Ladies' Night, Andrews, Kay [best time to read books .txt] 📗

for the door handle, already knowing it wouldn’t open.

The water was still rising. It was chest-high. He grabbed Ashleigh again and tugged, inching her body in an agonizingly slow process. At some point, he was aware of the sound of sirens, of voices coming from the beach.

Finally, a rough arm grasped his. “We got this, buddy.”

He turned and saw a pair of uniformed paramedics. “She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious.”

“Thanks,” one of them said. “You can step away now.”

*   *   *

He found Grace sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance, wrapped in a blanket. A Band-Aid had been applied to the cut over her eyebrow. Sitting beside her, also wrapped in a blanket, despite the August heat, was a stunning brunette, who was shaking and crying uncontrollably.

It was Suchita, the driver of the Audi.

A female EMT had fastened a blood-pressure cuff to Suchita’s upper arm. “You’re all right,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “Your blood pressure’s a little high, but not off the charts. And your baby should be fine, too. But we can transport you to the hospital, if you’d like to get checked out.”

“No!” Suchita said. “I want to wait for my fiancé. Boyce is on the way. He should be here soon. He’s a doctor; he’ll take care of me.”

Wyatt nodded in Grace’s direction, catching the EMT’s eye. “Is she all right? Nothing broken?”

“She’s good,” the EMT said. “You’re gonna want to watch her overnight, make sure she’s not concussed, but otherwise the cut over her eye is the only thing. She was damned lucky.”

Suchita turned and stared at Grace. “You’re her friend? Why? Why did you let her come after me? She tried to kill me. She wanted to kill me and my baby.”

“I didn’t,” Grace said, her voice a whisper. “I tried to stop her. But she’d been drinking…”

“She’s crazy,” Suchita said flatly. “I told Boyce she was dangerous. After she painted my house? I wouldn’t stay there again. Not by myself. But she wouldn’t leave me alone. She followed me, watched us if we went out together. And then she got my phone number, and she started leaving me messages. I told Boyce. I played him the voice mail messages she’s been leaving me. He thought she was just trying to intimidate me. He said she wasn’t dangerous.” She shivered. “I only went home today to pick up my mail. And that’s when she showed up.”

Grace looked up at Wyatt. “Is Ashleigh…?”

“She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious,” Wyatt said. “She wasn’t wearing her seat belt. I think maybe she hit her head.”

“It all happened so fast,” Grace said. “And I was so scared. I kept looking back, hoping you were there.”

“I got there as quick as I could,” Wyatt said. “But that damned SUV had the street blocked, and then, once she got out on Manatee and she was speeding, my old truck couldn’t keep up. The whole thing starts to shimmy and rattle after I hit sixty.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Grace said, clutching his hand. “You got here. You got me out of the car. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m here, and I’m staying,” Wyatt said, his voice choking with emotion. He looked over at the EMT. “Okay if I take her home now?”

Just then, a short, balding, middle-aged man came rushing up to the ambulance. Wyatt stepped back, but the EMT put out a hand to stop him from coming any closer.

“I’m a physician,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dr. Hartounian. This is my fiancée. Have you checked her vital signs? Did she tell you she’s five months pregnant?”

“She checked out perfect,” the EMT said. “Not a scratch on her. Physically, anyway.” And she stepped aside.

“Suchita? My God! Are you all right?” Hartounian gestured toward the pair of EMTs who were bundling a stretcher into the second ambulance. “Is that really Ashleigh?”

“I’m … I’m…” Suchita’s voice trailed and broke off into sobs as she threw herself into Boyce Hartounian’s arms.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Boyce is here,” he crooned tenderly, rubbing her back and arms. She was two inches taller than he, but his arms were tanned and muscular. He glanced over at Grace and his eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” he asked, all business. “You’re Ashleigh’s friend? I just spoke to one of the police officers. They say the two of you had been drinking. What the hell were you thinking letting her get behind the wheel of a car? If anything happens to our child…”

“My name is Grace Davenport,” Grace said, feeling her temper flare. “I wasn’t the one who was drinking. That was all Ashleigh. And I didn’t let her drive. In fact, I was trying to talk her into letting me take her home. She called me earlier, upset after your lunch with her…”

Suchita looked up. “You took her to lunch? Without telling me?”

Wyatt took Grace’s arm and gently steered her away from the ambulance. He meant to take her home, get her in some dry clothes, let the shock wear off. But two uniformed police officers stood beside his truck, waiting for answers.

*   *   *

An hour later, after giving her statement to the cops—and agreeing to a Breathalyzer test to prove she hadn’t been responsible for any of the half dozen empty wine-cooler bottles found in the BMW, Grace finally climbed into the front seat of Wyatt’s truck.

He’d changed into the spare clothes he kept in a gym bag in the truck—his Manasota Maulers coaches’ shirt, shorts, and a pair of baseball cleats.

“What do you think will happen to Ashleigh?” she asked, as Wyatt pulled slowly back onto the roadway.

Wyatt shrugged. “I know you feel sorry for her, but at this point, I hope they throw the book at her. Ashleigh very nearly killed three people today—four if you count Suchita’s baby. She’ll be charged with drunk driving, for sure. And it sounds like if Boyce Hartounian has his way, I guess they could add attempted homicide, or whatever you call it.”

Grace grimaced at the mention of Hartounian. “What a pompous