Oh well. It still went. That was what counted, right?
She spotted the large vehicle on the side of the road. Looked almost brand new. It seemed they’d skidded off the road and smashed the right side of the vehicle into a large tree. Well, the truck wasn’t going anywhere until Mal could get out here and tow it. At least no one was likely to be driving past, and it was pretty much off the road. Beyond this point, there were only holiday homes. Except for Murray’s, most of them were empty during the colder months. Murray came out more regularly since he didn’t live far away.
She opened her door, wishing she’d remembered to bring her jacket with her. She’d been in such a state over having to leave her house to deal with strangers that she’d completely forgotten it. At least she had rainboots on.
She jumped down, grabbing onto the door as her worn boots slid in the mud. Drat. Be careful where you walk, Caley.
Last thing she needed was to land on her ass in the mud.
That would just be the cherry on top of this shitter of a day. Cold wind whipped through her. The rain was still pelting down as she sludged her way towards the truck. The front driver’s door opened, and a tall, large figure stepped out. She came to a stop.
Shit. Fuck. She wished she’d been able to ask Murray about exactly who his guests were, but the phone connection had cut out.
Stupid storm.
She just hoped like hell there wasn’t going to be any thunder. She shuddered. Thunderstorms were her nemesis.
“Hello?” she called out nervously.
Surely, Murray wouldn’t have sent her down to pick up a psycho about to go on a murderous rampage.
Yes, Caley. That’s exactly who Murray sent you down to rescue. A mass murderer intent on making you their next victim. Murray is in on it. It’s a whole conspiracy. They deliberately crashed their expensive-looking vehicle in order to lure you out of your home and they’re going to tie you up in the basement and chop you into tiny pieces…
“Hello? Hello, ma’am? Are you all right?”
“Someone knows where I am!” she yelled, taking a step back, her arms windmilling as she tried to catch her balance. “If I go missing, they’ll call the cops.”
Two hands grabbed her upper arms, saving her from falling onto her ass in the mud. A handsome face frowned down at her.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
No. She was not. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs.
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” she asked.
“No.”
“Rapist?”
His eyes widened. “Definitely not.”
“Have you ever had the urge to chop someone into pieces?”
“Well, we had to dissect corpses in medical school. Does that count?”
“Medical school?”
“Um, yes. I’m Doctor Archer Miller. I’m a friend of Murray Wakely’s. He lives a few miles from here.”
“Yes, I know. I’m his neighbor. He sent me here to get you. Is there someone else with you?”
Or had he chopped them into little pieces?
Calm, Caley. Overactive imagination strikes again.
“Yes. He’s hurt his head. I’ll go get him. Umm, he’s not a murderer, rapist or torturer. Just FYI.”
“Good to know,” she said, feeling stupid. What kind of person asked someone they’d just met those questions? Well, actually, they were the sort of questions you probably wanted to know the answers to upfront.