Ghost of a Chance

  James was on the other end, and he sounded frantic. "Is Harlow still at your place?"

  "No, she left forty-five minutes ago. She was headed home." I covered the mouthpiece and glanced over at Andrew. "Did Harl say anything about stopping anywhere on her way home?"

  He shook his head. "She just said she was tired and couldn't wait to get to bed. She's not there yet?"

  I took a deep breath and spoke into the receiver. "She was headed straight home, James. It's cold tonight, icy. You might want to call the cops to see if she broke down by the side of the road or something."

  "She has a cell phone; she would have called me. Something's wrong, Emerald." His voice was shaking in earnest now.

  "Hold on, hold on—we don't know that for sure. Call the police, give them her license number, and ask if there have been any reports of accidents tonight involving her car. Meanwhile, Andrew and I will come over. Call us right back if the cops know anything."

  While Andrew waited by the phone, I quickly got dressed. By the time I got back to the living room, Andrew had just finished talking to James again. "No reports of any accidents. They're going to keep an eye out for her. Let's go. Do you know what route she normally takes?"

  "Yeah, she has one shortcut in particular she uses—up old Route 93. I'm worried. Harlow's never irresponsible like this. She would have called James if something was wrong. If she could call, that is." I pulled on a pair of low-heeled boots and buttoned up my parka. "We'll take the Cherokee. Your car, as nice as it is, doesn't have enough get up and go."

  The temperature had been dropping steadily. With clear skies, it was going to be a frozen wonderland. I estimated we were already in the low twenties and still plummeting. We buckled up and I pulled out on the road, cautiously gauging how bad the buildup of ice was. The pavement glittered: rhinestones instead of cobblestones. I inched along the route that I knew Harlow always took. One place in particular had me worried.

  Along the dark drive to her house, which sat a little out of town on ten acres, ran a gorge. A ravine really, dark and very steep, that led down to Alder Creek. During the summer it was prime blackberry territory, but this time of year, the creek was frozen solid. During spring the runoff from the snow turned it into a raging river en miniature, and several kids had almost drowned there. The road that wound by the ravine was narrow, without any real shoulders. With few lights out this way, if a driver made one wrong move, he—or she—could easily slip over the edge. The town council had been after the county for years, begging them to put in a series of guardrails, but the county always found one excuse or another for ignoring the requests.

  As we neared the ravine, I slowed down, keeping my blights on so we could hunt for any suspicious clues. "Do you really think she had an accident?" Andrew was peering out of the window, trying to see something in the darkened night.

  "I don't know, but if she did, this is probably where it happened. Use the cell phone—call James and see if she's shown up yet." As we crept along at all of twenty miles an hour, he put through the call. Harlow wasn't home, and James sounded on the verge of hysteria. My hands began to shake. This wasn't supposed to happen. Harl was going to have a baby. She wasn't supposed to just disappear like this.

  Andrew shouted. "A light—I think I see a light down there!"

  I pulled off to the side of the road as much as I could and flipped on my hazard blinkers. We got out of the car and cautiously approached the edge of the road. Sure enough, there were headlights coming from down there—faint, but they were reflecting up at us. "Hello! Is anybody down there?"

  First there was an awful silence, then a faint noise, a call that seemed to come from miles away. Hard to make out—but then we both heard what sounded like a woman's voice. "Harlow! It's got to be her!" I started toward the edge of the ravine, but Andrew stopped me.

  "You're not going anywhere. You call 911. I'll see what I can do about going down the gorge, but you stay up here. I don't want both of you down there needing help. That ravine is slick and dangerous."

  I grabbed the cell phone and punched in 911. Andrew found a mile marker a few yards up the road and I gave them instructions, warning them that we were on the side of the road but that there really wasn't a shoulder so please would they not ram into my car. They assured me help was on the way.

  Andrew was rooting around in the back. He popped back out with a long coil of clothesline. "This is the closest thing to rope that I could find. Do you have a flashlight?" He found my box of flares, and while I grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment, he set up the warning lights on the road to direct the emergency vehicles.

