Page 32 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kat

D imly, I heard the emergency operator speaking from the floorboards, but I was too paralyzed by fear to even try to reach the phone. Nico pressed his foot hard on the gas, grasping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white as he tried to keep the car on the pavement.

“Kitten, listen to me. There’s a stretch of trees coming up on the right. We’re going to pull off and as soon as the car stops, you’re going to run like hell into the woods, do you hear me?”

“What about you?” I asked. My pulse roared in my ears, but his words sliced into my panic like a blade. “Nico, what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you, I swear I will be.

We don’t know what kind of weapons might be inside that car or how many people are in there, so I need you to take off like a bat out of hell.

Promise me. Don’t stop for any reason until you get somewhere safe.

I won’t be able to do a damn thing if I don’t know you’re safe, Kat. ”

I opened my mouth to agree just as we were struck again, harder this time. The impact caused me to bite the inside of my lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Nico!” I gasped, but it was too late.

The black SUV rammed into the left side of our bumper a third time, sending us into a gut-wrenching spin.

The other vehicle blew past us, speeding away as Nico’s little sedan took a nosedive into the ditch along side of the road.

In the span of an instant, I went from listening to his muttered curses to hearing nothing more than a high pitched whistle as steam wafted from the engine.

The airbags erupted into a blinding white cloud in front of us.

My own hoarse whisper sounded miles away when I said, “Nico?”

Something damp dripped down my cheek, but I couldn’t tell if it was blood or tears.

The world still twirled outside the stillness of the vehicle, spinning for several minutes until the waves of dizziness dissipated.

At that point, I realized my head was pressed against the window and tried to sit back against the seat—it took every remaining ounce of strength just to lift my head.

When I wiped the back of my hand against my cheekbone, the streak of blood on my skin cut through the fog.

“Nico! ”

I managed to blink him into focus only to see the airbag deflating in front of him.

His eyes were closed, his body still as death, just as it had been that day in the forest. My seatbelt locked when I tried to reach over to check for a pulse, then I saw his chest lift and fall with a breath and went limp with relief.

Harsh gasps burst from my lips until I slapped a hand over my mouth to quiet them. Eventually, my panic waned a little, enough for me to realize we couldn’t just sit here and wait for the SUV to return.

“Phone. Phone,” I muttered, wrestling with the belt buckle.

I needed to call for help. That goal filled my mind and blocked out everything else, even the throbbing pain in my cheekbone.

My fingers were sluggish, but once I managed to free myself from the seatbelt, I bent down to find the phone that had fallen by my feet.

The screen was blessedly intact, though it took me several shaky attempts to unlock the device.

I hit redial on the previous 911 call and almost cried when the same operator spoke.

“We need help,” I gasped around the tears that clogged my throat. “Please, I think he’s hurt. Someone just ran us off the road. We need help.”

The calm voice on the other end assured me they had officers on their way already and encouraged me to stay on the line.

When I was ready to break down completely upon seeing the ashen tint to Nico’s normally golden skin, the operator walked me through checking the pulse in his throat.

It was strong and steady under my fingertips, soothing me until the sound of sirens grew close.

“They’re coming,” I whispered. “I’m going to hang up now. Thank you. Thank you.”

Nico shifted in his seat with a groan. “Kat?”

“Oh, thank god. We’re okay, Nico.”

“We’re okay,” he repeated.

He winced when he lifted his head, but his fingers laced with mine and gave a squeeze.

Though I had no idea how bad I looked, the blood on my face caught his attention.

In the glow of the flashing lights coming up behind us, he reached over and cupped my chin in his hand.

After a moment of searching, he located the tiny cut on my cheekbone, rubbing his thumb gently below the wound.

“You’re bleeding. Why do you always end up bleeding when you’re with me?”

I gave a shaky laugh. “I’ll survive. You’re the one who was unconscious.”

“I’m okay,” Nico said softly. As he watched, my eyes fluttered closed and a single tear rolled down my uninjured cheek. “We’re both okay.”

Two police cars and an ambulance pulled up alongside the wrecked vehicle. With my phone still clutched in one blood-smeared hand and Nico gripping the other, I gave in to the waves of relief that stole through my veins .

The darkness tugged me down, down, and the last thing I saw was a female EMT with bright red hair peering through the web of cracks in the passenger window.

W ith no idea how much time had passed, I reluctantly opened my eyes, only to squeeze them shut again under the bright lights of a hospital room. For a brief second, I wondered if I could slip away into the peaceful darkness again, then my lids flew wide and I sat up so quickly the room spun.

“Easy there, easy,” a man in navy scrubs said gently.

“How long was I out? Where’s Nico?” I demanded.

I waited only until my vision steadied before trying to swing my legs over the side of the bed. It wasn’t a hospital room after all, just a curtained section of a larger area.

“Is this the emergency room?”

“Yes, at Eastman Memorial.”

I grimaced. There was no hospital in Spruce Hill, so the ambulance had brought us into the city. “And Nico?”

“Your friend will be just fine, Ms. Willoughby. I believe they’re getting his discharge paperwork ready. I’m Dr. Thorne, and you’ve only been out for a few minutes. The ambulance just brought you both in. You were only unconscious for the duration of the ride. ”

The doctor eased me back onto the bed and checked my pupils with a tiny flashlight. I squinted against the brightness, but he smiled reassuringly.

