Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,55
and the rough dirt slowly gave way to the cushion of sand—she could feel it beneath her shoes. The lights turned to the left—
A stark white tree lay on its side, nearly covering the whole beach.
She blinked at the sight. All of the bark, the leaves—everything was gone from the tree. It appeared almost otherworldly with its stark white body and—
“Driftwood Beach,” the cop to her right said. “Watch your step.”
She moved forward cautiously and saw more trees. Dozens of them. Tossed left and right on the beach. Massive, giant trees.
“Help!”
Victoria froze at the cry. So did the cop—Jacob—who’d been searching with her. “Did you hear that?” she asked him.
Jacob immediately swung his light in the direction of that cry.
“Wade?” Victoria shouted. “Wade, is that—”
“Help her!”
It was Wade’s voice. She took off running, grabbing out to latch onto Jacob’s arm and haul him with her. They shot across the sand and she tripped over a thick chunk of stone. Why is there stone on this beach? But then she hurtled around another ghostly tree and Jacob’s light fell on Wade.
She wouldn’t forget that sight, not as long as she lived.
Wade stood there, his arms wrapped tightly around a woman’s body. The woman was slumped forward in his arms, but the light shone on her clothes—blood-covered clothes—and Victoria saw the blood pouring from her throat.
“She’s alive!” Wade shouted. “She needs help! She—”
Victoria leapt toward him. Behind her, she heard Jacob on his radio, calling for help. Demanding a life flight to the island.
When she touched the woman, Melissa’s head tipped back. Sagged brokenly.
“Wade . . .” Victoria began, her voice husky.
“We have to get her to a hospital! The bastard slit her throat!”
Victoria’s chest burned. “I have to check her trachea.” It wasn’t just about the blood—it was about getting air to Melissa. And Victoria was very, very afraid of that wound—it’s too deep. Too wide and long. He didn’t just cut her carotid. He hit her trachea.
Wade lowered her so Victoria could better examine the woman.
Melissa didn’t move.
“She was making a rasping sound when I first found her,” Wade said. “Just a few minutes ago. She was alive! She—”
She wasn’t breathing. And when Victoria tried to find a pulse, she couldn’t.
There was no rustle as if she were trying to get air. There was no rise and fall of her chest that Victoria could see at all.
“Life flight is coming!” Jacob shouted, his voice breaking. “EMTs are rushing through the woods to meet us, and the airlift will come for her right here—they’ll land on the beach.”
Wade put Melissa to the ground. And it was Melissa. With Jacob’s light, Victoria could clearly see her face. Her still face. The woman’s lashes were closed. Blood was everywhere.
“She’s alive,” Wade said. “We got to her in time.”
He was breaking her heart. Gutting Victoria because there was such desperate hope in his voice.
So she went to work, even though she feared—even though everything she saw—told her that, no, Wade was wrong.
Melissa wasn’t alive. At least not anymore, she wasn’t.
THE HELICOPTER ROSE into the air. The whoop-whoop-whoop of the chopper’s blades filled the night and sand blew toward Wade and Victoria. He turned, trying to shield her body with his as that helicopter rose ever higher.
Then . . .
It was gone.
His hands—blood covered—had wrapped around Victoria’s shoulders. They fell now as she glanced back at him. She hadn’t said anything during those long painful moments while they waited for Life Flight to arrive. She’d just worked on Melissa with a desperate focus.
He’d heard the whispers from the cops, though. He knew what they all believed . . .
She’s already gone.
Rage burned within him, a fierce, deep fury because he knew they were right. Even as she’d been loaded into that chopper, Wade had known the truth.
He hadn’t saved Melissa Hastings. He’d arrived too fucking late.
Another one I lost. I should have searched the area sooner. Should have forgotten about that fucking house and run straight out to search.
No, he should have gone to Jekyll Island first, not followed the cops to Connie’s house. He should have done a million damn things differently.
Instead . . .
“Wade . . .” Victoria’s whisper held such pain. “I’m sorry.”
He spun away from her and started walking. Blindly. Just straight damn ahead. The cops were combing the beach, but it was still so dark—what the hell did they think they would find? The killer? Hell, no. He wasn’t just going to walk right up to them. He was too