God, is all I can think.God.
Please rescue us.
Chapter Twenty
It had become Sebastian Grant’s habit to fly his private plane from Atlanta, where he worked, to Misty River any time he had three days off in a row.
He’d achieved his pilot’s license five years ago and purchased his twin engine plane a year ago. He liked the challenge, adventure, beauty, and quiet of flying. The forty-five-minute trip from Atlanta’s Fulton County Airport never felt like inconvenient travel time. It felt like a hobby he enjoyed.
The drive from the airstrip outside Clayton to his house in the mountains north of Misty River—less enjoyable. Especially on this particular Friday morning because fog lay thick at ground level. Grimly, he steered his Range Rover along winding two-lane roads.
Now that no hospital administrators, physicians, nurses, or patients needed him for anything, weariness was beginning to weigh his body down. Like many doctors, he could function on a small amount of sleep. He could also fall asleep at will and wake up fully when necessary.
Leaning forward slightly in the driver’s seat, he rolled his shoulders, then angled his head to the right and left. When he reached his house, he’d sleep for two or three hours. After that, he’d work out, shower, then take Ben’s parents to the dinner and silent auction for the high school’s seniors. He’d marked this Friday off his schedule so that he could attend the event.
He wasn’t married. He had no children. No biological parents or biological siblings. His career consumed most of his focus,time, and passion. Only one thing, apart from it, meant anything to him: the Colemans.
A long curve melded into a straightaway. The music on the Siriusly Sinatra station was so relaxing that it was putting him to sleep, so he punched the button for the classic rock station. Just as he refocused on the road, a beat-up sports car swerved out of the mist into his lane.
Sebastian wrenched his wheel to the right. Horn blaring, the car veered past, inches away, and continued down the road in the opposite direction.
Sebastian tried to correct by jerking the wheel back to the left, but speed and momentum thrust him into a skid. His Range Rover shot off the road’s shoulder. He flattened the brake, and the car screeched. Then earth fell away into a drainage ditch. The front end of his car impacted the bottom of the ditch, crushing metal. Sebastian’s body rammed forward.
Pain flashed, blinding, in his skull.
Then his consciousness yanked away.
Sir?”
Sebastian heard the feminine voice as if he were at the bottom of a hole. Chuck Berry’s “Downbound Train” played.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, sounding worried and faintly out of breath. “Are you all right?”
Her voice was smooth and sweet like honey. He didn’t want the woman with the voice like honey to be worried. Also, he didn’t want to wake up, because his head ached with dull, fierce pain.
“Sir,” she said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely.
“He fell on his knees,” Chuck Berry sang, “on the bar room floor and prayed a prayer like never before.”
Sebastian slit his eyes open. Pinpricks punctured his vision. Hewas inside his car, his seat belt cutting against his chest diagonally. What had happened?
Wincing, he lifted his chin. Cracks scarred his windshield. Beyond the hood, he could see nothing but dirt and torn grass. A pair of sapling trees wedged against his driver’s side door.
He’d been in a car crash.
How long ago? Why?
He didn’t know. He’d flown to the airstrip. He... he remembered getting into his car and pulling out onto the road in the fog. That’s all.
He’d lost time.
Experimentally, he moved his fingers and toes. Everything was working fine except for the splitting pain in his head.
The one with the beautiful voice clicked off the radio. “Downbound Train”disappeared, leaving only a faint ringing in his ears.
“I’m relieved that you came to,” she said.
