Free DIVA by Susan Fleet Page B

catch her breath, dimly aware that the SUV was speeding away. She heard a hissing sound and peered through the windshield.
    Steam was rising from the crumpled hood of her car. The impact had broken her radiator. Her hands trembled.
    Her hands! A broken finger might end her career. She examined each finger, went weak with relief when she found them uninjured.
    Her panic subsided, replaced by outrage. The idiot had run her off the road, had almost killed her. She was alive, but her car was wrecked.
    How would she get home?
    Call Frank , she thought. He’ll know what to do.
    Then she thought: No. Frank would make her report the accident.
    She pictured the headline: Famous flute soloist crashes into tree .
    She reached for her purse. Before the crash it had been on the passenger seat. Not now. Frantic, she groped the floor. At last, she found the purse near her feet. She dug out her cell phone.
    _____
     
    After a nerve-wracking fifteen-minute wait, a long flatbed truck with flashing yellow lights arrived. Relieved not to be alone, she asked the driver, a courteous young man with a ginger-colored beard, to tow her car to a service station and asked if he could stop at her house on the way. He got her luggage out of the trunk, helped her into the cab of his truck and cranked her Infiniti coupe onto the flatbed.
    When he dropped her off, she thanked him and went in the house. Her empty house.
    Numb with exhaustion, she went in the kitchen, drew a glass of water from the sink and sank onto a chair at the butcher-block table in the corner. The cozy table for two where she ate her solitary meals. Jake sometimes ate lunch with her if he wasn’t too busy. No one else ever came to visit her.
    And now Jake was threatening to leave.
    A dull ache pulsed her temples. Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her mouth. Visions whirled through her mind like debris from a tornado.
    The SUV behind her. The tree looming in front of her.
    The bone-jarring impact. The exploding airbag. The sour stench.
    The mind-numbing fear.
    She began to weep, sobbing uncontrollably, torrents of tears running down her cheeks. Jake was home with Dean, the man who loved him dearly. Guy had his Brit wife. Ramon had his Spanish spitfire. She had no one.
    Before she could change her mind, she went to her wall phone and dialed a number.
    “Hello.”
    She recognized the deep melodious voice. Was it her imagination or did his voice sound wary?
    “Frank, some idiot just forced me off the road near City Park and made me crash into a tree.”
    Silence on the other end.
    “I’m sorry, Frank. Did I wake you? This is Belinda Scully. I’m afraid I’m still shaken up from the accident.”
    “Oh. Belinda.” Sounding less wary now. “Are you hurt?”
    “I’m okay, but my car is wrecked. I had a tow service take it to my service station.” She drew a shaky breath. “You said to call if anything weird happened.”
    “Where are you?”
    “At home. The tow truck driver dropped me off.”
    “What did the police say?”
    Her worst fear. Frank expected her to report the accident. “I can’t explain over the phone. Do you think you could . . . could you come over?”
    Tears filled her eyes. She sounded like a helpless little girl. She hated that.
    “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    “Thank you.” She returned to the table and drank some water, picturing his strong jaw, hawkish nose and penetrating eyes.
    His aura of strength. She needed his strength.
    She couldn’t bear to be alone, not now.
    “Please, Frank,” she whispered, “please get here as fast as you can.”

CHAPTER 9
     
    She set two bottles of Arizona Iced Tea on her butcher-block table. Before Frank arrived, she had composed herself enough to wipe the streaks of mascara off her cheeks and freshen her makeup. Now that he was here she felt better. Calmer. In control. But her throat still felt scratchy and parched.
    She opened her bottle of iced tea, took several gulps and sat down opposite him. His