Chapter One
"Miss Kendall, can you hear me? I'm Doctor Metcalf, and
you're at Good Samaritan Hospital in Mountainside. We're
going to take you out of the ambulance now and into the
emergency room."
Shivering uncontrollably, Leigh Kendall reacted to the
insistent male voice that was calling her back to
consciousness, but she couldn't seem to summon the
strength to open her eyelids.
"Can you hear me, Miss Kendall?"
With an effort, she finally managed to force her eyes
open. The doctor who had spoken was bending over her,
examining her head, and beside him, a nurse was holding a
clear plastic bag of IV fluid.
"We're going to take you out of the ambulance now," he
repeated as he beamed a tiny light at each of her pupils.
"Need...to tell...husband I'm here," Leigh managed in a
feeble whisper.
He nodded and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "The
State Highway Patrol will take care of that. In the
meantime, you have some very big fans at Good Samaritan,
including me, and we're going to take excellent care of
you."
Voices and images began to fly at Leigh from every
direction as the gurney was lifted from the ambulance. Red
and blue lights pulsed frantically against a gray dawn
sky. Uniforms flashed past her line of vision-NewYork
State Highway Patrol officers, paramedics, doctors,
nurses. Doors swung open, the hallway flew by, faces
crowded around her, firing urgent questions at her.
Leigh tried to concentrate, but their voices were
collapsing into an incomprehensible babble, and their
features were sliding off their faces, dissolving into the
same blackness that had already devoured the rest of the
room.
* * * *
When Leigh awoke again, it was dark outside and a light
snow was still falling. Struggling to free herself from
the effects of whatever drugs were dripping into her arm
from the IV bag above her, she gazed dazedly at what
appeared to be a hospital room filled with a riotous
display of flowers.
Seated on a chair near the foot of the bed, flanked by a
huge basket of purple orchids and a large vase of bright
yellow roses, a gray-haired nurse was reading a copy of
The New York Times with Leigh's picture on the front page.
Leigh turned her head as much as the brace on her neck
would allow, searching for some sign of Logan, but for the
time being, she was alone with the nurse. Experimentally,
she moved her legs and wiggled her toes, and was relieved
to find them still attached to the rest of her and in good
working order. Her arms were bandaged and her head was
wrapped in something tight, but as long as she didn't
move, her discomfort seemed to be limited to a generalized
ache throughout her body, a sharper ache in her ribs, and
a throat so dry it felt as if it was stuffed with gauze.
She was alive, and that in itself was a miracle! The fact
that she was also whole and relatively unharmed filled
Leigh with a sense of gratitude and joy that was almost
euphoric. She swallowed and forced a croaking whisper from
her parched throat. "May I have some water?"
The nurse looked up, a professional smile instantly
brightening her face. "You're awake!" she said as she
quickly closed the newspaper, folded it in half, and laid
it face-down beneath her chair.
The name tag on the nurse's uniform identified her as "Ann
Mackey, RN. Private Duty," Leigh noted as she watched the
nurse pouring water from a plastic pitcher on the tray
beside the bed.
"You should have a straw. I'll go get one."
"Don't bother about that right now. I'm really thirsty."
Smiling sympathetically, the nurse started to hold the
glass to Leigh's mouth, but Leigh took it from her. "I can
hold it," Leigh assured her, and then was amazed by how
much effort it took just to lift her bandaged arm and hold
it steady. By the time she handed the glass back to Nurse
Mackey, her arm was trembling and her chest hurt terribly.
Wondering if perhaps there was more wrong with her than
she'd thought, Leigh let her head sink back into the
pillows while she gathered the strength to talk. "What
sort of condition am I in?"
Nurse Mackey looked eager to share her knowledge, but she
hesitated. "You really should ask Dr. Metcalf about that."
"I will, but I'd like to hear it now, from my private duty
nurse. I won't tell him you told me anything."
It was all the encouragement the elderly woman
needed. "You were in shock when you were brought in," she
confided. "You had a concussion, hypothermia, cracked
ribs, and suspected injuries to the cervical vertebrae and
adjacent tissue-that's whiplash in laymen's terms. You
have several deep scalp wounds as well as lacerations on
your arms, legs, and torso, but only a few of them are on
your face, and they aren't deep, which is a blessing. You
also have contusions and abrasions all over your - "
Smiling, Leigh lifted her hand to stop the litany of
injuries. "That's too much detail. Is there anything wrong
with me now that will need surgery?"
