Page 29 of A Ranger for Christmas
“Do you have any information on the second car?” Sherry asked.
Lucas set his coffee cup down. “We did get surveillance of a driver stopping and changing a tire. He’s in the shadows and it’s hard to make him out much. Our computer tech guy will be back from holiday in a couple of days and can enhance the image.”
“Marisa, did you see him?” Sherry asked.
“No. I was just a little freaked out.” More memories swirled in her mind, rolling in and out like the lapping waters of the Gulf.For a moment, one memory skittered nearly close enough to grab. No words or thoughts. But a sound.
“Are you getting another headache?” Lucas was staring at her hard.
“I thought I was remembering. No words but a sound. Like a ringtone on a phone. I have this odd feeling that whoever ran me off the road approached my car, but stopped when his phone rang.”
Lucas set his spoon down. “What was the sound?”
“A song. It was classical. Mozart, I think.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No. I don’t think I could open my eyes. But I heard the crunch of brush under boots and the song.” She shook her head. “That’s all I have. Why can’t I remember more?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Lucas is right, hon,” Sherry said. “You’ll remember and Lucas will find the guy who did this. No one gets away from Lucas Cooper.”
Color warmed Marisa’s cheeks as she lifted the cup to her lips.
No one gets away from Lucas Cooper.
Chapter 10
Tuesday, December 23, 4:01A.M.
Lucas had insisted Marisa go to sleep. He’d declared her pale and exhausted, and when Sherry had agreed, she’d gone to the spare room. By the time she’d changed into a gown and slipped under the covers, sleep had taken her swiftly.
But even the deepest sleeps can be penetrated. Most nights when she awoke it was with worry over work. Tonight, it had been to the scrape of metal, car against car, and the sound of her own beating heart hammering in her brain. Damp palms gripping the steering wheel, she’d dreamed of a car swerving into her as fear ripped screams from her lungs and her car careened over the embankment. So helpless.
Marisa woke with a jerk, hands covering her face as a cry escaped her lips. Her breathing labored as if a weight rested on her chest.
She’d had plenty of bad dreams as a kid after her parents had divorced. All left her weeping in the middle of the night, alone because her mother, lost in her own grief, had turned to sleeping pills and rarely heard Marisa’s cries.
She glanced around the unfamiliar room, trying to anchor herself in the present just as she’d done as a child. Catalogue. Analyze. She searched for her belongings, but when she didn’t see her battered backpack, muddied hiking boots, or her clothes strewn in careless piles on the floor, panic flared. Sweat dampening her brow, she reminded herself to breathe. Breathe. In and out. Finally, sleep’s haze evaporated like the morningmist, and she could analyze the room’s puzzle pieces—a cherry dresser and mirror, pastel curtains, a rocking chair, and a handmade quilt warming the bed. Sherry’s house.
A light clicked on in the hallway and after a soft knock on her door, it opened. The light illuminated a man’s large, broad-shouldered frame. “Marisa?”
She recognized Lucas’s deep voice and sat taller, ashamed that she’d cried out in her sleep. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
His shirt open over worn jeans, he hovered in the doorway as if he approached uncharted territory. “I was awake. Not much of a sleeper.”
She pushed the hair back from her eyes, realizing the sound of his voice had slowed her runaway pulse. “I’m sorry.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, in no rush to leave. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve had one heck of a week.”
“It’s one for the record books.” A ghost of a smile tugged the edges of her lips as she rose up out of bed. She needed to stand on her own two feet and prove to Lucas and herself that she was just fine. Her gown brushed her ankles and billowed around her small frame. “Did anyone else hear me?”
“No. Just me. I’m bunked with the boys and those three rascals sleep like the dead.”
“That I envy. I’ve not slept through the night in years.”
His head tilted a fraction, as if she’d piqued his curiosity. “Why’s that?”
