Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (find a book to read TXT) 📗

sure. She was aware of the car slamming through an expanse of corrugated metal fencing, of the windshield shattering, of the splintering of wood on metal as they glanced off a pine tree, and, moments later, of the rush of water.

And then it was quiet.

67

Wyatt pushed the old truck’s accelerator all the way to the floor once he heard the one-sided conversation on Grace’s call. He shuddered at the sound of Ashleigh’s slurred speech. She was drunk, deranged, out of control. And Grace was strapped into the passenger seat right beside her, helpless.

As he closed the gap between the racing cars and his own, he saw Ashleigh’s frenzied pursuit of the silver Audi, guessing the driver was Suchita, Ashleigh’s romantic rival. He didn’t have a clear idea of what he’d do if and when he caught up to the women, but he knew he would have to do something. He wondered, fleetingly, if Ashleigh had a gun. The only gun Wyatt owned was Nelson’s old service pistol—but it was kept under lock and key in the file cabinet in the office. And what if he did have the gun? How would he use it? Shoot out the tires of a moving vehicle? Ridiculous.

A dozen awful scenarios flashed through his mind as he struggled to keep pace.

He wondered if the same scenarios occurred to Grace. Her voice sounded so calm, so cool on the other end of the phone. “Keep trying, Grace,” he murmured.

They crossed the first bay bridge, and he managed to catch up to within two car lengths when a lumbering old dump truck forced everybody to slow down.

But in the blink of an eye, everything changed. He saw the BMW switch lanes, saw it pull alongside the Audi, and then deliberately try and sideswipe the other car.

The Audi’s driver slammed on the brakes, and seconds later, to his horror, he saw the BMW veer off the road and plow through the metal fencing. He saw the cloud of sand spewed by the spinning tires, heard the crunch of metal on metal, and, worst of all, heard the hair-raising chorus of screams from inside the BMW.

And then nothing, except the pounding of his own blood in his ears, as he saw the car skimming into the jade green waters of Palma Sola Bay.

*   *   *

Wyatt was out of the truck almost before it stopped, with the only tool he had at hand, the heavy Maglite flashlight he kept under the front seat. He ran through the jagged opening in the fencing left by the BMW and waded into the warm, shallow water. The BMW was immersed up to its hood ornament. He cursed himself for not removing the thick-soled leather work boots that made his trek to the car take what seemed like hours.

Finally, he reached the car. The windshield was shattered, and water was seeping in. He could see that the air bags had deployed and were already deflated. He splashed over to the passenger side, and his heart leapt when he saw Grace’s brown hair. He yanked furiously at the door, until he remembered that Ashleigh had locked it.

“Grace!” he shouted. “Grace. Are you all right?” She turned her head slightly to the right, and he could see a thin trickle of blood oozing down her face.

“Turn your head away,” he shouted, and began hammering at the center of the window with the butt of the flashlight. He slammed it against the glass again and again, until finally the window seemed to crinkle into a million pieces and fall away.

“Give me your arms,” he told her, but she stared at him, dazed or in shock; he wasn’t quite sure. “Your arms!” he repeated. “I’m going to pull you out. Come on, Grace. I need to get you out of this water.”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice weak. Wyatt grabbed her by the shoulder. “Come on, honey. You can do this.”

She shook her head violently, fumbling with something in her lap. Wyatt stuck his head in the window and saw that her seat belt was still fastened and that water had reached her knees. He leaned in until his torso was in the car and, with shaking fingers, managed to unbuckle it.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. You’re good now. Let’s go, Gracie. Let’s get you out.”

Finally, she nodded, turned, and knelt on the seat, reaching her arms for him. He wrapped his own arms under hers. “Put your arms around my neck,” he urged. He tugged while she wriggled, and, finally, she came free of the car, collapsing against him in the waist-deep water.

Wyatt stood there for a moment, holding her tightly against his chest, unwilling to let her go. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Your head, legs, arms, anything?”

“I’m okay,” she said shakily. And then, unbelievably, she laughed a little, whispering in his ear. “But I think maybe I peed my pants.” He laughed, too, then. “Don’t tell anybody, but I might have peed mine, too. Just a little, when I saw the car go airborne.”

“Ashleigh,” she said urgently. “Get Ashleigh out.”

“I need to get you to the shore,” he said, starting for the beach, but she pulled away.

“No. I can walk by myself. Get Ashleigh. Please, Wyatt.”

He nodded grimly and turned back toward the BMW.

Ashleigh was slumped over in the driver’s seat. He broke the window out with his flashlight, calling her name. “Ashleigh? Ashleigh? Talk to me. Come on, Ashleigh. It’s Wyatt. Talk to me.”

He reached in and touched the base of her neck. She was warm, and he could feel a pulse, but her breathing was shallow. Water was up to her lap and streaming in through the windshield and the passenger window. He wriggled halfway through the window and saw that, unlike Grace, Ashleigh hadn’t fastened her seat belt. Which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He grasped the unmoving woman under the arms, in the same way he had grabbed Grace, but she was a dead weight. He backed out a little, trying