Page 60 of Canyon Killer
“Someone tampered with the front door so it wouldn’t open,” he said. “They didn’t want us getting out of there or getting help.”
He gripped the steering wheel more tightly, only dimly aware of the pain, too focused on his rage at the arsonist. They could have died in that fire. Bethany could have died.
“As soon as we get a signal, I’ll call 911,” she said.
Ian stretched out a hand and touched her shoulder. He wanted to stop the Jeep and pull her close to comfort her, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t trust whoever had done this not to come after them.
When they reached the highway into town, he slowed and pulled out his phone. Though Bethany had offered to report the fire, he wanted to talk to the operator himself. When his call was answered, he identified himself and reported the fire. “Tell the sheriff I’m pretty sure the fire was deliberately set,” he said.
“Where are you now, sir?” the dispatcher asked.
“We’re on our way to the hospital,” he said. “My girlfriend and I are both injured.”
“What is your location?” she asked. “An ambulance can meet you.”
He glanced at Bethany. She was weeping again. He had no idea about her physical injuries, but she was clearly traumatized. An assessment right away was probably smarter than waiting the hour drive to the emergency room in Junction. And both of his hands were beginning to throb with pain. He took stock of his location. “We’re almost to the turnoff for search and rescue headquarters,” he said. “We’ll meet the ambulance in the parking lot.”
Five minutes later, he pulled almost to the door of the search and rescue building. A light over the door flickered on.
Bethany had quieted. “I’m okay,” she said when he turned to her. “How are your hands?”
He didn’t want to look at his hands or think about the damage done to them. “The ambulance will meet us here,” he said instead.
Lights flashed behind him, but instead of the ambulance, a Rayford County Sheriff’s Department SUV pulled up. Bethany’s brother stepped out and approached the Jeep.
Ian rolled down the window. “Hello, Aaron,” he said.
“Hello, Ian.” He looked past him and his mask of calm slipped. “Bethany? The dispatcher said an ambulance was meeting us here. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Just a little shook up. Ian is the one who’s hurt. He burned his hands saving us.”
Aaron looked at Ian again. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, Ian held up his hands. Aaron shone a flashlight on the blistered flesh and winced. Ian closed his eyes against a wave of nausea. “Oh, Ian,” Bethany breathed.
Aaron swung the beam over to light up his sister. “You’re bleeding. And what’s that in your hair?”
She ran a hand through her hair, and bits of glass fell onto the seat beside her. “Ian broke a window to get out of the trailer. I think some of the glass cut me. The cuts aren’t deep.”
The wail of the arriving ambulance drowned out Aaron’s next words. He pulled open the Jeep door as the ambulance came to a stop. “Stay there,” he said as Ian started to get out. “Let them come to you.”
They arrived soon after, Hannah Gwynn and a hefty man, his dark beard shot through with gray. “Hannah, I’m glad to see you,” Bethany said as the woman leaned in to look at Ian.
“Hello, Bethany,” Hannah said. “What’s going on?”
“Ian’s hands are burned,” Bethany said before Ian could answer.
“I drove here no problem,” Ian said. “And I can get out of the Jeep.”
“If you’re sure there’s no other injuries,” Hannah said. “Adrenaline can mask a lot of pain, at least initially.”
“I’m okay.” He started out of the Jeep. Hannah put a hand out to steady him as he stood. On the other side of the vehicle, Aaron and the male EMT were helping Bethany.
Hannah led him over to the ambulance and had him sit in the open doorway. Bright lights from inside illuminated the area around them. “What’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?” she asked.
“Um, five? Maybe six?” He was becoming more aware of the ache in his hands by the minute.
“Are you allergic to any medications?”
