Debby Giusti - Stranded

“It’s Frank Gallagher, and the dog’s Duke.”

Her face softened for a moment as Duke licked her hand, then she glanced back at Frank.

“You’re a farmer?”

He shook his head. “I’m an army guy. CID.”

Seeing her confusion, he explained, “Criminal Investigation Division. We handle felony crimes for the military.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop?”

He shrugged. “More like a detective. What about you?”

“Flight attendant.”

“Hartsfield?”

She nodded, indicating the Atlanta airport.

One of the EMTs returned and pulled a bottle of water from a cooler. “I want you to sit up, ma’am, and drink some water. I’ll check on you again in a few minutes.”

Frank pointed to the nearby fire truck. “You relax while Duke and I talk to the guys from the fire department.”

Rounding the ambulance, Frank glanced at the road. A line of first responders and Good Samaritan townspeople had arrived to help in the rescue effort. The scene farther south was probably the same, with people flocking to the area in hopes of aiding those in need.

Glancing back at Colleen, he was relieved to see she had closed her eyes and was resting her head against the side of the ambulance.

Static played over the fire truck’s emergency radio. A tall, slender guy in his midtwenties stood nearby. He wore a navy blue shirt with the Freemont Fire Department logo and a name tag that read Daugherty.

His face brightened when he saw Duke.

“Nice dog.”

“Daugherty, can you can patch me through to the local police?”

“No problem, sir.”

Once Frank got through to the dispatcher, he explained about the gunshot victim. “Colleen Brennan was the driver of the vehicle. She’ll be staying overnight at Evelyn Gallagher’s house.” He provided the address.

“Everyone’s tied up with the rescue operation,” the dispatcher explained. “I’ll pass on the information, but be patient.”

After disconnecting, he requested a second call to Fort Rickman.

“Did you want to contact the military police?” Daugherty asked.

“That works.”

He connected Frank to the provost marshal’s office. After providing his name, Frank requested all available military help be sent to the Amish area.

“Roger that, sir. I believe we’ve already received a request for aid, but I’ll notify the Emergency Operations Center, just in case. They’ll pass the information on to General Cameron.”

“Any damage on post?”

“A twister touched down. Some of the barracks in the training area were in the storm’s path. No loss of life reported thus far. The chaplain said God was watching out for us.”

Frank wasn’t sure he’d give God the credit. If the Lord protected some, why were others in the storm’s path? “What about Freemont?”

“We’ve got some spotty reports. A trailer park on the outskirts of town was hit with some injuries. A few shops downtown and a number of the old three-story brick buildings on the waterfront.”

“The abandoned warehouses?”

“That’s correct. We’re awaiting more details from the local authorities. The information I received is that Allen Quincy is heading the civilian relief effort.”

“The mayor?”

“Yes, sir. He’s asked for our help. We’ve called in all personnel. I’ll pass on the information about the Amish area.”

“Let the Red Cross and medical personnel know, as well.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

“Do you have landline access?” Frank asked.

“To main post only.”

“See if you can contact CID Headquarters. Ask for Special Agent Colby Voss. Tell him Special Agent Frank Gallagher is at the Craft Shoppe, located at the northern end of Amish Road. We’re going to need him.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Colby’s wife, Becca, had been raised Amish. She knew the area and the local Amish bishop, but Becca was on temporary duty out of the state so Colby was the next best choice.

He and Frank had joined the CID years earlier and had served together before. Frank could attest to Colby’s ability both as an investigator and diplomat.

The Amish were a tight community and preferred to take care of their own. After the tornado, they needed help. Colby might be able to bridge the gap between the Amish and their English neighbors.

Frank thanked Daugherty for the use of his radio. He and Duke returned to the ambulance in time to hear the EMT reassure Colleen.

“Looks like dehydration was the problem, ma’am,” he told her. “Your vitals are better so you’re good to go.”

“What about that lump on her forehead?” Frank asked.

“She should be okay, especially if someone checks on her through the night.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Colleen insisted as she hopped down from the gurney.

Frank reached out a hand to steady her. She held on to him for a long moment and then nodded her thanks. “I’m okay.”

“Ma’am, you need to take it easy for the next day or two,” the EMT cautioned.

“And the gunshot victim?” Frank asked, his gaze flicking to the other ambulance.

“They’re preparing to transport her to the hospital at Fort Rickman, sir.”

“Not the civilian facility in Freemont?”

“She was conscious long enough to give her last name. Her husband is a sergeant on post. Sergeant Drew Davis.”

Frank didn’t recognize the name, but if Vivian was an army spouse, the CID would be involved in the investigation. With the Freemont police working hard on the storm-relief effort, the military might take the lead on the case.

Tonight, everyone would focus on search and rescue. By morning both the Freemont cops and the military law enforcement would have more time to question Colleen. Until then, Frank would keep her under watch.

Too many things didn’t add up. In spite of being on convalescent leave, Frank needed to learn the truth about how a military wife with a gunshot wound had ended up in Colleen’s car.

* * *

Colleen tried to ignore the pointed stare of the CID agent who had dug her from the rubble. His deep-set eyes and gaunt face were troubling and cut her to the core. In fact, the only redeeming quality about the guy was his dog.

She rubbed her temple, hoping to drive away the pounding headache that had come with the storm. Her memory was fuzzy at best, and she had difficulty recalling some of the most basic information, especially pertaining to Vivian. Without thinking, she’d left her purse in her car along with the memory card.

A pickup truck pulled to a stop in the triage area. The driver, a middle-aged farmer wearing bib overalls and a baseball cap, rolled down his window and nodded to the EMT.

“We found a guy hunkered down in a ditch just over that ridge.” The farmer pointed to the rise in the roadway. “His sports car was destroyed, but he survived, although he’s scraped up a bit. Face could have been in worse shape if he hadn’t been wearing a sweatshirt. Looks like the hood protected him. A guy with an SUV is bringing him your way.”

Hooded sweatshirt. Colleen’s heart jammed in her throat. Trey had a sporty BMW, although she hadn’t seen which of his many cars he was driving today.

If he was the injured man, Colleen had to get out of sight. She’d come back later for the things she’d left behind.

A gold SUV headed down the hill.

Her stomach fluttered. She turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Frank called after her.

To hide.

What could she tell him? Think. Think.

Her stalled brain refused to work. Searching for an answer, she glanced at the house on the knoll.

“I’m taking you up on that invitation to stay with your sister.” Even she heard the tremble in her voice.