Cold Fear (2 page)

She struggled to her feet and faced their attacker. “Leave him alone!”

The figure turned and looked toward her. Oh, hell. Ignoring the splitting pain and disorientation that made her brain feel disconnected from her feet, she took off running, back the way they’d come. She was lithe and nimble. People underestimated her because she was small, but she was fast. The sand shifted and made progress difficult as she clawed her way up the dune, and it suddenly seemed fifty feet tall. She pounded her feet against the slope, clutching at the sharp grass that sliced her fingers. Then a hand manacled her ankle and she fell flat on her face as she was dragged backwards down the incline. She tried to cry out, but sand got in her eyes and mouth. She was suffocating, spluttering, trying to force away particles from her nose, and just breathe.

Blackness whirled in her brain as the need for oxygen eliminated every other concern. The attacker flipped her on her back, and she lay there hacking and choking. By the time she finally cleared the grit out of her eyes and mouth, the man had dragged Jesse down the bank, too, and was rifling through his pockets. Was this a robbery? Was Jesse breathing? Or was he pretending to be unconscious so he could take this animal by surprise and save them both?

She tried to climb to her feet and froze when the assailant turned back toward her. He stood, easily over six feet. She couldn’t see his face, but his silhouette looked vaguely familiar. It was dark and he wore a hat pulled low. He dropped to his knees beside her. Put one gloved hand on her throat and squeezed. She grabbed his forearm and fought for breath. His grip tightened. After a few moments of panicked flailing she froze and he eased off the pressure.

A message.

She swallowed uneasily. Nodded.

Okay.

His other hand went to her belt, and he undid the buckle and jerked open the front of her jeans. Terror made her heart beat faster than she’d ever imagined possible. She lay there in the frigid sand, the storm raging overhead, Jesse lying unconscious, bleeding, maybe even dead, just a few feet away. Her limbs shook. She knew what was going to happen even though her mind screamed ‘no’. Her teeth chattered as the man dragged tight denim down her legs. She wanted to struggle, wanted to fight, but instead she lay absolutely frozen as he lifted her hips to remove her clothes. She didn’t put up a fight. If she didn’t fight, if she lay here, maybe he’d do what he was going to do and then let her go. Because she was a coward. She was weak and scared.

The freezing cold sand hit her bare bottom and thighs, abrading her skin. She’d never been so exposed in her entire life. Never felt so helpless. This is what her parents had been warning her about her entire life—don’t go off alone…but she hadn’t been alone. Her eyes drifted to where Jesse lay bleeding.

Please don’t die.

Finally the cold began to make her feel numb and she welcomed it. Large fingers touched her. Pressing. Probing. Doing whatever they wanted as he made little grunting noises that made her throat muscles gag.

The moon came out and she found herself staring up into a face she knew. Her mouth opened in surprise, but his fingers encircled her throat and squeezed until all sound stopped coming out. She started to slip into unconsciousness.

“What do you see?” he asked, releasing the bruising pressure.

Horror and revulsion filled her until she blocked it all out. She couldn’t think about what was happening. About Jesse. About this man. Or the fact he was touching her like this. She wanted to live through it. She wanted to survive.

He kept asking what she could see, but her mind floated away. Her fingers inched through the sand and found Jesse’s leg. He was still warm, but she didn’t think he was alive. Tears filled her eyes, and she made herself think of running on the beach hand-in-hand with the boy she’d been secretly in love with for months. She dreamed about them sneaking innocent kisses and worrying about what their parents might say.

Her vision began to gray and tunnel as the monster peered right into her eyes as if looking for her very soul. All those years being warned about not talking to strangers, about being careful, about being safe…and all along they’d had a monster in their midst.

Chapter Two

I
ZZY
C
AMPBELL THREW
the ball for her flat-coat retriever and watched it bounce along the hard-packed sand as he raced to catch it. The tide was out. The gusting wind caught the ball and propelled it even faster along the mile long stretch of beach. Barney gave chase at full speed, tongue out, legs straining, breath streaming behind him like smoke. He caught the ball mid-bounce, then without missing a beat, turned and brought it right back to where she stood, silvery strings of drool wrapping around his muzzle.

