He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“I don’t — This isn’t—” She sighed. “Oh, never mind,” she muttered, and followed him to his car. There was no point arguing with the man. He’d just turn his back on her again. As she slid into the passenger seat, she felt a sharp stab of pain in her chest. Maybe he was right after all. She knew it could take hours, or even days, for injuries to manifest themselves. She hated to admit it, but Mr. Personality was probably right about this trip to the ER.
She was too uncomfortable to say much as they drove to the hospital. It was Sam who finally broke the silence.
“So, can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I already gave a statement. It’s all in the police report. Someone ran me off the road.”
“Yes, a black Ford, male driver. Maine license plate.”
“Then you’ve been told the details.”
“The other witness said he thought it was a drunk driver trying to pass you on the hill. He didn’t think it was deliberate.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“When did you first see the Ford?”
“Somewhere around Smugglers Cove, I guess. I noticed that it seemed to be following me.”
“Was it weaving? Show any signs of driver impairment?”
“No. It was just…following me.”
“Could it have been behind you earlier?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is it possible it was there when you left your mother’s house?”
She frowned at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but was staring straight ahead. The tenor of his questions had taken a subtle change of course. He had started out sounding noncommittal. Maybe even skeptical. But this last question told her he was considering a possibility other than a drunk driver. A possibility that left her suddenly chilled.
“Are you suggesting he was waiting for me?”
“I’m just exploring the possibilities.”
“The other policeman thought it was a drunk driver.”
“He has his opinion.”
“What’s your opinion?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept driving in that maddeningly calm way of his. Did the man ever show any emotion? Once, just once, she’d like to see something get under that thick skin of his.
“Detective Navarro,” she said. “I pay taxes. I pay your salary. I think I deserve more than just a brush-off.”
“Oh. The old civil servant line.”
“I’ll use whatever line it takes to get an answer out of you!”
“I’m not sure you want to hear my answer.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I made a brief inspection of your car. What I found there backs up quite a bit of what you just told me. There were black paint chips on the driver’s side, indicating that the vehicle that rammed yours was, indeed, black.”
“So I’m not color blind.”
“I also noticed that the driver’s window was shattered. And that the breakage was in a starburst pattern. Not what I’d expect for a rollover accident.”
“That’s because the window was already broken when I went off the road.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember I felt flying glass. That’s how I cut my face. When the glass hit me. That was before I rolled over.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced at her. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yes. Does it make a difference?”
He let out a breath. “It makes a lot of difference,” he said softly. “It also goes along with what I found in your car.”
“In my car?” Perplexed, she shook her head. “What, exactly, did you find?”
“It was in the right passenger door — the door that was jammed against the tree. The metal was pretty crumpled; that’s why the other cops didn’t notice it. But I knew it was there somewhere. And I found it.”
“Found what?”
“A bullet hole.”
Nina felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t speak; she could only sit in shocked silence, her world rocked by the impact of his words.
He continued talking, his tone matter-of-fact. Chillingly so. He’s not human, she thought. He’s a machine. A robot.
“The bullet must have hit your window,” he said, “just to the rear of your head. That’s why the glass shattered. Then the bullet passed at a slightly forward angle, missed you completely, and made a hole in the plastic molding of the opposite door, where it’s probably still lodged. It’ll be retrieved. By tonight, we’ll know the caliber. And possibly the make of the gun. What I still don’t know — what you’ll have to tell me — is why someone’s trying to kill you.”
She shook her head. “It’s a mistake.”
“This guy’s going to a lot of trouble. He’s bombed a church. Tailed you. Shot at you. There’s no mistake.”
“There has to be!”
“Think of every possible person who might want to hurt you. Think, Nina.”
“I told you, I don’t have any enemies!”
“You must have.”
“I don’t! I don’t….” She gave a sob and clutched her head in her hands. “I don’t,” she whispered.
After a long silence he said, gently, “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to accept—”
“You don’t know.” She raised her head and looked at him. “You have no idea, Detective. I’ve always thought people liked me. Or — at least — they didn’t hate me. I try so hard to get along with everyone. And now you’re telling me there’s someone out there — someone who wants to…” She swallowed and stared ahead, at the darkening road.
Sam let the silence stretch on between them. He knew she was in too fragile a state right now to press her with more questions. And he suspected she was hurting more, both physically and emotionally, than she was letting on. Judging by the condition of her car, her body had taken a brutal beating this afternoon.
In the ER, he paced the waiting room while Nina was examined by the doctor on duty. A few X rays later, she emerged looking even more pale than when she’d entered. It was reality sinking in, he thought. The danger was genuine, and she couldn’t deny it any longer.
Back in his car, she sat in numb silence. He kept glancing sideways at her, waiting for her to burst into tears, into hysteria, but she remained unnervingly quiet. It concerned him. This wasn’t healthy.
He said, “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Is there somewhere you can go?”
Her response was barely a shrug.
“Your mother’s?” he suggested. “I’ll take you home to pack a suitcase and—”
“No. Not my mother’s,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“I…don’t want to make things…uncomfortable for her.”
“For her?” He frowned. “Pardon me for asking this, but isn’t that what mothers are for? To pick us up and dust us off?”
“My mother’s marriage isn’t…the most supportive one around.”
“She can’t welcome her own daughter home?”
“It’s not her home, Detective. It’s her husband’s. And he doesn’t approve of me. To be honest, the feeling’s mutual.” She gazed straight ahead, and in that moment, she struck him as so very brave. And so very alone.
“Since the day they got married, Edward Warrenton has controlled every detail of my mother’s life. He bullies her, and she takes it without a whimper. Because his money makes it all worthwhile for her. I just couldn’t stand watching it any longer. So one day I told him off.”
“Sounds like that’s exactly what you should have done.”
“It didn’t do a thing for family harmony. I’m sure that’s why he went on that business trip to Chicago. So he could conveniently skip my wedding.” Sighing, she tilted her head back against the headrest. “I know I shouldn’t be annoyed with my mother, but I am. I’m annoyed that she’s never stood up to him.”