In the strange way things happen, her pretty face had only a few small cuts. Her pure blue eyes were open, her head turned toward him as if she was looking at him.
Her chest rose in a slow, shallow breath, and with a jolt that ran all the way to his feet he realized that she was looking at him. She was going, and going fast, but for this moment she saw him, she recognized him.
"God, sweetheart," he whispered, abruptly remembering exactly how she tasted, how soft and silky her breasts were, the sweet scent of a woman underlying the expensive perfume she wore. He remembered how she'd felt in his arms, how hungry for affection she'd been, the tight slick heat of her body as he slid into her, and the lost look in those blue eyes when he left her. He remembered how her laugh sounded as musical as bells, and the realization that he'd never hear it again was a punch in the chest that left him winded.
He didn't think she heard him. Her expression was as calm and serene as if she'd already gone, her face porcelain white. Yet her gaze remained locked on his face and slowly her expression changed as it softened and filled with wonder. Her lips moved, shaped a single word...and then she was gone. The blue eyes set, began to dull. Automatically her body took one more breath, still fighting for a life that was already gone, then it, too, stopped.
The breeze flirted with a tendril of her hair, blowing it against her pale cheek. Gently, Simon reached out one finger and touched the tendril, dark and straight now, but still as silky as it had been when it was blond and curly. He smoothed it back, tucking it behind her ear, then he stroked her cheek. There were things he needed to do, but for the moment he could do nothing except stay exactly where he was, looking at her and touching her, feeling as if the ground had dropped from beneath him. He watched her, waiting, hoping for another breath, but she was gone and he knew it. There was nothing.
He drew several deep, ragged breaths, then forced himself to straighten from the car. Sentiment had no place in his life; he couldn't allow anyone or anything to matter, to get inside his emotional and mental shields.
Moving briskly, he did what had to be done. He looked around until he found her purse, lying several yards away. Swiftly he removed her cell phone and the driver's license from her wallet, slipping both into his pocket. She didn't have any credit cards, no other identification, so he returned the wallet to her purse and tossed it onto the front floorboard. Her laptop was easier to find, because it was in the backseat, though getting to it was far more difficult. Finally he reached it and dragged it out.
One thing more: the bill of sale for the car. He worked his way around to the other side of the car and used his pocketknife to pry open the crushed glove box. Removing the bill of sale, he paused a moment to think if there was anything else that could give away her identity. No, he had it all.
The last thing he did was use his cell phone to take a picture of her. It was ghoulish, but necessary.
Carrying the laptop, he climbed back up to the road. No more than five minutes had passed since the accident, if that long. No other vehicles had come by, but then this wasn't exactly an interstate highway. Opening the door of the still-running truck, he put the laptop on the passenger seat, then took Drea's cell phone out of his pocket and checked to see if there was any cell service out here. There was, but not much; maybe he could make himself understood. He punched in 911, and when the operator answered he said, "I want to report a car accident, with a fatality, on highway..."
He gave the pertinent information, then, when the operator began asking questions, he flipped the phone closed and ended the call.
He'd wait until he heard the sirens. He'd stand watch over her body, guarding her and keeping her company, until he knew someone was coming to take care of her.
Standing with one boot on the running board and one arm resting on top of the truck, he watched the sun set behind the far mountains, watched the purple twilight begin its rapid progression. Finally a faint wail reached him, carried by the clear dry air, and several miles away he could see the flash of red lights.
He got in the truck and sat for a moment, his arms crossed on top of the steering wheel, remembering the way she had looked at him and the way her expression had softened, then she had said one word: "Angel-"
And died.
He cursed, and banged his fist once on the steering wheel. Then he put the truck in gear and drove away.
Chapter Seventeen
SHE DIDN'T HURT. DREA THOUGHT SHE PROBABLY SHOULD be hurting, but she didn't. That was okay, because she wasn't a fan of hurting.
Everything seemed distant and unreal. She knew she should be trying to get up, that there was an urgent reason why she should run, yet she had no desire to move. Moving didn't seem to be an option, anyway. Maybe after a while she'd get up.
No, no, she couldn't lie to herself, even now. Especially now. She was dying. She knew it, and it was okay. If she'd had a choice, yeah, she'd keep trying, but choice had been taken away and letting go was almost a relief. She could feel herself dying, feel each breath coming slower and slower. Her heartbeat-was her heart even beating? She couldn't feel it at all. Maybe it had stopped. That was okay, too, because it had just been going through the motions since her baby died and it was tired of the act.
Her baby... She hadn't named him. She'd been in shock from blood loss, close to dying herself because the doctor hadn't been able to stop the bleeding, and they had taken the tiny body away. No one had ever brought any birth certificate forms for her to fill out, because he'd never taken a single breath. Stillborn. That was the term for it. He'd been so still when he was born, even though, up until an hour before, he'd been entertaining himself by turning flips and trying to kick her ribs out. Then there had been the sudden, severe pain, and the bleeding that soaked her clothes. She didn't have a car, she didn't even have a license, because she wouldn't turn sixteen for another month and she was at home by herself. By the time she got to the hospital, it was already too late. Her baby never had a name.