“Lovely,” she said with a grin.

He dropped the thing at her feet and crouched back, ready to play again.

She kicked the ball this time and he was off, thrilled to be outside, uncaring of the ferocious wind or damp spray that whipped off the wild sea. She watched him catch the ball and then lie down in the surf to cool off. As sad as it might be, Barney was her best friend in the world. Who needed a man when they had a dog?

Izzy yawned widely. Meeting a man was the least of her worries. She had a seventeen-year-old to get through high school and into college. As a former captain in the Army she’d learned to take life one Herculean task at a time, while trying to anticipate any of the things that could possibly go wrong. Having a man in her life would complicate an already complicated situation. Not everyone found true love or the perfect happily-ever-after.

That thought had her turning to look at the undulating dunes at the top of the shore. A wave of regret stole over her. Memories from long ago flashed through her mind like a lightning storm, reminding her of a heartbreaking night of torment and terror. She’d experienced many more since then, too many to dwell on, but this was different. This had been the defining moment of her life, and the only person who’d known about it was dead.

Why did she feel compelled to come back to this strip of coast, time and time again? Punishment? Self-flagellation? Her mouth tightened. Maybe. Or were these islands really home?

They didn’t feel like it. She felt like an outsider here. An interloper. A goddamned dingbatter.

What she’d done all those years ago was unforgivable, but at the time she hadn’t felt as if she’d had a choice. Age had brought a little wisdom, but her mistakes weren’t something she could put right with an apology or a twelve-step program. She’d messed up, and she didn’t know how to make it right without ruining more lives, her own included. She turned away. It was ancient history. No one would ever know.

The wind whipped her hair past her cheeks, blinding her for a moment. She faced the sea and gathered the strands together in a long twist, stuffing it back under her hat. She pulled the hat down tight, ignoring the short, sharp tug on her scalp.

Last night while she’d been working, a big Nor’easter had brushed its fingers against the flanks of the Outer Banks but thankfully hadn’t delivered a flat-out punch. Another storm was brewing in the Atlantic and promised even more fun, depending on which direction it decided to take.

Storms and hurricanes were a constant danger to these barrier islands. Locals only worried when they had to and, frankly, right now, she was too tired. She’d been up all night, working the graveyard shift at the local hospital. Once Barney had a good walk she’d crash for a few hours before heading back to the hospital for a split shift that evening. She was covering for a few colleagues who’d gone to visit family over the holidays. She hoped her sister remembered not to make too much noise when she got home from Helena’s house later, but she wouldn’t put money on it.

She whistled to her wet, sandy dog and headed toward the boardwalk that led through the cordoned-off dune system. Up on the road, a Department of Natural Resources vehicle had pulled up behind a burgundy sedan that had been parked there when she arrived earlier. God help the poor soul when Duncan Cromwell got hold of them. The guy was fanatical in his protection of those dunes. Her SUV was another hundred yards south, near the lighthouse. Barney arrived at her side, complete with rancid ball, and she clipped his leash to his collar and strode along the path.

Barney started to whine a few seconds before she heard the sirens.

“It’s okay, boy.” She rubbed his neck and opened the trunk of her SUV, letting the dog hop in before she turned to see what was going on. An ambulance screeched to a stop behind the DNR rig.

Damn.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t ignore the potential that someone might need her help. She got into her car and drove up to the other vehicles. Parking behind the ambulance, leaving plenty of room for a stretcher.

“Stay, boy.” She got out and clambered through the thin wire fence, following the route the EMTs had taken. Dread skated along her nerves when she realized exactly where she was heading.
Too bad, Izzy
. Her muscles burned as she climbed the steep foredune, but she didn’t slow down. When she got to the top, the scene below made her flinch. Bile hit her throat but she swallowed it. Slipping her way down the bank, she shouted, “What’s the situation?”

Duncan Cromwell had draped his coat over his daughter, Helena, who lay unmoving in the sand at his side. He was attempting mouth-to-mouth.

