammed into the frame. Taylor turned toward him, her eyes frantic. The odor of gasoline filled his nostrils.

“Nick, help me!”

Hopelessly lost, Scott slowed the old truck as flashing lights revealed an ambulance on the side of the road. He was a goner. He searched for somewhere to turn around so he could return to Memphis, but a flashlight already motioned him forward. Blood thumped in his head, drowning out everything else. He eased forward and caught sight of Nick’s convertible, then a woman being loaded into the ambulance. Dr. Martin. For a second, he didn’t breathe.

Whatever happened to her, the cops would say he did it. He thought his chest would burst as he came alongside the state trooper, but evidently the trooper wasn’t looking at license plates, only directing traffic. He signaled Scott to keep moving.

Once past the wreck, Scott pulled his thoughts together. He
wanted to do the right thing, but he didn’t want to go to jail. Maybe if he called Nick, talked to him, his brother would help him out of this mess. He pulled over on the side of the road and punched in Nick’s number, then waited, his thumb hovering over the end button.

“Hello.” Nick’s voice sounded strained.

“I shouldn’t have run away.”

“Scott? Where are you? Did you force Taylor off the road?”

“No!” Why would Nick think that? “Is she going to be okay?”

“How did you know she was hurt?” The hollow sound of Nick’s voice filled his ear. “So help me, Scott, if you’re the one who hurt her . . .”

“You gotta believe me, Nick. I’d never hurt her.”

“Then how did you know?”

“I was bringing Charlie’s truck back when I saw the wreck.”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Turn yourself in?”

“I got scared.”

“I’m not buying your story. Scott, where are—”

Scott pressed the red button, cutting Nick off. It was no use. Nobody believed him, not even his brother. He rested his head against the steering wheel. He had to get out of Logan Point before someone recognized Charlie’s truck. But where could he hide?

His cell rang and he answered it. “Nick, I promise, I didn’t hurt Dr. Martin.”

“Taylor’s been hurt?” Digger’s voice crackled through the receiver.

“Somebody ran her off the road, and Nick thinks I did it. She’s hurt. Bad. But I didn’t do it, I promise.”

“I believe you, Scotty boy.”

Silence filled the airwaves.

“You still there, Digger? Where are you?”

“I’m out of town, but I’m on my way home. Call your attorney. He won’t turn you in.”

“Why can’t you help me?”

“You don’t need me, you need a lawyer.”

“I don’t know—”

“Do it, Scott.”

Nick’s gut wrenched as the ambulance doors closed. Just like the surgery doors that swallowed Angie’s gurney. He couldn’t do it again. Wouldn’t.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out.
Scott!

“Why did you hang up?” Nick walked away from the ambulance.

“You gotta believe me. I was bringing Charlie’s truck back.”

“Take the truck home now and wait for me.”