They counted out cash to cover the check and the tip and then wended their way back through the crowd toward the door. Once outside, they walked briskly in companionable silence until they reached Reese’s SUV.

“Call me,” Reese said, clapping Bri on the shoulder. “Come down whenever you can, and we’ll work out. Okay?”

“Thanks, I will.”

Reese studied Bri’s face, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening inside her. All she could see were hints of her pain. The memory of the shadows in the younger woman’s eyes haunted her all the way home.

CHAPTER TEN

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Bri watched the taillights of Reese’s Blazer disappear into the night. Suddenly at loose ends, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and looked around the deserted parking lot. The options were few. She could go back inside the gym and work out until she felt tired enough to sleep, or she could head back down the road to the tavern and at least be in the company of other people. That might take her mind off the empty feeling that stole through her body. Not wanting to think about that, she strode quickly to her cycle, swung one long leg over the low-slung tank, and fit her key to the ignition. Ignoring the helmet strapped to the rear, she kick started the engine, slammed into gear, and tore off into the dark.

A few minutes later, she settled on a stool at one end of the still-crowded bar and ordered another club soda. She wasn’t thinking about much of anything at all, just aimlessly turning the glass on the bar, wondering what Carre was doing, when a soft female voice spoke very close to her ear.

“You’re back awfully soon.”

Bri swiveled on the seat and met the eyes of one of her academy classmates, a softly beautiful dark-haired young woman about her own age. They’d nodded to one another in class, but never had a conversation.

“There’s not much to do around here on the weekend,” Bri said noncommittally.

“You’ve got that right. Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?”

“No,” Bri replied, oddly uncomfortable, and uncertain why. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t used to casual conversations with strangers.

“I’m Allie Weber,” the faintly Southern-accented voice informed her as a well-formed hand reached out.

“Bri Parker.” The handshake was firm, the skin smooth and warm.

“Uh-huh. I know,” Allie replied. “Where are you from?”

“I’m a local. Provincetown. You?”

“South Carolina. Bet you can’t tell, though.”

“Uh,” Bri said, grinning. “A little.

“My mom got a job at Woods Hole Marine Biological laboratory near Falmouth when I was a junior in high school. So I’m sorta local, too.”

They both laughed. After a moment, Bri said, “Can I get you a drink or something?”

“I’m okay with this one,” the brunette replied as she lifted her bottle of beer. “So what do you think of the academy so far?”

“It’s about like I expected.” In truth, Bri didn’t pay much attention to her classmates. Her entire focus was on the material and what she needed to do to meet the hours requirements for graduation. Because many of the cadets had come from previous jobs and diverse educational backgrounds, the training program was very flexible and allowed the trainees a great deal of independence in arranging their schedules. Bri had mapped out a course of study that would get her through in the shortest possible time.

“The guys don’t seem to give you much trouble,” her companion observed wryly.

“Are they bothering you?” Bri regarded her companion seriously and was surprised to notice how dark her eyes were, almost liquid. Then she realized she was staring and quickly studied her glass of soda.

“Not really.” But the young woman’s tone was not convincing.

“But someone said something to you?”

“Not exactly. Just the usual offhand remarks about women not being strong enough to handle a physical confrontation. That kind of crap.”

“Hand to hand combat isn’t about how big you are,” Bri said intently. “Or how strong. It’s about how you use the resources that you have.”

“I heard that you’re some kind of martial arts master.”

“Hardly.” Bri laughed to hide her embarrassment. Luckily it was too dark for Allie to see her blush. “I’ve had some training, but I have a lot more to learn.”

The young woman casually put her hand on Bri’s wrist below the cuff of her jacket, then leaned closer to talk. “I saw you in the physical training section the other day. You knocked that big blond guy, Jacobs, on his ass like he was a feather.”

“That’s because the idiot rushed me. With that kind of move, they have so much forward momentum that if you simply sidestep and redirect, they’ll go right over. It’s totally a matter of using your own center of gravity against theirs.”

“So, do you think you could work out with me sometime? Like a training partner, maybe?”

Bri glanced down at the fingers lightly curled around her forearm and was suddenly uncertain. She didn’t have many friends; she never had. Just Carre and a few of the kids who hung out at Reese’s dojo. Most of the friends they’d made in Manhattan were Carre’s classmates from art school. She’d never wanted anyone else’s company. Carre was enough. The pang of loneliness that shot through her made her breath catch, and she looked away.

“I’d pay you back. I’m a pretty good cook.”

“Sure…I guess so.” Bri looked back and tried to smile. The fingers on her arm were warm. “I mean, I don’t know that I can teach you anything that you won’t get from the instructors. But, I guess that would be okay.”

“Great.” Allie gave her a winning smile. She didn’t move her hand.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was well after midnight when Reese pulled into the driveway beside her home. The house was dark, but Tory’s Jeep was gone.

Damn it. Where is she?

Reese pulled over, extracted her cell phone from the glove compartment, and punched in the number to the Sheriff’s department. One of her officers answered. “Lyons, it’s Conlon.”

“Yo, Reese. What’s up?”

“Is there any kind of medical emergency in town that you’re aware of?” Her heart was thudding erratically, but nothing showed in her voice. Maybe she’s sick. Maybe something happened, and she couldn’t reach me. Jesus, maybe …

“There’s a big two-car crash on Route 6 coming west from Pilgrim Heights. They called for the EMTs about forty minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Jeff.“Reese put the truck into gear and sped toward the main highway that ran the length of Cape Cod. Five minutes later, she parked on the narrow shoulder behind a Sheriff’s cruiser, a fire truck, two EMS vans, and Tory’s Jeep Cherokee.