Nurse Mackey looked taken aback by Leigh's dismissive
attitude, and then she looked impressed. "No surgery," she
said with an approving little pat on Leigh's shoulder.
"Any physical therapy?"
"I wouldn't think so. But you should expect to be very
sore for a few weeks, and your ribs will hurt. Your burns
and cuts will require close attention, healing and scaring
could be a concern - "
Leigh interrupted this new deluge of depressing medical
minutia with another smile. "I'll be very careful," she
promised, and then she switched to the only other topic on
her mind. "Where is my husband?"
Nurse Mackey faltered and then patted Leigh's shoulder
again. "I'll go and see about that," she promised, and
hurried off, leaving Leigh with the impression that Logan
was nearby.
Exhausted from the simple acts of drinking and speaking,
Leigh closed her eyes and tried to piece together what had
happened to her since yesterday, when Logan kissed her
good bye in the morning.
He'd been so excited when he left their East Side
apartment, so eager for her to join him in the mountains
and spend the night with him there. For nearly two years,
he'd been looking for just the right site for their
mountain retreat, a secluded setting that would complement
the sprawling stone house he'd designed for the two of
them. On Thursday, he'd finally found a piece of property
that met all his exacting qualifications, and he'd been so
eager for her to see it that he insisted they should spend
Sunday night - their first available night - in the
existing cabin on the land.
"The cabin hasn't been used in years, but I'll clean it up
while I'm waiting for you to get there," he promised,
displaying an endearing enthusiasm for a task he normally
diligently avoided. "There isn't any electricity or heat,
but I'll build a roaring fire in the fireplace, and we'll
sleep in front of it in sleeping bags. We'll have dinner
by candlelight. In the morning, we'll watch the sun rise
over the tops of the trees. Our trees. It will be very
romantic, you'll see."
His entire plan filled Leigh with amused dread. She was
starring in a new play that had opened on Broadway the
night before, and she'd only had four hours of sleep.
Before she could leave for the mountains, she had a Sunday
matinee performance to give, followed by a three-hour
drive to a cold, uninhabitable stone cabin, so that she
could sleep on the floor...and then get up at dawn the
next day.
"I can't wait," she lied with an affectionate smile, but
what she really wanted to do was go back to sleep. It was
only eight o'clock. She could sleep until ten.
Logan hadn't had any more sleep than she, but he was
already dressed and eager to leave for the cabin. "The
place isn't easy to find, so I drew you a detailed map
with plenty of landmarks," he said, laying a piece of
paper on her nightstand. "I've already loaded the car. I
think I have everything I need - " he continued, leaning
over her in bed and pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. " -
house plans, stakes, string, a transom, sleeping bags. I
still feel like I'm forgetting something..."
"A broom, a mop, and a bucket?" Leigh joked sleepily as
she rolled over onto her stomach. "Scrub brushes?
Detergent?"
"Kill-joy," he teased, nuzzling her neck where he knew she
was ticklish.
Leigh giggled, pulled the pillow over the back of her
head, and continued dictating his shopping
list. "Disinfectant...mouse traps..."
"You sound like a spoiled, pampered Broadway star," he
chuckled. "Where is your sense of adventure?"
"It stops at a Holiday Inn," she said with a muffled
giggle.
With a laugh, he pulled the pillow from her head and
rumpled her hair. "Leave straight from the theater. Don't
be late." He stood up and headed for the door to their
bedroom suite. "I know I'm forgetting something - "
"Drinking water, candles, a tin coffee pot?" Leigh
helpfully chanted. "Food for dinner? A pear for my
breakfast?"
"No more pears. You're addicted," he teased over his
shoulder. "From now on, it's Cream of Wheat and prunes for
you."
"Sadist," Leigh mumbled into the pillows, but she was
smiling. A moment later she heard the door close behind
him, and she rolled onto her back, smiling to herself as
she gazed out the bedroom windows overlooking Central
Park. They'd both been very young and very poor when they
married. Back then, their only assets had been Logan's
brand new degree in architecture and Leigh's unproven
acting talent-that, and their unflagging faith in each
other.
With those tools, they'd built a wonderful life together
and strengthened it over the next thirteen years. During
the last few months however, they'd both been so busy that
their sex life had become almost nonexistent. She'd been
immersed in the pre-opening craziness of a new play, and
Logan had been consumed with the endless complexities of
his latest, and biggest, business venture.
