“Mid-forties. Lecherous. A smoker. He drove an old black pickup truck.” I shot him a glance.

Relief filled his eyes. “Not anyone who sounds familiar. His guys are mostly younger now.”

“Except for Jerry.”

“Yeah.” He looked troubled at the thought.

A light rain began to fall. We drove in silence for about five minutes, the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers the only sound along with rain drops hitting the windshield as the rain became heavier. I tried my best to keep images of Marco’s mangled body from filling my mind. He had to be okay. He had to. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d been hurt or killed because of me.

“There,” Max said, leaning forward as far as his seat belt would let him. “I see something up ahead.”

I rounded a curve and could see the flicker of light in the trees. My heart was beating so fast I was jittery with it.

“It looks like it’s close to the road, so that’s good,” Max said, but his tone revealed his nerves. “That place up ahead is an accident site, but the cars usually go off the road and down the ravine. They often don’t find the cars for days.”

I turned another corner and saw Marco’s Explorer up ahead. Relief washed through me when I realized it was parked on the side of the road and not crashed into a tree or a ditch. The headlights were on, casting beams through the rain, but the windshield wipers weren’t moving.

“Do you see him inside?” I asked as we drove past. I’d slowed down enough to make a U-turn.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in there.” He paused. “I didn’t see any damage to his vehicle.” He grimaced. “Or any apparent bullet holes.”

The limited relief I’d felt was gone. I parked my car behind Marco’s, threw it into park, and left it running as I grabbed my gun out of my purse. I jumped out and ran to the driver’s door, raindrops pelting me.

Max was right behind me as I opened it.

“He’s not here.” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. “Where is he?” I asked, trying to stay calm. “Did someone take him?”

Max cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Marco!”

We waited, and I thought I heard a faint sound.

“Marco!” I called out, desperation leaking into my voice.

“Carly!” Marco’s voice was barely audible.

I turned to Max. He’d heard it too. “On the other side.”

We looked both ways and then sprinted across the road. Marco wasn’t within sight, so we both called out his name again.

“Down here!” Marco shouted.

I turned to the sound of his voice, which was coming from up ahead and down the hill.

“We’re on our way!” I took off running down the side of the road, heading toward his voice.

“Call 911!” Marco shouted. “We need an ambulance!”

My heart skipped a beat, and I turned to Max, trying not to fall apart.

“Marco has a radio in his car,” Max said, breathing heavily. “I’ll go make the call, then come down to you guys.”

I nodded, then took off running again, calling out Marco’s name. I ran a good thirty to forty feet before I saw tracks in the dirt next to the shoulder, going down a sharp incline.

“Marco?”

“Down here!” He was definitely closer, but he sounded out of breath and upset. “Carly, go get help!”

“Max is calling,” I said as I started to make my way down the slippery slope, not an easy task in the dark. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it still impacted visibility. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt. Go back and help Max!”

“If you’re not hurt, who is?”

I continued down, and the silhouette of a truck came into view. “Whose truck is that, Marco?”

“Carly,” he said, sounding much closer. “Go back up to Max.”

His voice was shaking.

I could see him now. The passenger side had smashed into several trees. The driver’s door was open, and Marco was in jeans and T-shirt, trying to find purchase on the muddy slope as he leaned inside. His body was moving up and down, and it took me a moment to realize he was administering CPR.

“Oh God.”

He turned to me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to see the anguish on his face. His wet shirt was plastered to his arms and chest. He looked exhausted and his arms were shaking. Obviously, he’d been doing this for a while, and he needed a break.

“Who is that?” I asked, and when he didn’t answer, I slid down toward him. It was then I saw the writing on the side of the truck.

Drummond Properties.

The air left my lungs and I stumbled. “No.”

Marco groaned. “Carly. Go watch for the ambulance so they can find us.”

I ignored him, continuing down the hill. Although I didn’t want to believe it, I knew who was in that truck. But I couldn’t let myself dwell on the horror of what was happening. I had to focus on helping, and if we moved the driver out of the truck and onto the ground, CPR would be more effective.

I braced myself when I reached the open door, but nothing could have prepared me for Jerry’s bloodied face. He eyes were closed, and he looked pale. Marco had adjusted his seat so he was in a semi-reclined position. I was milliseconds away from breaking down, but I could do that later. We had to save Jerry.

“I take you can’t get him out?” I asked in my take-charge teacher voice.

He turned to me in surprise. “His legs are wedged under the dash.”

I opened the back door and climbed inside.

“Carly, what are you doin’?”

“I’m about to take over and give you a break. How long have you been doing this?” I crawled over the back seat and across the console to the front passenger seat. I pushed his hands away and found my placing and began compressions.

I hadn’t ever performed CPR on an actual person before, but I’d done it several times on a dummy for my teaching certification. While I didn’t want to potentially hurt Jerry, I knew it was important to be aggressive…even if that meant breaking ribs. Plus, Marco was much stronger than me and had likely already done the worst.

Marco sank to the ground in exhaustion.

“How long, Marco?”

“I don’t know. Twenty minutes? Forty-five? I kept hoping someone would stop, but I didn’t dare stop CPR to go radio for help.”

“Max is doing it now.”

I stopped compressions, made sure Jerry’s head was tilted correctly, then put my mouth on his, pushing air into his lungs.

“Did he have a pulse when you found him?” I asked as I started compressions again.

“He was conscious when I found him. I saw it happen. A black truck forced him off the road, then drove off. I stopped and ran down the hill to see if the passengers were okay. Then I realized it was Jerry.” His voice broke, and he released a sob. “He was so relieved to see me. I should have run to radio for help, but he was scared, and I didn’t want to leave him.”

“You did the right thing,” I said, continuing my compressions and refusing to believe it was too late. “He needed you there with him.”

“He was worried Bart would be upset with him for wrecking his trunk.” His voice broke again. “He said he was grateful to Bart for giving him a second chance and he didn’t want to let him down.” Marco wiped his face with the back of his arm. “I told him it wasn’t his fault. That I’d seen someone force him off the road, and I’d make sure Bart knew it. And if Bart still blamed him, I’d personally kick his ass.” He looked up at me. “He laughed at that.”