Fatal Disclosure. Sandra Robbins
He raised his hand and swept it in a wide arc. “You’re out in the open at a tourist attraction in the middle of the day. It could be dangerous.”
She pulled the gardening gloves from her hand and tossed them in the basket that held her trowel and pruning shears. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He glanced up and down the street that ran in front of the cemetery. “This is off the beaten path from the main street of the village. I’m only concerned about your safety.”
Betsy propped her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. It seems like that was what you said after Mr. Rousseau’s arrest. Your friendship with me was an attempt to keep me safe. Well, I didn’t buy it then—and I don’t now.”
“Betsy, please. What happened this morning has nothing to do with Memphis.”
“Maybe not to you, but I can’t help remembering how I felt when you thought I was a criminal.”
“Betsy…”
Before he could continue, her cell phone chimed. Betsy held up her hand to stop him. She unzipped her fanny pack and pulled it out. Mark’s lips twitched when he spotted the phone’s hard cover with its painted swirl of butterflies and flowers. “What’s wrong?” she said.
He arched an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen a cover like that.”
“I’m an artist. I like bright colors.” She dropped her gaze to the phone’s screen. The number on the caller ID wasn’t familiar. “Hello.”
“Where is it?” the raspy voice rattled in her ear.
She pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment before she raised it back to her ear. “Excuse me. Who is this?”
“A friend.”
Betsy frowned and cast a quick glance at Mark.
He stepped closer. “Who is it?” he whispered.
She shrugged and spoke again. “You have the wrong number.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I don’t like prank calls, mister,” Betsy snarled. “Don’t call this number again.” She punched the end button and slipped her phone back in her fanny pack.
“Who was that?” A worried frown creased Mark’s forehead.
“Wrong number.” She gave the fanny pack’s zipper a quick tug and reached for the basket at her feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going. Good luck catching whoever you’re after this time.”
She brushed past him and headed toward her truck that was parked on the opposite side of the street. Her fingers gripped the basket’s handle tighter as she stepped onto the roadway. Her mind whirled with questions. Why had Mark gone out of his way to find her? She doubted if he really had concerns about her safety. He had allowed her to continue working in the dangerous environment of the Memphis restaurant without ever warning her. Of course at the time, he had thought she was involved in the operation.
Ever since she’d first seen him this morning, her head had been spinning with all kinds of thoughts she didn’t want to remember. All she wanted was to get away from him as quickly as possible. Working on her latest painting would help her push these troubling thoughts from her head.
A car engine’s roar shattered the quiet, and Betsy stared down the street to her left. Her chest constricted at the sight of a black car speeding toward her. Her mind screamed for her to get out of its path, but her feet wouldn’t move.
Her body seemed to have switched off its power, and she had the feeling she’d stepped into a movie’s slow-motion scene. She willed her legs to move, but they didn’t respond.
“Betsy, look out!” Mark’s cry came from behind her.
The car roared closer, only a few feet from her at the edge of the cemetery. She closed her eyes just as a heavy weight slammed into her from behind and pushed her forward. The basket flew out of her hand and bounced off the hood of the car as Mark’s arms encircled her and propelled her forward. They both skidded to a stop facedown on the pavement beside her truck.
In an instant, Mark was on his feet and staring at the car that disappeared in the distance. Then he dropped back to the ground beside her and helped her sit up. “Are you all right? The car was too far away to get a license plate number.”
Betsy winced at the pain in her knees. Her eyes grew wide at the blood trailing down her legs where the skin had been scraped away. She wanted to clamp her hands over the wounds, but her palms burned as if they were on fire. She flexed her fingers. “Next time, I’ll wear jeans instead of shorts.”
Mark bent over her and examined the cuts. “This doesn’t look as bad as it could have been. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, just a little banged up.”
As she started to get up, he grasped her arm and helped her to her feet. “I think we need to go to the health center and get you checked out.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “We can do this one of two ways. I’ll take you to the health center, or I’ll call your brother and tell him you were almost hit by a car. Which will it be?”
She sighed and nodded. “Okay. Do you want to follow me in your car?”
“You don’t think I’m going to let you drive after what just happened, do you? You’re riding with me. We can get your truck later.”
Betsy opened her mouth to argue, but she could tell by the look on his face that it would do no good. “Okay, have it your way. But would you mind getting my gardening tools out of the street before we leave?”
“Sure. Go on and get in my car. It’s parked at the edge of the cemetery.”
Betsy watched Mark begin to pick up the scattered tools from the street before she turned and hobbled toward his vehicle. The near-miss with the car had left her with more than a few scrapes and scratches. Her skin prickled in fear at the thought that she’d almost been run over.
She’d never felt that scared before, and she hoped she never would again. Her inability to respond to the immediate danger baffled her. Why hadn’t she jumped out of the way instead of standing in the street like a frightened animal, not knowing which way to turn? If it hadn’t been for Mark, she might be dead now.
She stopped at the door of his car and stared back at him. No matter what she thought about Mark on a personal level, she had to admit his law enforcement training had served him well. He had reacted like a trained professional, and she owed him a debt of gratitude. Maybe her gratitude would help her overcome the hurt he’d inflicted on her in the past. Then again, maybe nothing could change how she felt. Only time would tell.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Mark flipped a magazine closed and tossed it onto the table at the end of the couch in the health center waiting room. He glanced at his watch and yawned before he pushed to his feet. What could be taking the doctor so long with Betsy?
The front door burst open, and Scott Michaels and Brock Gentry rushed in. They hurried over to him. “Where is she?” Scott demanded.
“Dr. Hunter has her in the examining room. He told me to wait out here until he gets her checked out.”
Brock glanced at the closed door leading to the hallway that housed the exam rooms. “What happened?”
Before Mark could answer, the front door burst open again, and a woman Mark had never seen ran into the room. A mesh baby carrier strapped to her body held a baby whose head rested against her chest. She hurried toward Brock, and he put his arm around her.
“How is she?”
“Doc Hunter’s with her now.” He turned to Mark.