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"Don't you dare die on me," Bridget Elliott pleaded for all she was worth. But the darn rental car died despite her plea. The motor shut down and no amount of key turns and pumps to the gas pedal would do any good.
She peered out the windshield to view nothing but vast dry Colorado land, an abundance of road ahead and a bright dawning sun that promised a sweltering day to come. A born and bred New Yorker, she was accustomed to scorching June days, but she'd never been to Colorado, and from the look of the place, she hoped she'd never have reason to come here again.
But her mission was just, and the hot tip she'd received last night during her cousin Cullen's wedding reception had put her on a late-night plane. She'd flown all night, making plans and hoping to add one last chapter to the book that would expose secrets and lies her grandfather had imposed on their family for two generations. Patrick Elliott, the family patriarch, owner and CEO of Elliott Publication Holdings, one of the largest magazine empires in the world, would finally be exposed for the man behind the image. There'd be no more positive spin on the Elliott clan. Bridget planned to clear the air, uncover family secrets and expose scandals with truths that could knock her grandfather off his feet.
He deserved it. The last stunt he'd pulled, earlier in the year, had stunned and angered the whole family. He'd announced his impending retirement, but instead of picking his successor, he thought to make a bitter game of it, pitting his four children against one another for the job.
It had been the last straw for Bridget.
So for the past six months, she'd been searching for Aunt Finola's child. The baby, conceived when her aunt was a teenager, had been given up for adoption — an adoption forced upon her by her own father, Patrick Elliott. Bridget suspected her dear aunt had never gotten over the loss, choosing instead to devote her life to Charisma magazine to fill the void. Being the photo editor at Charisma, Bridget often witnessed the sense of loss in her aunt's eyes, even now, more than twenty years later.
And Bridget had finally made a breakthrough with, hopefully, a reliable tip from someone who claimed to know the identity of the child. She had to get to Winchester. She had to locate Aunt Fin's daughter. Finding her aunt's child would secure the ending chapter in her book. The world would finally see the kind of man her grandfather really was.
It was close to 6:00 a.m., yet not a soul appeared on the road. Of course, if she'd broken down on Highway 25, she would have been rescued by now, but the directions given by her tipster had taken her off the well-traveled road to this two-lane highway.
Bridget sighed, slumping in her seat. She didn't have time to waste. Then she remembered her cell phone. At least she could call for help, maybe get a replacement car out here quickly. She reached into her purse, coming up with the phone. But her hopes dimmed immediately. Dead battery. Heck, Bridget was forever forgetting to plug the darn thing in to recharge. That made two dead batteries in the span of a few minutes. At least, she thought her car's battery had died. But maybe not. Maybe it was just a fluke.
She tried the key in the ignition one more time. "Come on, please," she pleaded to the car gods. "Start, damn it."
Like an unruly child, the Honda Accord refused to comply. Nothing. Not even a little grunt of a sound. "The rental company is going to hear about this," she muttered, slinging her purse over her shoulder and exiting the car.
She slammed the door shut and began walking. Vaguely, she remembered seeing a sign a while back that Winchester County was ten miles ahead. If her calculations were correct, she'd have about a five-mile trek to reach her destination. "I can do this," she said, her three-inch-heel boots grinding on the asphalt.Always fashion conscious, a true-blue testament for Charisma, Bridget now wondered why she hadn't thought to pack her walking shoes.
Where were her Nikes when she needed them?
Sheriff Macon Riggs bounded out of his patrol car and strode with purpose toward the woman lying on the side of the road, her body motionless and damn close to the edge of the cliff. She would never have survived the steep drop had she fallen. The woman faced sideways, with her legs twisting awkwardly, but it was the blood at the back of her head that worried him the most. No doubt she'd hit that sharp wedge of granite beside her, the one smeared with blood.
As he came closer, he noted a face devoid of expression, but beautiful all the same. Dark blond hair framed her face, and her lips, still pink with life, were slightly parted.
He took her hand and gave a squeeze. "Miss, can you hear me?"
Mac hadn't really expected a response, but the woman's eyes snapped open immediately. She stared up at him, blinking several times, and he gazed into amazing lavender-blue eyes. The combination of blond hair, fair skin and that particular shade of blue made the woman memorable by anyone's standards.
He leaned in closer and reassured her. "I'm Sheriff Riggs. You're going to be all right. Seems you had an accident."
"I did?" She spoke softly, with furrowed brows and a puzzled expression that suggested she was dazed from the head injury.