  I could only watch as he secured the clothesline to a tree that was near the edge of the ravine. He wouldn't let me get any closer. He tied the line around his waist and, the flashlight in one hand, clothesline in the other, began to lower himself down the steep embankment. As the darkness enveloped him, I rubbed my gloved hands together, cold in spite of the layers of clothing I had on. "Hurry, hurry, hurry…" I muttered under my breath, using the words like a mantra in hopes of speeding the rescue units along.

  As carefully as I could, I crept to the edge of the ravine and peeked over. I could see the pale glow flicker in and out as Andrew descended into the darkness. The headlights from the car below were fading, and I guessed that the battery was either damaged or losing its charge. I couldn't hear anyone calling up the hill now, and I prayed that whoever it was who had tumbled over the cliff was simply too tired to answer. But what if it was her? What if Harlow was down there in a pool of blood? Or gasoline? What if she lost the baby? What if she lost her life?

  Before Andrew could reach the bottom, I heard the wailing of sirens, and a paramedics unit, a police car, and a fire truck pulled up behind my car. I directed them to the edge and told them Andrew was already on his way down. The paramedics and firemen sprang into action, paying out rope from one of the trucks. Two of the men, guided by a set of bright lights attached to their headgear, immediately set out over the edge, following roughly the same path Andrew had taken.

  Just then we heard a yell. Andrew had reached the bottom. "It's her! It's her car! I don't see her—she still must be inside."

  Harlow. Harlow was at the bottom of the ravine, freezing and hurt. She had to be hurt; otherwise she'd be out of the car, trying to get up the hillside. Harlow was an athletic woman; if she could get free, she would have by now. As the truth began to impact, a wave of nausea swept through me. Stomach roiling, I leaned over, struggling to keep my balance as everything I ate that afternoon came up in a huge gush of bile onto the side of the road.

  Oh, God, oh, God, Harlow was down in the ravine, and it was all my fault. "N-n-no…" I stuttered, trying to make my way to the edge.

  One of the paramedics rushed up beside me. "I'm Captain Files. You know who is down there?"

  "Y-y-yes, she's my b-b-best friend." I was shaking now, my lips frozen from both the icy chill and a growing terror. "She didn't make it home and her husband called and we came out looking for her and saw the lights from the ravine below and now she might be down there dying—"

  He put his hand on my shoulder to steady me. "Take it easy, ma'am." He handed me a handkerchief from his own pocket and I blubbered into it, blowing my nose. "Can you tell me her name?"

  "Harlow… Harlow Rainmark." I managed to choke out James's number and the fact that Harl was pregnant. The squad leader's radio crackled and he held it up, looking at me before he pressed one of the buttons on it. As we listened, I held my breath. Was she okay? Was she dead?

  "We have reached the victim, over."

  "Copy, 120. Be aware that the victim is pregnant. What is her condition?"

  "Victim is unconscious, breathing labored with normal pulse. BP is 145 over 99. She's trapped in her car but Lopez and I should be able to get her out. Possible broken leg, possible concussion. We'll need a stretcher. We're sending Mr. Martinez up the line so wait until he gets there before you send anybody down."

&nbs
p; "Copy, 120." He turned to his crew. "Get a stretcher ready to go down the line. Whitman, head down to make sure that guy Martinez gets his ass up here without breaking something, too." One of the men began belaying down the rope, his headlamp shining into the dark maw of the ravine. Files looked me over. "You don't look too good." I was struggling to keep my emotions under control. "Are you all right?"

  I stopped, leaning against the car. "I'm just so scared. What if she dies?"

  He opened the door to my car. "You should sit down for a moment." I dug through the front seat to find my water bottle, then rinsed my mouth and spit onto the ground, clearing out the taste of the vomit.

  I begged him for news. "How is she? Do you know how she is?"

  He shrugged. "No, but my men will get her up here in one piece. Her vitals don't sound too bad at this point."

  "The baby?"