Izzy pushed him out of the way and probed the girl’s neck for a pulse. Helena’s skin felt like ice. Her eyes were cloudy, her body slightly stiff, but no sign of lividity. Izzy took a clean tissue from her pocket and brushed it across Helena’s cornea. The girl didn’t blink. No corneal reflex. Izzy placed her hands over Helena’s eyes and held them there for long seconds. When she removed them Helena’s pupils showed no reaction to the light.

Dammit.

“Do something!” Cromwell grabbed her upper arm so hard she winced. She twisted out of his grip.

“She’s gone, Duncan.” Cold fear raced through her mind as she looked at the dead girl. Her sister had been staying with the Cromwells last night. Frantically, she scanned the surrounding area. “Where’s Kit?”

“I was going to ask you the same question,” Duncan said grimly. “Help me do CPR.”

Izzy forced away the tears that wanted to form and found her professional armor. “Helena’s gone, Duncan. There’s nothing you can do.”

“No.” He brushed her away and started once again to try to resuscitate his daughter. She met the gaze of the EMT who she recognized from the hospital, and silent communication passed between them. The guy had lost it and who could blame him. She moved to assess the other victim on the ground, a young man she recognized as Jesse Tyson, the police chief’s son. Blood matted his scalp, and his nose looked like it had been smashed. Unlike Helena, he was fully clothed. Beneath the trickles of blood, his skin was the blinding white of alabaster. She touched his neck but couldn’t find a pulse. His skin was soft, no sign of rigor. She frowned and pulled back his eyelids. His pupils were clear and responsive. She checked his airway, ripped open his shirt and palpated his chest. No penetrating injuries or bruising. Without proper equipment it was difficult to check for pneumothorax and haemothorax, but she did what she could. She undid his jeans and pressed her fingers into his groin, searching for a femoral pulse. All the time, she watched his chest for any sign that he was breathing.

Did it move? Or was that the wind tugging his shirt?

It was so cold out here, even she was shivering. Then his chest did move, just a fraction, evenly on both sides, she was certain of it. And the faintest pulse of blood stirred against her fingertips. She signaled the EMTs to bring over a stretcher. “He’s alive. Make sure his spine is stabilized before you move him. Cover him with all the blankets you’ve got in the rig.” Her brain buzzed as she recalled procedure and treatments for severe hypothermia. “Move him
very
gently because you can induce cardiac dysrhythmia if you jar him—go the long way around the dune.” She checked for fractures, but with this level of hypothermia the most important thing was getting the patient to the hospital as quickly and smoothly as possible. She dialed the ER. It was a fifteen-minute drive to the hospital. “You need to prepare for a patient with low GCS, apparent head injuries, and severe hypothermia.” They’d treat with warm mattresses, hot air blankets, heated IV fluids—but they had to take things slowly in a highly controlled environment. “He’ll need a full CT scan and general blood work. Call Chief Tyson to meet us at the hospital.” She hung up.

“What about Helena?” Duncan called out angrily from his knees.

Izzy stared at the guy. Tremors shook his body as he tried to rein in everything he was feeling. His eyes were frantic, skin pulled tight over his features as desperation drove him. Who could blame him?

His daughter was her sister’s best friend. Responsibility weighed as heavy as a block of cement around her shoulders. What if she was wrong? What if Helena
could
be saved? She’d heard of miracles happening before, especially when severe hypothermia was involved. People weren’t dead until they were warm and dead.

“Let’s take her, too.” She put her hand on his arm. “But, Duncan, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Hope is all I’ve got left.” He flung off her touch and snarled before he ran to fetch another stretcher.

She took out her phone and dialed her sister, each unanswered ring feeding her fear like wind stoking a wildfire. The joints in her fingers ached from her tight grip on the phone. Her jaw felt as if someone had wired the bones together.

“S’up?” Kit answered groggily.

The iron fist on Izzy’s throat released, and she sucked in a proper breath. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” Kit sounded tired, grumpy, but not upset. She obviously had no idea about Helena.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Home. I changed my mind and came back here last night. Why?”

She hadn’t checked her sister’s room when she picked up Barney earlier, but hadn’t seen her car. She’d assumed Kit was still out. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She couldn’t tell Kit about Helena over the phone. “Look, I have something to tell you. You need to get dressed. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”