Alias Mommy. Linda O. Johnston
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Chapter One
Catherine Calvert Elkins leaned as close to the unyielding steering wheel as she could. Her fingers had nearly become attached to the wheel over the past long, long hours, and her cramped hand ached from clutching the leatherlike surface.
The car took curves well, thank heavens, as she forced it to careen through the night. Sheets of rain threw the glare of her headlights back into her face, stabbing her moist, smarting eyes. She blinked, trying to keep them open.
She was exhausted. She had barely stopped to rest over the last what—four days? Five? She had not slept more than a couple of stolen hours at a time along her circuitous route.
“And now, the local weather report,” said a disembodied male voice. She’d turned the radio up to blare over the rain’s pounding and the rushing air of the defogger, which failed to clear the windshield. Only local news was on now. She had no interest in local news—except for the weather report. More thunderstorms coming, the man informed her cheerily.
Of course.
She hated driving in the rain, especially in the dark. It was one of many newly discovered dislikes. As with the rest, she had never experienced this one before. There had always been someone….
No. She didn’t dare think of that now. She had to concentrate on…what?
Oh, yes. Driving.
But she was tired. So tired.
And numb. The debilitating terror she had felt when starting out had dissipated. For now.
There weren’t many cars out this night, not here among the dark mountains along the curving highway. Smart people didn’t go out in this weather.
Smart people had a choice.
She had pushed herself nearly to the limit. She knew that. And she was hurting more than herself.
She reached down and lifted the large paper cup from the holder on the console. Making a face, she forced herself to take a swig of the cold coffee she had bought a few hours back. It smelled like brackish water. But she needed the caffeine.
Okay, she promised herself. First cheap motel she spotted off the interstate after daylight, she’d get a room.
It would be a long time till daylight, she knew. And still the rain smashed down on the road, her car, isolating her from the rest of the world.
That was fine. She needed to be alone. She…
Had to…
Stay awake…
She blinked suddenly, alert, as the headlights caught a metal railing dead in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, spun the steering wheel.
Screamed as the car plunged through the rail, “No…please, no!”
Her last conscious action was to curve into a protective curl.
NEITHER RAIN NOR HEAT nor gloom of night stayed the Selborn Peak, Colorado, city council from its regular Thursday night meeting, Reeve Snyder thought ironically as he carefully guided his Volvo through the blinding torrent.
Nor thunderstorms.
It wasn’t as if the business just conducted was so earthshaking that it couldn’t have waited a week. But he wasn’t the only one who had another demanding job, or a dislike of being out in awful weather. And this wasn’t as bad as winter’s snowstorms, which he abhorred for good reason. Still, if he had complained, his fellow councilpersons would—
His cellular phone rang. “Yes?” he answered tersely. He knew what the call was likely to be about at this hour, and on such a night: a medical emergency.
“Doc?” The voice was shaking. “This is Ernie Pride.”
Reeve had just left Ernie at the council meeting. “Yes, Ernie. What’s up?”
“I just saw a car go off the interstate in front of me. I called 911 and help’s on the way, but I figured you’d be closer than anyone. Can you come?”
“Sure.” Reeve got the particulars and in moments was heading toward the spot, his heart pounding. He was one of a few doctors who lived in this small town, so he was summoned frequently in emergencies. No matter how many times he responded, he couldn’t help feeling the rush of anticipation—and dread.
He never knew how bad it would be till he got there.
It didn’t take long. Half a mile after pulling onto the interstate at the entrance Ernie had named, Reeve thought he saw stationary red lights ahead through the still-pouring rain. Sure enough, as he drew closer, he noticed Ernie’s Land Rover on the shoulder of the road. He pulled behind, tugged off the jacket and necktie he’d worn to the meeting and, grabbing a flashlight, leaped from his car. Drenched as quickly as if he had jumped into a cold shower with his clothes on, he snatched his medical bag from the trunk and looked around. The shoulder was narrow, and the fence that was supposed to protect drivers from the steep slope below was broken by a large gap. Looking down the hillside, Reeve soon spotted another light. “Ernie?” he called.
“Here, Doc!” The response was muffled by the pounding rain.
Reeve slid through scratchy brush and oozing mud down to the scene of the accident—fortunately, not far below the road. The car was small; it must have been traveling too fast, since it had severed the fence so completely. It rested on the passenger side, the driver’s side up in the air. The front was caved in.
Reeve found Ernie perched on the upper edge, prying open the driver’s door with a tire iron. It opened with a shriek of metal. “Too smashed to open regular,” Ernie said, hopping down. A building contractor, Ernie was a short, wiry man, and Reeve had no doubt he’d have opened the car door with his bare hands if it had been possible.
“Who’s inside?” Reeve began climbing up to the opening.
“One person, far as I can tell. There.”
Ernie held his hand up to shine his light inside, and Reeve peered in, increasing the illumination with his own light. A woman lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom, against the passenger door. She seemed unconscious, strewn with glass from the smashed windshield, and what he could see of her head and arms was bloody.
His professionalism keeping him calm, Reeve climbed in and lowered himself to where she lay, careful not to step on her. The car reeked of gasoline, plus a hint of spice, as though of rich perfume—and the metallic stench of blood.
Finally kneeling beside her, he turned her over, automatically reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.
A pain so sharp that it might as well have been physical pierced Reeve’s heart.
The woman was visibly near term pregnant.
“Damn it,” he swore shakily.
He would not lose either one. This time.
KNUCKLES WHITE as he steered his Volvo, Reeve followed the shrieking ambulance to the emergency room door, then parked behind it. As he jumped out of his car, the ambulance’s flashing red light swept over him and reflected on the wet pavement. The rain was slower now but had not completely stopped.
The emergency medical technicians responding to Ernie’s 911 call had arrived not long after Reeve did. He had already stanched the flow of blood from a severe laceration on the woman’s arm, and together they had stabilized her. Her baby was alive but in distress.
Holding an intravenous bag in the air, the EMTs wheeled the woman into the medical center on a gurney. The staff had been alerted to expect the emergency, and Larry Fletcher, a fine obstetrician and a friend of Reeve’s, was waiting.
“What do you think?” he asked Reeve without looking at him. He was already checking over the woman. “Was she conscious at all? Do we know how close the baby is to term?”
“No. She looks pretty far along, though.” A wave of helplessness washed