Hurriedly, Reese grabbed her Maglite from the emergency kit in the rear of the Blazer and clipped her badge to her belt. Then she made her way around the road cones, stepped over the flares which crisscrossed the highway, and walked between the haphazardly parked cars and trucks toward the center of activity. There she got a clear view of a minivan resting against the guardrail, its front end a crumpled mass of metal and shattered glass.

“Is Dr. King here?” Reese asked of the first EMT she identified.

Without looking up, the technician said sharply, “She’s down with the second car, I think.”

Reese looked around and didn’t see another vehicle. Down? Down where?

Following the skid marks on the highway, Reese reconstructed the accident in her mind. One vehicle traveling east…doing sixty from the looks of it…crosses the median and slams the minivan head on. Poor bastards in that never had a chance. Guard rail stops the minivan, and the other vehicle veers off…fuck. Into the salt marsh.

Stomach churning, she found the section of guardrail that had been breached and shone her light down to the steep embankment. A trail of crushed reeds, pond grass, and scrub outlined the errant car’s path. The vehicle itself lay upside down in the salt pond that ran alongside the highway. The front end was underwater up to the windshield and steam billowed from the cracked engine. Emergency lights had been erected, and a clot of people milled around, maneuvering stretchers and assorted emergency equipment. One of the firemen appeared to be a attaching a towline to the back of the vehicle. No sign of Tory. Maybe the EMT was wrong, and she wasn’t down there after all.

Sliding, nearly falling, she made her way down the damp, muddy bank. How in the hell did Tory get down here? I can’t even stand up.

“Smith!” Reese called when she finally saw someone she recognized. She approached her officer as quickly as the treacherous footing would allow. “Where’s Tory?”

“Hey, Reese! You don’t need to be here, boss. We’ve got it pretty much under control.”

Reese clamped down on her anger, because she knew he had no idea the terror she was feeling. Very succinctly, she repeated, “Where is Dr. King?”

“Oh,” he said hurriedly. “She’s in the car.”

“How long?” she snapped, her nerves raw.

“Huh? Oh…I dunno. Twenty minutes maybe?”

“Son of a bitch,” she shot out to no one in particular as she pushed her way past him and through the firemen and EMTs crowding around the capsized vehicle.

That water has got to be freezing. Jesus, god, she needs to get out of there.

Ignoring the biting cold as she slogged through icy water up to her mid-calves, she bent down to peer through the shattered driver’s side window. “Dr. King? Problem?”

“Reese?” Tory could barely move in the compressed space of what had once been the big luxury car’s passenger area. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, but it felt like forever. A body lay at her feet.

“What’s his condition?”

“Unconscious and critical. I’m bagging him by hand, but there’s a lot of resistance. He must have at least one lung down.” Her teeth were chattering, and it was difficult to talk. “I can’t tell what his oxygenation status is. Too damn dark in here to read a pulse oximeter, even if I had one.”

“Can one of the EMTs take your place?” Reese couldn’t see her lover’s face clearly, but she could hear the strain in her voice. Just seeing her in there made Reese’s guts churn. “Tory?”

“He’s too unstable. I can’t trust this tube not to come out, either,” Tory replied distractedly. “Tell them they can winch whenever they’re ready.”

“Not with you in there,” Reese said sharply. “That’s a twenty percent incline up to the road. This car’s going to twist all over the place when they start pulling it up.”

“No choice.”

Reese turned and shouted, “Get the fire captain down here.”

A minute later, a tall, thin man tramped through the marsh towards Reese. “Sheriff Conlon. I didn’t see you before.”

“Peterson. Just got here,” Reese said brusquely. “What about the structural integrity of the car? Dr. King says she needs to stay inside while you haul this thing out of here.”

“It’ll be one helluva bumpy ride, but they made those old Caddies to stand up to almost anything.” He shrugged. “She’ll get knocked around some. Probably get a few bruises, but the frame will hold.”

“Give me a minute. Do not move this vehicle until I give the word.”

He hesitated for a moment, but there must have been something in the tone of her voice that convinced him, because he replied, “Okay, but make it fast. We need to get this scene cleared up.”

Reese bent over to look inside again. “Tory,” she said in a voice too low for anyone else to hear. “You can’t stay in there during the extrication. It’s going to be rough. Too rough… especially for you now.”

“I’ll brace myself. I’ll be okay.” Tory took a long shuddering breath, and then admitted what she hadn’t wanted Reese to know. “There’s a lot of water in here, and I’m getting really cold. So is he. Get us out of here, Sheriff.”

“Two minutes,” Reese yelled back over her shoulder as she grabbed the top edge of the vehicle, which was actually part of the undercarriage in its now upside down position, and levered her legs through the broken-out window.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Reese, what in God’s name are you doing?” Tory cried.

“I’m going to give you a cushion, Doctor,” Reese muttered as she twisted her larger frame back and forth until she had one leg on either side of Tory’s body.

Now that she was inside, Reese could make out the driver’s legs underneath the steering column and his head wedged under the dashboard on the passenger side. Tory was holding the tracheostomy tube in place with one hand and squeezing a portable oxygen bag with the other.

“There isn’t enough room,” Tory protested.