As Leigh lay in bed, gazing out at the clouds gathering in
the November sky, she decided she definitely liked the
prospect of spending the night by a blazing fire, with
nothing to do but make love with her husband.
* * * *
She'd hoped to leave the theater by four o'clock that
afternoon, but the play's director and the writer both
decided to make minor changes after watching the matinee
performance, and then they argued endlessly over which
changes to make, trying out first one variation, then
another. As a result, it was after six when Leigh and the
rest of the cast finally left the theater.
Patchy fog mixed with light snow slowed her progress out
of the city. Leigh tried to call Logan twice on his
cellular phone to tell him she was going to be late, but
he'd either left his phone on the charger in his car or
else the cabin was beyond range of his cellular service.
She left voice mail messages for him instead.
By the time she reached the mountains, the snow was
falling hard and fast, whipped into a frenzy by the wind.
Leigh's Mercedes sedan was heavy and handled well, but the
snow was deep and coming down so fast, she could only see
a few feet beyond her headlights. The driving was
treacherous; the visibility so poor that it was difficult
to see road signs, let alone spot the little landmarks
Logan had noted on his map. Roadside restaurants and gas
stations that would normally be open at ten PM were closed
up, their parking lots deserted. With nowhere to stop and
ask for directions, Leigh kept driving. Twice, she doubled
back, certain she'd missed a landmark or a road.
When she should have been within a mile or two of the
cabin, she turned into an unmarked driveway with a fence
across it and switched on the car's map light to study
Logan's map and directions again. She was almost positive
she'd missed a turnoff a mile back, the one Logan had
described as being "200 feet south of a sharp curve in the
road, just beyond a little red barn." With at least six
inches of snow blanketing everything, what had seemed like
a little barn to her could just as easily have been a
large black shed, a short silo, or a pile of frozen cows,
but Leigh decided she should go back and find out.
She put the Mercedes into gear and made a cautious U turn.
As she rounded the sharp curve she was looking for, she
slowed down even more, searching for a gravel drive, but
the drop-off was much too steep, the terrain far too
rugged, for anyone to have put a driveway there. She'd
just taken her foot off the brake and started to
accelerate when a pair of headlights on high beam leapt
out of the darkness behind her, rounding the curve,
closing the distance with terrifying speed. On the snow-
covered roads, Leigh couldn't speed up quickly and the
other driver couldn't seem to slow down. He swerved into
the left lane to avoid plowing into her from the rear,
lost control, and smashed into the Mercedes just behind
Leigh's door.
The memory of what followed was horrifyingly vivid-the
explosion of air bags, the scream of tortured metal and
shattering glass as the Mercedes plowed through the
guardrail and began cart wheeling down the steep
embankment. Tree trunks rammed at the car, metal
collapsed, and heavy objects tore at her flesh and slammed
into her head. She remembered the explosive jolt as 5,000
pounds of mangled metal finally came to a bone-breaking
stop.
Suspended from her seat belt, Leigh hung there, upside
down, like a dazed bat in a cave while light began
exploding around her. Bright light. Colorful light. Yellow
and orange and red. Fire!
Stark terror sharpened her senses. She found the seat belt
release, landed hard on the roof of the overturned car
and, whimpering, tried to crawl through the hole that had
once been the passenger window. Blood, sticky and wet,
spread down her arms and legs and dripped into her eyes.
Her coat was too bulky for the opening, and she was
yanking it off when whatever had stopped the car's descent
suddenly gave way. Leigh heard herself screaming as the
burning car pitched forward, rolled, and then seemed to
fly out over thin air, before it began a downward plunge
that ended in a deafening splash and a freezing deluge of
icy water.
Lying in her hospital bed with her eyes closed, Leigh
relived that plunge into the water, and her heart began to
race. Moments after hitting the water, the car began a
fast nose-dive for the bottom and in a frenzy of terror,
she started pounding on everything she could reach. She
found a hole above her, a large one, and with her lungs
bursting, she pushed through it and fought with her
remaining strength to reach the surface. It seemed an
eternity later before a blast of frigid wind hit her face
and she gulped in air.
She tried to swim, but pain knifed through her chest with
every breath, and her strokes were too feeble and
uncoordinated to propel her forward more than a little
bit. Leigh kept thrashing about in the water, but her
frozen body was going numb, and neither her panic nor her
determination could give her the strength to swim. Her
head was sliding under the surface, when her flailing hand
struck something hard and rough-the limb of a partially
submerged fallen tree.