"Looks that way. You hit your head on a rock." Again, she appeared confused.
"Hang on and don't move. You're close to the edge of the cliff. I'll be right back."
Within a few seconds, Mac returned to her side with the first-aid kit he kept in his patrol car. "I'm not going to move you until you give the okay. Do you feel pain anywhere?"
The woman shook her head slightly. "Not really, except my darn skull's pounding like a son of a — gun."
Mac held back a grin, admiring her attempt at restraint. "I bet. You think you can sit up?"
"I think so."
He knelt down, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and helped her to a sitting position. The material of her raspberry-pink sweater bunched up in back under his fingertips, but it was the V-neck in front that drew his attention. After one swift glance, he kept his eyes averted from soft skin and mind-blowing cleavage, focusing instead on helping the injured woman. "That's good. I can look at the back of your head now."
"Does it look bad?"
Mac did a cursory examination. The blood had clotted to her hair and there was no further oozing. No telling how long she'd been unconscious, though. It was a good thing Mac thought to patrol this road from time to time. Or she might just have rolled the wrong way, right smack into Deerlick Canyon. "Actually, you're pretty lucky. It doesn't look too bad." Mac sat behind her, positioning himself to attend to her injury. He dabbed at the gash with moistened gauze, parting her hair to see the extent of the wound.
"Does this hurt?"
"No. Keep going."
"What's your name?" he asked, to distract her from discomfort she refused to admit. He'd seen her flinch the moment he touched the gauze to her head.
"My...name?"
"Yeah, and while you're at it, want to tell me what you were doing up here? What happened? Did you fall?"
The woman tensed, her body becoming as rigid as a plank of wood.
When she still hesitated, Mac softened his tone. "Okay, first let's start with your name."
"My name is..." she began then started again. "My name is..."
She scooted away from him enough to turn around. She stared into his eyes, blinking, with a panicked look on her face. "I don't know," she said, her voice elevating. She paused again, her eyes darting in all directions, seemingly searching her memory. "I don't know who I am! I can't remember anything!"
Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked hard, trying to keep them at bay. With desperation in her voice, she repeated frantically, "I don't know. I don't know."
Mac stood, then reached down to take both of her hands and slowly help her up. With her erratic behavior, he wanted her away from the edge of the cliff. "It's going to be okay. We'll have the doctor check you out."
"Oh, dear God. I can't remember anything. I don't know who I am, what I'm doing here." Pleadingly, she tugged on his sleeve. "Where am I?"
"You're in Winchester County."
She stared at him blankly.
"Colorado."
She shook her head hard, her eyes wide, and Mac saw the determination on her face as she tried urgently to remember something. "Do I live here?"
"Don't know. Seems you were on foot. But we'll search for a car later. There's no sign of your belongings, either. No purse or backpack or anything. If you had anything with you, I'd guess it went over the edge when you fell down. That's if you fell. But I can tell you one thing for sure, with those boots you're wearing, I doubt you were hiking."
She glanced down at smooth black leather boots, then noted the rest of her apparel. Designer jeans, lightweight cashmere sweater, a black suede belt that slanted over the material and across her hips, but oddly, no jewelry other than a watch with one bright diamond on the face. She took all of this in with no recognition. It was as if she were staring down at a stranger's clothes. "I can't remember. Dear God. Not one darn thing!"
"C'mon, let's get you to Dr. Quarles." Mac took her hand, but her legs buckled when she took her first step.
"Whoa," he said, catching her.
He turned her toward him, her body pressed against his. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning in for support. He held her for a minute as she rested her head on his chest. She seemed to need this moment to regain her composure, or maybe to simply lean on him for moral support. He understood her alarm. Waking up in a strange environment, with no sense of who she was or what she was doing up here, had to be frightening.
As Mac patiently held her, his own sense of composure came into play. A professional lawman, he denied the pulsing thump in his throat and the slight acceleration of his heartbeats. Yet, she was soft and beautiful and felt damn good in his arms. It had been quite a while for Mac. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to hold a woman. But her next words brought him back to task.
"My head's spinning."
Mac didn't hesitate. He lifted her up in his arms and walked slowly to the patrol car. Before setting her inside, he took a few seconds to make a mental scan of the area. No car, no sign of her belongings anywhere. Later he'd come back with a few deputies to scour the vicinity. Right now he had to get this young woman to the doctor.
And then he'd try to learn her identity and unravel the mystery of her appearance here.
