Page 65 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
Until now.
Pete was very aware of her as she met his eyes. There was a clarity in them that hadn’t been there even earlier this morning.
“My arm is pounding,” he muttered.
“That’s understandable.” Shea moved from her place at the hospital room window and slid onto a padded chair with wooden arms that faced the bed. “You’re lucky to be alive.” Shea was taken aback by a sudden onslaught of emotion, knowing how close he’d come to losing his life.
“You did ask me how I’d kill myself if I tried.” Pete’s awful attempt at humor earned him a glare.
“No, I asked you how you’d shoot yourself, and that was for research purposes only. Please don’t make jokes about this.” Shea’s sense of humor was nonexistent at the moment.
Pete glanced at his injured arm, then up at his IV and the monitors that measured his vitals. “When can I get out of here?”
“This afternoon hopefully,” Shea informed him. “But it’s important you keep that arm and shoulder immobilized.” She hesitated, then went for it. “What do you remember, Pete?” Her phone was burning a hole in her pocket, and she’d have no qualms about extracting it to call the police if Pete gave her the name of whoever had struck him with their vehicle.
Pete closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, he squinted as though the daylight bothered him. “A car?”
“Did you recognize it?” She was careful not to plant the idea that she suspected Holt in any way.
Pete considered her suggestion. “No. I don’t think so. It was acar, though, and Holt drives a truck—if that’s what you’re thinking. I do remember Holt being there after I was hit and calling 911.”
“Were you hit somewhere near the lighthouse?” Shea pressed. “Holt thought you fell from the gallery.”
“No. I mean, I remember being hit hard and sort of rolling there. The car came down the drive and then right into the yard at me. Whoever it was knew what they were doing.”
“Did you see Holt before you were hit?” Shea asked.
Pete gave a little snort, then grimaced from the pain of it. “It wasn’t Holt, Shea.”
“So some random person pulled into the drive, onto the yard toward you, and struck you? Then they just took off...”
“Yep.” Pete wasn’t elaborating, but then it didn’t seem as though he had much more to add.
Shea shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why would someone do such a thing?”
“I dunno. That’s for the police to figure out.”
“Holt said you mentioned Annabel’s name. In fact, that wasallyou said before you passed out.” Shea provided Pete with everything she knew and then waited while he digested the information.
“I don’t know why I said that.” Pete’s answer was unhelpful.
“Did you see the driver?” Shea asked. “Maybe what happened has something to do with the lighthouse. I mean, Jonathan Marks was killed there after people started nosing around.”
“The car’s windows were tinted,” Pete said, recalling a few more details now. “I didn’t see a face. Just a form. It could’ve been a man or a woman.” Pete ran a hand lightly across his jaw, his palm making a scraping sound against the stubble on his face. “Do I get to go back to the lighthouse with you?”
“Get to go back? It’s not Disney World, Pete.” Shea blew out a sigh. “I’m not sure I want to go back myself. The book isn’t worth all this. Someone tried to kill you!”
“Sure, but...” Pete attempted to push himself up on his pillows and then groaned again, immediately stopping when it was apparent his arm and shoulder protested. “Shea, I’m all in now.”
“All in?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t expound on that as Shea moved to help him adjust the pillow he was struggling with.
“That place is dangerous,” she stated as she eased the pillow beneath his hurting shoulder. “Or more to the point,someoneis dangerous. And you saying the name Annabel after getting hit irks me. That’s a weird thing to bring up at such a moment with your life hanging in the balance—the name of a dead woman?”
“Is it?”
“Pete.” Shea leveled a look on him.