“No signs of a concussion, which is a good thing. How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, then I saw the gentle amusement in the doctor’s eyes and sighed heavily.

“Sorry. I’m not a fan of hospitals. My head doesn’t hurt, but my cheek aches a little where it hit the window.

Yes, I remember every terrifying second, at least until the paramedics got there. It’s a little hazy after that.”

Dr. Thorne smiled at me. “Follow the light with your eyes, please. Good. The cut on your cheek is small and shallow, so you won’t need any stitches, but the bruising will probably get worse before it gets better.

I suggest icing it for your comfort, though there won’t be much you can do about the discoloration.

You have some abrasions across your collarbone from the seatbelt, but otherwise you emerged fairly unscathed.

The police have been waiting to speak with you. Think you’re up for it?”

I nodded silently. Even with my surroundings staying obligingly steady, my mind was still awhirl. More than anything, I wanted to lay eyes on Nico, to verify that he was really okay.

When the doctor left to fetch the police, I leaned back on the pillows and stared up at the fluorescent light overhead. As much as I wanted to get up and pace, I had no interest in being found in a heap on the floor .

“Ms. Willoughby? I’m Detective Rose Hanson and this is Officer Huxley Ford, Spruce Hill PD. Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”

I blinked at them for a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course,” I replied, sitting up straighter in the bed.

Ford, a short man with a cap of tight auburn curls and a wide, friendly smile, looked vaguely familiar, though probably a few years younger than I was. The detective was a gorgeous Black woman several inches taller than Ford, her dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun that matched her expression.

“It was quick thinking on your part, placing that first call. We had already traced it and set out toward you before the second call came through,” Ford said kindly.

I wondered if this would turn into some sort of good cop, bad cop routine, but his sympathy soothed my nerves a bit.

“It would’ve been quicker thinking if I hadn’t dropped it on the floor,” I replied, then frowned until my eyes landed on a clear plastic bag that held my phone and purse.

I eased to my feet, wavering just enough for Ford to catch my elbow, but made it to the bag so I could draw out the phone.

“I got a photo of their plates. Hopefully it’s clear, I didn’t have time for retakes.”

“Well now,” he said, sounding impressed, “I’d say that was the quickest thinking of all. Mind if I get a copy of this?”

I handed the phone to him and sat back down on the bed as he and the detective studied the photo. “How long do we have to stay here? ”

Ford looked up. “That’s up to the doctors. We just have a few questions for you first, Ms. Willoughby.”

Hanson asked a slew of what I considered easy questions—where had we been, had I noticed anything suspicious in the last week, how did I know Nico—then watched my face closely when she asked, “Did you recognize the driver of the other vehicle?”

“I couldn’t even see him, not with the tinted windows. I didn’t recognize the car. That’s why I tried to get a photo of the plates.”

“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt either you or Mr. Beaumont?”

I rubbed my eyes, wincing when I accidentally brushed across the tiny bandage over my cheekbone. “My father has made a number of enemies during his career, I’m sure, and it’s likely he may be . . . unhappy with recent news reports.”

“About the Clément painting, you mean? We caught wind of that this weekend. There’s been some public outcry,” Hanson said evenly, but I was well aware of her assessing gaze on my face.

I wished Nico were there to talk through the situation—I knew he would tell me to stick to the truth, but how much should I reveal?

“That’s to be expected when you lie about your possession of a family heirloom that happens to belong to someone else’s family,” I bit off .

Ford’s brows rose. “I don’t suppose you or Mr. Beaumont would know who leaked those photos to the press, would you?” When I remained stubbornly silent, the policeman grinned. “Well, can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Do you believe your father is behind what happened this afternoon?” Hanson asked.

I gave a long, heavy sigh, shoulders drooping as the air left my lungs. “I don’t know. My father isn’t my biggest fan, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d do anything that might kill me. We got lucky, pure and simple. That crash could’ve ended very differently.”

Lifestyles of the rich and famous, I thought ironically as the two of them glanced at one another. There was a curious but slightly disgusted look on Hanson’s face as she studied me, which had me convinced she was thinking the same thing.

It was another moment before she asked, “But in your opinion, this was an intentional act, not just a careless driver causing an accident?”

I snorted. “Given the number of times the other car rammed us, I can’t imagine it was accidental.”

She nodded and handed me her card. “Give us a call if you think of anything else. We can have someone take you two home after the doctors give the okay, if you need a ride. I’m afraid Mr. Beaumont’s car will be a total loss.

If you see anything else suspicious, I want you to call us, Ms. Willoughby.

If someone is targeting you two, we need to know. ”

I took the card and nodded numbly as a sudden trickle of fear slid through my stomach. Did my father have any sway over the police in town? My brain was too fuzzy to recall.

“I will. Thank you.”

“And Ms. Willoughby?” Ford added, rising to his feet. When I looked up, he smiled gently. “I hope everything works out for Mr. Beaumont and the painting.”

I dropped my head into my hands as they left, drawing the curtain closed behind them. Was this the reality we were stepping into? Unfortunate incidents on deserted roadways, police investigations, constantly glancing over our shoulders?

How much more could we risk in this game of chicken?