Chapter 4

Josie wanted to make a beeline for the wreckage but knew that the ambulance carrying Mira Summers would not be there much longer. She wanted to get eyes on the driver before she was transported to the hospital. Mira Summers was strapped to a gurney, a cervical collar stabilizing her neck and head. Her feet came almost to the edge, which meant she was nearly six feet tall. Mud crusted along the bottoms of her knee-high black boots. Two EMTs, one on each side, leaned over her upper body. One of them started an IV in her hand while the other adjusted the oxygen mask covering her mouth. A blue emesis bag sat in her lap, the odor of vomit wafting from it.

Dark splotches were scattered across her purple T-shirt. Blood? Both her arms were wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Another square peeked from under her collar. Wounds from the glass of the windshield, maybe. From what Josie could see of Mira's pale face, it was covered in freckles. Her hair was dyed a deep burgundy and cut into a short bob. A long, angry bruise stretched across her forehead. Two smudges of dried blood the size of fingerprints marred her jawline. Her eyes were closed, body still.

Josie rapped her fist against one of the doors. The EMT who had just inserted the IV turned. His eyes darkened at the sight of her. "Josie," he said. There was no warmth in his greeting, in spite of Josie's past efforts to bring him into her life.

"Sawyer," she said, smiling tightly.

At three weeks old, Josie had been kidnapped by a woman who cleaned her parents' household. That same woman, Lila Jensen, had set their house on fire, causing the authorities to believe that tiny Josie had perished. Meanwhile, Lila had spirited Josie away to Denton where her ex-boyfriend, Eli Matson, lived. Eli had dumped Lila. In an effort to get him back, Lila passed Josie off as his daughter. Back then, there was no mail-in DNA testing. Eli Matson had accepted Lila's assertions that Josie was his and raised her as his own, loving her fiercely until the day he died. What no one had known was that during the time Lila and Eli were broken up, Eli had become involved with another woman. Unbeknown to him, that woman had given birth to Sawyer and kept him away from his paternal family to avoid Lila's wrath.

The other EMT didn't spare Josie a glance as he began jotting down Summers's vital signs on a clipboard.

"You caught this case?" Sawyer said. With quick, efficient movements, he flushed Mira Summers's IV with saline and then started a bag of fluids. A lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead.

Josie had had the benefit of knowing and being loved by Eli until she was six years old. She'd also been partially raised by his mother, the woman she had thought was her real grandmother, Lisette Matson, who had saved Josie's life and salvaged what she could of Josie's tumultuous childhood. It was only a couple of years before Lisette's death that Sawyer had connected with her and proven his blood relation.

"Yeah," Josie said. "I just wanted to check in on the driver before you transport her."

Sawyer deposited the tube from the saline flush into a nearby garbage bin. "I don't think she's up to talking right now."

The other EMT pressed some buttons on the monitor and then scribbled something else in his notes. "She's unconscious, but her Glasgow score was within normal range. Pupils equal and reactive."

Which meant that she was neither comatose nor on death's door. Yet. Josie knew head trauma could sometimes lead to serious complications hours or even days after the initial injury.

Sawyer checked the pulse oximeter on Mira's index finger, studying it extra closely. "She was sensitive to light and vomited twice so she's probably concussed, at the very least. You'll have better luck later on, at the hospital, after she's been evaluated."

"Right," Josie murmured.

She wished he would look at her. Were they really back here in the land of awkwardness? He hadn't liked her from the start, and then later blamed her for Lisette's death. There had been a brief period of time when Josie thought he had finally come around, joining her and Noah whenever invited and slowly becoming part of their group of found family, but then he'd disappeared again. She had no idea how he felt about her now but given his demeanor, she was back on his shit list.

His partner finally turned long enough to nod a greeting at Josie and then climbed into the driver's seat, snatching up the radio to communicate with Denton Memorial Hospital.

"Was she awake or lucid at any point after you arrived?" Josie asked Sawyer.

His icy blue eyes locked on her again. A jolt went through her. Sometimes he looked so much like her father—no, his father—that it took her breath away. "Are you asking me if she said anything that would help you figure out what happened here?"

Josie sighed. "Yes."

Sawyer bent his head as he double-checked the straps over Mira's thighs. "No. She was already unconscious when we got here."

"Thanks."

"You see the passenger yet?" Sawyer said.

"That's where I'm headed now."

He gave a slow nod and then motioned toward Mira. "She's got defensive wounds."

Josie stepped closer, her legs brushing the bumper. "What do you mean?"

Gently, he lifted Mira Summers's right arm and indicated the edge of her forearm. "I know I'm no detective or forensic expert, but I've been doing this long enough to know what defensive wounds look like. She has them here. Same place on the other arm. She's got a more superficial wound along her chest. Her jacket was shredded. We had to stop the bleeding and clean her wounds, but I took photos just in case you needed to see how she looked before that."

"Oh," said Josie. That kind of documentation wasn't really necessary in this situation, but she appreciated his effort. Not knowing exactly how to respond, she added, "That was…thoughtful."

He nodded and took his phone out of his pants pocket. Another lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead. The lines of his face tensed as he punched in his passcode. As she watched him, Josie realized that the difference between him and Eli Matson was that Sawyer looked broody even when he wasn't.

"Here," Sawyer said, flashing the phone screen toward her. A freckled forearm filled the screen, covered in what looked like a half dozen puncture marks and jagged gashes of varying sizes. Blood congealed around the wounds. Some were shallow while others gaped open. Yellow fatty tissue bulged from a gouge in the meatiest part of her arm while another showed what Josie thought might be bone.

"That's not from a car accident," she said.

"Didn't think so," Sawyer said with a sigh. He swiped to a second photo which showed Mira's other forearm. Fewer wounds but similar to the first set he'd shown Josie. "I saved her jacket, too," he added.

Sawyer's partner banged a fist against the dash, calling for them to move.

"Thank you. Someone from the ERT will collect all her clothes and boots at the hospital," Josie said. "To process them."

"I'll send you these pictures," Sawyer said.

She watched the ambulance pull away, trying to ignore the dread building inside her at the thought of what she was going to find at the accident scene.