Page 68 of Glimmer in the Darkness

Good point. If she’d eaten today, if she hadn’t been mountain climbing on an empty stomach, if she hadn’t been shot, she’d have thought of that.

He turned his attention to his phone.

“Please, James. Please don’t call the police until I’m safely away from you. I need to rest. I need a bed, not a jail cell.”

“Don’t have service anyway.” He lowered the phone and started walking along the edge of the asphalt. “Someone’ll come along.”

She fell in step beside him. “How far are we from the Jeep?”

“Miles.”

Miles. She’d never make it.

She started to wonder if she’d be better off if she were arrested. At least the police would take her to a hospital, and a doctor might make her stay, and she’d be given a nice, warm bed and a good meal and a potent painkiller. If she could just sleep, then she could think straight. Then she could figure out what to do next.

Of course, in that scenario, the “next” would be jail.

They’d walked ten or fifteen minutes when the distant sound of an engine broke through her muddled thoughts.

Before she had a chance to react, James pulled her off the road and behind a tree. “I’ll get a ride to my Jeep and come back for you. Stay here.”

She lowered to the ground, happy to comply.

James walked back to the road. She couldn’t see him from here, but she heard the engine approach, then slow down.

“You all right?” a male voice called.

“My friend and I were hiking when she took a bad fall. Any chance you could give us a ride to my car?”

What was he doing? Why bring her into this when he’d just told her to hide?

“I can call someone for you.” The driver’s voice dripped with suspicion.

“My name’s James Sullivan. I live right next to the campground on Highway 23. I’m just gonna grab my ID.” After a pause, she heard, “Here you go. Feel free to take a picture and send it to someone you trust. I mean you no harm, just need to get my friend to safety.”

“Where’s the car?” the stranger asked.

“A couple miles from here.” Then James shouted, “Ellen?”

Ellen. Cassidy’s middle name. Good memory.

She stepped out from behind the tree and walked toward the silver sedan. It had Massachusetts plates. Not a local. Not someone who’d recognize either of them. Of course, he could’ve seen her photo. It’d been plastered all over the state. But it was an old photo and looked nothing like the new Cassidy.

There was a man behind the wheel, another in the passenger seat. Both dressed for a day outdoors.

The driver gazed at her through the windshield, then said, “Okay. Get in.”

James helped Cassidy into the backseat. The air conditioner must’ve been working overtime, because the air was chilly against her sweaty skin.

James settled beside her and scooted close.

The driver hit the gas while the passenger, eyeing the sweatshirt she was still gripping, asked, “What did you do?”

She was trying to formulate an answer when James said, “She took a nasty fall and gashed her scalp. I left all our stuff and carried her out. Any chance you guys have some water?”

The passenger handed back a cold bottle, and James palmed it open and handed it to her.

She gulped greedily, forced herself to stop, and handed it to James. He took a reasonable sip.