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Carrie strapped Emily into her car seat, then got behind the wheel. The rain was coming in torrents now.

Before leaving, Carrie buckled herself in and took a breath, then used her car’s hands-free app to call Luke, praying to hear his voice.

It rang and rang.

No answer.

She backed out of the driveway, the wipers slapping at high speed. Wind gusted. She tightened her grip, driving with caution. There were no other cars on the road in her neighborhood.

Keep it together. You have to hang on for Luke.

She turned onto River Road, the narrow rural strip that led to the highway and into town. Desolate in the near gloom, void of traffic, the storm lashing, she kept a slow, safe speed, glancing at Emily in the baby back-seat mirror.

Just us out here, sweetie , Carrie thought.

Then, in her rearview mirror, she spotted the rain-blurred headlights of a car in the distance. It gave her some comfort to not be alone on the road. But fear needled her with the emergency dispatcher’s call echoing in her memory, launching a million scenarios.

Maybe Luke’s been shot. Or he crashed. Or he’s been struck in a traffic stop.

Carrie tried reaching him again.

It was futile, her worry giving rise to images of Luke in a hospital bed or on a gurney, his body covered with a sheet, her world crumbling… my husband…my dad dying…the truth of what I am…

Tears rolled down her face, every drop washing hope away. She needed to talk to someone. She thought of Lacey’s offer. But no, she wanted Dr. Bernay.

Why hasn’t she called back?

Collecting herself, Carrie needed to act, needed to determine what had happened to Luke. She called Clear River Central Hospital.

“May I help you?” said the woman who answered at Admissions.

“My husband, Deputy Luke Conway—” Carrie’s voice trembled “—he was injured and taken there. I’m on my way. Can you please tell me how badly he’s hurt?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but our policy—”

Static interrupted the call.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear,” Carrie said. “Your policy?”

“Ma’am, our policy does not permit the release of patient information over the phone.”

“But I’m his wife!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can you confirm he’s there?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t do that either.”

“Well, can you at least tell me if my husband is alive?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Hanging up, her hand flying to her mouth, Carrie cursed under her breath, fear and anger propelling her to do the obvious. She called Clear River County Emergency. A dispatcher answered, and Carrie, her voice charged with emotion, explained the call about Luke.

“One moment,” the dispatcher said amid an urgent burst of typing. “What was the time on the call you received from us?”

Carrie gave her the approximate time and the dispatcher checked. In the background, she heard radio transmissions, scratchy voices, the noise of the storm, then silence as the dispatcher came back, static weakening her voice. Carrie strained to hear, tapping the console’s volume to full.

“What?” Carrie raised her voice. “Please repeat that.”

“Negative. No call was made by us—”

“No, there was—”

The call dropped.

Cursing, Carrie was about to voice a redial when a wall of water splashed on her driver’s side window as the car from behind passed. It cut in front of Carrie, creating a curtain of water, overwhelming her wipers. Intense tail and brake lights glared in the pall, forcing Carrie to reduce her already slow speed.

“What’re you doing?” Carrie said aloud.

The car ahead switched on its hazard lights, flashing, as it continued decreasing speed, narrowing the gap between them.

Maybe something’s wrong? Someone needs help, or they want to warn me that the road ahead is flooded?

She tried looking ahead, then checked her rearview mirror, unable to see clearly from the rain.

The car ahead continued slowing until its rear bumper nearly touched Carrie’s, forcing her to slow to a crawl.