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The wipers continued moving in a frenzy.

“Luke? What is it?”

“I hit something—”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll call you back.”

Luke dragged a hand across his mouth, looking around for headlights, for anyone nearby.

He saw nothing through the water-streaked windows.

Rifling through the glove compartment, he found his flashlight, activated his hazard lights, grabbed his phone, then got out. He pulled up his jacket collar and pulled down on his ball cap. The rain bubbled on the pavement like a simmering cauldron as he began searching.

There was no woman near his SUV.

“Hello! Hello!” he called out.

Nothing.

In the roaring deluge he trotted behind his car, down the middle of the road, ten yards, thirty, almost a hundred.

“Where are you? Are you okay?”

Nothing.

He moved quickly to the right shoulder and got down into the grass and bramble. In near panic he raked his flashlight side to side, rain glistening in its bright beam. He sloshed through small marshes amid the fast-food trash, plastic garbage bags and wind-blown debris from the Fawn Ridge construction crews.

“Hello!”

No sign of the woman.

He scoured the right shoulder all the way back to his car.

Nothing.

His heart racing, alarm flaring as he adjusted his fingers around his phone.

Call 911. Get help now.

But he couldn’t.

He examined the road’s left shoulder, hurrying the same distance, then back again through the roadside bushes to his car.

Nothing.

He got down on his knees and looked under his SUV.

Nothing.

He went around to the front, checking for damage. From what he could see in the pelting rain, his windshield was intact. No cracks and no blood.

He directed his flashlight to the car’s nose, his eyes widening at a crumpling, a small dent and scratches on his front bumper.

A stinging stream of bile erupted in his throat.

Taking a few steps back, processing what was unfolding, he stared into the darkness, the rain hissing around him. In all this time, no one had driven by. No one saw. The only witnesses were the empty new homes and the distant old buildings.

“Hello!” he called again into the night as he jogged back down the road, calling out, thinking that maybe she’d crawled off hurt toward one of the houses. “Hello!”

Nothing.

He trotted back to his SUV, stood in the middle of the road and stared at his dashcam.

It had died in New Mexico on the drive from California, and he hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet. He’d checked the fuse, the connection, the charger and the memory card, but it hadn’t done any good—it was broken.

Whatever had happened, his airbags hadn’t deployed, likely because he didn’t hit a solid fixed barrier, like a wall, or a parked car.

But I hit something. Or someone.

Feeling his phone in his hand, finger poised to tap out 911, his breathing quickened. Once he hit those three digits, he’d set in motion the unstoppable mechanism that would destroy his already fractured life.

His conscience screamed at him. Call 911 now!

But another part of him weighed the situation.

Wait. Hold on. Think. Just think.

Luke clenched his eyes. Did he, in fact, hit a person? Maybe it was all in his head? The storm had tossed all sorts of things against his car. Maybe it was an animal, or debris, trash, a chunk of a billboard torn free by the storm? It was the only possibility—there was no woman that he could find, no body.

I couldn’t find the woman. There is no woman.

Luke lowered his phone and felt rain trickling under his collar, soaking his skin. He got into his SUV and startled when his phone rang. Carrie was calling.

“What happened? What did you hit?”

“Trash or something, I think, blown around by the storm.”

“You scared me to death.”

“Sorry. It surprised me.”

“Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“No, I’m not hurt. I’m just driving home.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m just really tired. I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise. Kiss the baby for me. Love you guys.”

“Love you, too.”

He sat there shaking, staring at his phone, his breath growing shallow, his conscience prodding him.

Call 911. Get help now.

But if he called, if the worst had happened… No. I can’t go through this again.

He looked at his home screen, at Carrie and Emily. He couldn’t bear to put them through the ordeal, not with what Carrie was facing. Not with what he’d left behind in LA. But what about the woman?

What woman? I looked everywhere. Maybe my brain’s playing tricks on me?

Suddenly his eyes flicked up, and through the wipers and the rain he saw a twinkling, like distant stars: the headlights of an approaching car.

He bit down on his bottom lip, knowing that drivers who left the scene of an accident involving a serious injury or death could be charged with a felony and sent to prison.

But there’s no victim. No scene, it’s all in my head.

The car was nearing him, his wipers ticking, his conscience jabbing him.

Call 911.

So much was at stake.

He had to decide right now.

Inhaling deeply, Luke switched off his hazard lights, shifted from Park and continued driving the short distance home.