Plain Cover-Up. Alison Stone
never stop working if she could find a way to function on no food and zero sleep. The sleep she sacrificed, food, not so much. Christina smiled at the memory of Georgia’s laugh. It was nice to have someone to work with after running the clinic by herself for so many years.
With her free hand, Christina pulled her light jacket closed and fastened the zipper at the bottom. A shudder twined its way up her spine, making her feel unsettled.
Had chatting with Dylan for a few moments at the diner really thrown her this off balance?
Christina had carefully avoided him since he moved to Apple Creek earlier in the year to teach at the law school. She still had no idea why he was on leave from the FBI, his self-proclaimed dream job. And frankly she didn’t care. She figured he had lost interest and moved onto his next thing, much like he had done with her. Maybe he’d go back. Maybe he wouldn’t.
But tonight she’d had no choice but to make small talk with him because the diner was empty and Flo, the long-time waitress, took a while to pull her order together. If Christina had been suspicious by nature, she’d have thought Flo’s delay had been intentional.
What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. Franny’s favorite expression floated to mind. Well, one of many favorite expressions of her parents’ housekeeper.
A deep rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Maybe she should have taken the ride Dylan had offered.
She probably would have taken the offer if it had come from anybody else.
Christina hustled past the stores on Main Street to the residences with postage-stamp-size lawns. She used to rent one of these apartments, until she’d realized she wanted a more rural setting where she could have privacy.
Cigarette smoke wafted in her direction. Instinctively, she turned to see where it was coming from, but could only see the red glow of a cigarette in the shadows. Feeling like she was being watched, she squared her shoulders and walked with an air of authority.
Don’t walk like a victim.
The notion that a victim somehow asked for it by acting a certain way made her bristle. However, being aware of one’s surroundings was always a good idea. A college student had been attacked in the nearby apartments a couple of weeks ago.
Christina had treated the woman for minor injuries, including a superficial knife wound across her cheek. Thank goodness the young woman had gotten away, but Christina and her brother, Deputy Nick Jennings, worried the attacker might grow bolder. The woman couldn’t identify whoever had assaulted her, and any leads had dried up.
Maybe that’s where Christina’s apprehension stemmed from. It had everything to do with a recent attack and nothing to do with seeing Dylan Hunter again.
Christina kept her steady pace, refusing to live in fear.
Been there, done that.
However, there was something to be said about being smart. Safe. Christina walked more briskly, ignoring the whisper of dread sending goose bumps across her flesh.
A gust of wind picked up and whipped loose strands of hair across her face. She hooked a piece of hair with her free hand and dragged it out of her mouth. Even though they were a month away from the official start of summer, a storm could sweep in and drop the temperature by ten or even twenty degrees. All she had on was a light jacket.
A fat drop of rain hit her head. Christina held up her palm to confirm what her head already knew. With her free hand, she flipped up the hood on her spring jacket.
Christina untwisted the plastic bag from around her wrist, fearing it was cutting off the circulation to her tingling fingers. She switched hands and focused on the crunching of the gravel under her feet as she turned onto the country road. The healthcare clinic was only a hundred yards or so away, across the street from some ball fields. If she hurried, she’d make it before the skies opened up.
Too late.
The intermittent drops turned into a wall of torrential rain. Holding her jacket closed with both hands—the bag dangling from her hand—Christina ran toward the clinic with her head down. Her dinner in the plastic bag banged against the tops of her thighs. Already she lamented the demise of her sandwich.
The slam of a car door made Christina glance up. The headlights of a sedan parked in front of the clinic blinded her. She squinted against the brightness, the rain peppering her face. Unease slid its way up her spine.
Heart thundering in her chest, she raced toward the car. Perhaps someone had had an emergency. She waved to them in case they had come looking for her and found the clinic locked. Christina had told Georgia to leave if she needed to and to put a sign on the door that the physician would be right back.
As Christina got closer to the vehicle, the hairs on her arms prickled to life as if charged by an electrical storm. The pounding of rain on the metal gutters of the nondescript building mingled with her frantic heartbeat. The car’s tires spun before gaining traction in the gravel parking lot.
Christina dropped her takeout bag and waved her arms frantically. Maybe they couldn’t see her in the rain. The car covered the ground between them. Christina froze for the briefest of seconds before she saw a dark form bearing down on her out of the corner of her eye.
Christina closed her eyes tight as she was shoved sideways and a man landed on top of her. Her shoulder hit the ground with a resounding thud. She groaned. The sound of gravel churning close to her head sent terror racing through her heart.
Shivering with icy panic, Christina opened her eyes a fraction and saw Dylan Hunter staring down at her. “You okay?”
“I...um...” Christina shifted her head to see the rain and dusk swallowing up the taillights of the vehicle that had officially ruined her evening.
Dylan rolled off her and stood. He held out his hand to help her up, his gaze locked on the departing car. Her wet hair whipped against her face. Before she had time to mourn the loss of her BLT—now scattered across the gravel—she acknowledged her gratitude.
Thank you, Lord, for protecting me from that car. For keeping me safe.
Getting to her feet, her hand still in his solid grasp, she shook her head in disbelief. “What in the world...?”
“I was only able to get a partial plate. It’s something. And he had a busted taillight,” Dylan bit out between breaths.
Where had Dylan come from?
It was then that she noticed his truck and the driver’s side door yawning open on the side of the road, as if he had arrived just in time to push her out of the way.
Something drew her attention to the front door of the clinic. In the dim light of the bulb on the overhang, she saw a heap of fabric. Renewed fear zinged through her system, immediately making her forget about her near-death experience.
Christina yanked her hand out of Dylan’s and ran toward the door. As she approached, she recognized the traditional Amish dress, boots and bonnet.
Her pulse spiked. “Naomi!” The young Amish woman, now curled up by the brick wall of the clinic, cleaned her office twice a week.
“Naomi,” Christina said again, this time more urgently. She touched the young woman’s face and her head lolled back, her eyes closed. Christina glanced over her shoulder and yelled to Dylan who was only steps away, “Help me get her into the clinic.”
With wet, cold, shaky fingers, Christina struggled to dig her keys out of the back pocket of her jeans, all the while repeating a prayer for poor Naomi. The metal key skidded across the lock before Christina was able to insert it into the slot and unlock the door.
Christina pushed the door wide for Dylan and pressed herself firmly against it as he carried her Amish friend over the threshold like a bride. “Follow me to the back exam room.”
Christina strode down the narrow hallway, slapping at light switches as she went. Her heartbeat jackhammered, her body’s automatic response to