  Once again, he shrugged. "That I can't tell you, ma'am. We won't know the full extent of her injuries until we get her to the hospital. By the way, what's your name? You do have one, don't you?"

  He leaned closer, giving me a big-brother smile. I sniffled, grateful for the support. "Emerald. Emerald O'Brien."

  "O'Brien… oh! You own the china shop, right?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I do. What's going on? Why aren't they headed down to her?"

  "They need to make sure Mr. Martinez gets back up first—there he is. Take it easy; your friend Harlow is in good hands with our men."

  A fireman guided Andrew as he crawled back over the edge. Then the crew members who had been standing by with a stretcher disappeared, on their way to rescue Harlow. I hurried over to Andrew, aching with every fiber of both body and heart.

  "How's Harlow? You saw her? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself on the way down?" Worries crowded in, shoving aside everything else.

  He pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off. "I'm fine. Yes, I saw Harlow, and I don't know how she's doing. They said she's unconscious, she probably has at least one broken leg. I think she'll survive."

  "The baby?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know, Em… I just don't know."

  I jammed my hands in my pockets. If only she'd stayed at home and talked to James like she was supposed to, but no, she had to get cold feet and come over so late. I shook off that thought. It wasn't her fault—it was mine. If only I'd put that goddamn bottle away like I should have, she wouldn't be in this predicament now. She wouldn't be hurt. I shook my head and looked up at Andrew. "Harlow's hurt. How soon before Miranda or Kip take it on the chin because of me? Every person I love has been put into danger because of this mess. I've got to get rid of this ghost." The wind sprang up, and a jet of cold air nearly froze my ass off. I pulled my coat tighter.

  "Emerald, listen to me. Harlow didn't just accidentally slide off the cliff."

  "You mean somebody broadsided her?"

  "No. I mean she was startled into driving off that cliff. Somebody wanted her dead."

  "Someone deliberately ran her off the road?" I stared at him in horror.

  He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Harlow was awake when I got down there. She passed out a minute later, but I got a chance to talk to her. She told me that she saw a woman standing on the road, the woman raised her hands and then something dark, I don't know what, leaped in front of Harlow's car and when she swerved to miss it, the car wheels wouldn't hold on the ice and she went tumbling into the ravine."

  My jaw dropped and I started to speak, but the excited clatter of voices stopped me. They were bringing Harl over the edge now. I rushed over to check on her. She was bruised, and her lip was cut. They had splinted her right leg and her left wrist.

  One of the paramedics told us that she'd been drifting in and out of consciousness the past few minutes. Now she opened her eyes and they widened when she saw me hovering over her. "Em… Em… James? The baby? Is my baby okay?"

  "James is on his way to the hospital. You just hush, be quiet and rest. You need to rest." I took her other hand in mine and held it as they carried her over to the ambulance unit.

  She tugged me to come closer. I leaned down before they slid her into the back and put my ear near her lips. She whispered, throaty and hoarse. "Susan. Susan was on the road. She tried to warn me but then something appeared. Something huge and dark and I was so scared. I tried to swerve, tried to get away. I couldn't stop the car… Susan…" Her eyes fluttered, and she drifted back into unconsciousness.

  As they loaded her into the rescue unit, they told us where to meet them at the hospital. I could barely hear what they were saying. Numb beyond the point of exhaustion, I was sick with the realization that if anything happened to Harlow or the baby, it would be my fault. I had no reserves left and had to ask Andrew for help in getting back in the Cherokee. He drove.

  We were halfway back to town when I remembered. Harlow had grabbed the charm—the one from the witch's bottle. Could that have been the catalyst for the attack on her? One thing I was sure of: "We've got a rogue spirit on our hands. Next time, somebody could die." I thought of Miranda, out on the roof, and of Harlow and how she would have died if we hadn't found her. I had been so casual, so sure we could handle this without any trouble. I had forgotten Nanna's strictest rule: Never underestimate the powers you work with, and never underestimate the powers you encounter. I had no choice. It was time for war, and I was on the front lines, leading the troops.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We arrived at the hospital shortly before the medics. I called James while en route and told him that Harlow was alive and going to be okay. By the time Andrew and I got there, he was waiting by the emergency room entrance, his face a mask of ashen gray. I thought that he could probably use a wheelchair and some oxygen himself. The minute he saw us, he raced over, begging for information.

