“But—”
He held up a finger and she was grateful that he was conscious, seeming coherent and could move, that his color seemed okay—normal. And that there was no no dark red stain seeping into the snow. She still couldn’t stand the sight of it. “I said a second,” he repeated. Rolling onto his back, he gazed up at the sky, where morning light pierced the sluggish clouds moving slowly overhead. He let out his breath. “I’m okay. I’ll be . . . I’m okay.”
Was he? Shouldn’t he see a doctor? Or at least an EMT? What about internal injuries?
But she was already backing up, heading toward the open door of her Jeep. “I think we should call someone who—”
“Don’t!” he barked. Then a little more calmly said, “Look, I’m okay. Really.” To prove his point, he rolled to his knees, then pushing upright, was able to stand, thank God. He didn’t even sway.
That said, she was still freaked out, her own blood buzzing with the adrenaline, her mind racing with all the horror that could have happened. She could have killed him. Maimed him. Even now there could be other injuries that weren’t visible or . . . or . . .
And then she recognized him.
Damn.
“Man,” he said, and glanced at her. For the first time she saw him full in the face and thought he might be familiar. Near-black hair falling over his forehead, brushing thick eyebrows that guarded those stark blue eyes. A hawkish nose and beneath three or four days’ growth of beard, a strong jaw and . . . Oh. Crap.
Her heart nose-dived.
Anger flooded through her.
Wesley Friggin’ Tate. The damned reporter. Son of Edmund Tate, the cop who’d rescued her from the lake all those years ago, the man she’d run from, the man she’d thought was the monster who had slaughtered her family. Bristling, she said, “What’re you doing here?”
He did seem none the worse for wear. But she’d hit him. She’d heard the thud, felt the impact.
Right?
“You weren’t answering the phone or my texts.”
“And so you what? Were trespassing? Snooping around? For God’s sake, I could have killed you!”
It was a big leap, but she took it.
“Wait a minute. You just nearly ran over me!”
“But I didn’t.”
“Close and you did hit me.”
“Did I?” She wasn’t convinced. Had she really struck him with the Jeep? Knocked him to the ground? Or had that been only the bump of her tires spinning over the berm of snow? Had she just been played? Had he pretended to be struck? But she’d heard the impact of her bumper hitting or at least grazing his body. Or had she? Was it too crazy to think that he could have thumped the side of the Jeep with his gloved fist as he’d sprung up and then fallen to the ground?
Had he, in fact, faked her out?
Why? For a damned interview? Really? If so, that was sick. “You came here to talk to me?”
“Right.”
“When I haven’t returned your calls or texts?” Her mind was spinning with distrust.
“I thought I could persuade you,” he said, and he smiled, white teeth flashing in his dark beard.
Oh, great, now the charm was coming. Now the guy thought he could flirt with her? “You thought you could ‘persuade me’？ By pretending to have me run you over. That was your plan?”
“What?” His smile fell away. “No!”
“But you were hoping to talk to me, to get an interview.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing.” She eyed him up and down—long legs, broad shoulders, and attitude, all kinds of attitude. “You’re not the first to try and trick me into talking to you, you know. There have been dozens who’ve tried. And why? To get to ‘the truth’？ Right? No! Each and every one was trying to make a buck off my story, my trauma, my family’s tragedy.” She felt herself winding up again, years of frustration beginning to boil over. “There have been articles, so many I’ve lost count, and a couple of books and even a special type of true crime show that ran on cable a year or two after the murders.” She advanced on him, holding tight to her anger. “I know that there’s all kinds of renewed interest in the story. Because the twenty-year anniversary is coming up, the cable channel is dusting off the program and running it again, probably twenty-four/seven just in time for Christmas? Isn’t that what you want to watch during the holiday season! Sit down with the kids and a big bowl of popcorn.”