That meant she had to leave, drive somewhere she had service, and then call Micah. She had no other choice.
Before she could move, a sound made her freeze.
A man stepped into view near the house.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a flannel jacket and jeans. His face was partially obscured by a baseball cap pulled low, but she could see enough.
She didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t Arthur. Could he be . . . ? She squinted. Could he be the man from the alley? The one who’d stared at her while she waited at the pediatrician’s?
She couldn’t be sure.
The man walked toward Good Boy, crouched down, and checked the rope. The dog lifted his head slightly but didn’t move or react.
Naomi’s chest tightened.
The man stood slowly, brushing his hands on his jeans.
She ducked behind the tree—but it wasn’t quite big enough to conceal her entire body.
Don’t turn around. Don’t look this way.
A few minutes ticked by, her heart pounding with every passing second.
Finally, she peered out again, desperate to see if the man was still out there.
As she looked, the man paused. His head tilted slightly, as if he’d sensed something.
Naomi’s pulse hammered in her ears, afraid to move. Afraid it might attract his attention.
His gaze swept the tree line—casual at first.
Then his eyes locked on the spot where she stood.
Naomi’s heart stopped.
For a split second, neither of them moved.
She saw the exact moment recognition hit. His expression shifted from mild curiosity to surprise. Then it hardened into something darker.
He stared directly at her and shouted, “Hey!”
Fear shot through her like ice water.
She was in serious trouble.
The accident scene was chaos.
Two vehicles—a sedan and a pickup—crumpled together in the middle of Route 9. Glass scattered across the asphalt like ice. A woman sat on the shoulder, blood streaming from a gash on her forehead, while a paramedic worked to stabilize her. The driver of the pickup was already on a stretcher, conscious but dazed.
Micah directed traffic around the wreckage, his movements automatic, his mind running through the checklist. Secure the scene. Document everything. Get statements. Clear the road.
Deputy Knox was already photographing the vehicles, his camera flashing in the gray afternoon light. A state police officer was also there.
“Sheriff!” One of the paramedics waved him over. “You need a statement from the sedan driver before we transport her?”
Micah nodded and started toward her.
As he did, his phone rang.