  "All they could tell me is that they're bringing her in and that she seems to be in stable condition." His gaze darted from Andrew to me, then back to Andrew. "Is she okay? What's going on?" Andrew put his arm around James's shoulders and led him into the waiting room, where we could see the moment they brought Harlow in for treatment.

  I took a deep breath, wanting to prepare him. There was no easy way to do this. "James, they think she's got a broken leg and maybe a broken wrist. She's pretty bruised up. There's something else."

  He looked at me, worry fining his eyes. "What?"

  "Harl is pregnant, and we don't know how the baby is doing. She was going to tell you tonight but was too afraid—"

  "Pregnant? I'm going to be a father?" A look of wonder lit up his face.

  "Yeah, she'll tell you all about it when she can. But James, we don't know how the accident affected the baby. We'll have to wait and see what the doctor says." It occurred to me that I hadn't even had a chance to congratulate him on becoming a father, and here we were, waiting to see if it was going to happen at all now. Damn it.

  Andrew held up his wallet. "Going to get us all some coffee and something to eat." He disappeared out the door after giving James a quick pat on the back. I sat next to James, holding onto his hand.

  "Why didn't she tell me?" He sounded so confused that I wanted to take him in my arms and rock him like a child. "I don't understand. I love her so much and I don't think I could stand it if something happened to her. She has no idea just how much I need her. She's so caught up in worrying that she won't be good enough, and all along, I'm the one who hasn't been good enough for her."

  I wondered what it would be like to have someone love me the way James loved Harlow. Even in the beginning, Roy hadn't felt that way about me. I pressed a tissue into James's hand and leaned back. "Listen to me, babe. She needs you as much as you need her, and she adores you. That's why she was so afraid to tell you about the baby. All sorts of issues have come up—fear about her anorexia, about what will happen while she's pregnant, about how she's afraid you'll miss out on the trip to Africa since she's pregnant. But she'll get through this, and everything will be fine. Accidents happe
n and people recover." I wasn't about to tell him what caused the wreck. Let him think it was just bad timing, bad luck, for now.

  He wiped his eyes. "Thanks. You're a good friend. No wonder Harl thinks the world of you."

  I shivered. How would he feel when he found out what really happened? I saw the flash of metal as the doors burst open. "Here she is—come on, but don't get in their way."

  James jumped up. The medics did their best to keep him out of the way without making him feel useless. He pelted them with questions, and they patiently answered as best as they could. Harlow was still drifting in and out of consciousness. A couple of doctors and nurses whisked her off into an ER. James was turned away at the door, and the nurse brought him back to the waiting room. He sat down, looking confused but a little less panicked.

  "They won't let me go back with her."

  "That's so you won't get in their way while they're working. They need the room to fix her up, hon. Just be patient. They'll let you know what's going on as soon as they find out." I wished that I felt as calm as I sounded. For James's sake, I couldn't break down like I wanted to. He needed the strength of friends right now and, though I might have let Harl down, I sure as hell wasn't going to do the same to him. I let out a shaky breath as Andrew returned with a tray of coffee and doughnuts. The coffee smelled good, and the sugar would help keep us going. When the doctor finally came out to talk to us, James leaped up. Andrew and I followed.

  "How is she?" James leaned close, fear and hope waging war in his eyes.

  The doctor consulted his chart. "Harlow's condition is stable, and she'll be fine. Let's see, she has a broken tibia in her right leg; it's broken in two places. One cracked rib and hairline fractures in two others. She sprained her left wrist, has a mild concussion, and a lot of bruises. Also, she lost one of her front teeth when her face smacked into the steering wheel."

  "And the baby?"