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opened
    her mouth to scream.
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    Pam Champagne

    Callused hands cupped her face, thumb pads gently
    caressing her lips. “It's over, Jenna. You're safe.”
    The nightmare continued to rush forth. A bloated
    face...feet dangling. She clutched at the hands touching
    her as if her life depended on it. “Somebody hit me in the
    back of the head.”
    “With a shovel,” Rye confirmed.
    “Who...who was hang...”
    “Dimitri Manos.”
    The man hung himself because he lost his job? And
    he picked her tack room to do it? “I don’t understand.”
    “Put it out of your mind for now.”
    The warmth she saw in her employer’s eyes kept
    terror at bay. She clung to his work-roughened hands.
    They smelled like Dial soap, a familiar scent that was
    oddly comforting. “What time is it?”
    “About two o’clock.”
    “In the morning? My horses. I've got to go...” She
    tried to rise.
    Rye gently pushed her back by the shoulders before
    sitting on the edge of the bed. His hip pressed into her
    side. “Don't worry. It's all taken care of. They’re being
    moved to my barn.”
    “Jenna,” Dr. Haynes's professional voice intruded.
    “You need to have some tests. A head X-ray and CAT
    scan. Then I’d like to admit you for observation.”
    “I don’t want...”
    Rye effectively cut off her protest. “Let’s discuss
    whether or not you stay after your tests.”
    “Fine, but I have no intentions of spending even a
    day in the hospital,” she muttered as the orderlies
    wheeled her bed out into the hall.
    The procedures took less than an hour, since it was a
    slow night at the hospital. She appeared to be the only
    emergency. By the time she returned to her cubicle in the
    emergency room, a jackhammer had taken up residence in
    her head.
    Dr. Haynes stood next to her bed, reading her chart.
    “The police need to ask you some questions. Feeling up to
    it?” Jenna forced her gaze from Rye who sat in a chair
    beside her and focused on the doctor. Hell, no. I don't feel
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    Dead Heat
    up to tying my own shoes, never mind being questioned by
    the police. “Do I have a choice?”
    “You can talk to them later — after you rest.” Rye
    said. “No.” Jenna shook her head and grimaced at the
    pain. “I want it over with.”
    Rye pushed out of the chair, stepped back and
    winked at her. “I'll be close by if you need me.”
    Jenna's pulse picked up its pace at the thought of
    talking with the police. Why was she so nervous? She was
    a victim, not a criminal.
    A large-framed man with balding hair stepped
    through the institutional green curtains encircling the
    bed. His dark brown eyes bored through her as if
    searching for her soul. “Ms. Green, I'm Sergeant Hills
    with the Lexington Police Department.”
    “Call me Jenna.”
    “Jenna, it is. Tell me everything you remember about
    last night.”
    A chill ran through her body. She remembered the
    rat and seeing a slight movement before getting conked
    on the head. “I stayed late to clean tack. Around
    midnight, the horses grew restless. I went outside to see
    why they were spooked.”
    “And?”
    “Everything seemed okay, so I headed back to close
    up for the night. I saw a quick movement and felt a sharp
    pain in my head. That's it. I came to about five minutes
    later.”
    “How do you know how long you were unconscious?”
    What kind of question was that? Was she on trial
    here? “I looked at my watch.”
    “And then?”
    “I noticed the lights in the entire shed row were off.
    They'd been on when I first came outside. I retrieved my
    flashlight and went back to the tack room.”
    She twisted the corner of her blanket, noticed fraying
    in the cotton weave and wondered how many others had
    fidgeted away their worries under the same blanket. She
    searched the room for her lifeline, but he was gone.
    “Jenna?” Sergeant Hills prompted.
    She licked her dry lips. “Could I have some water?”
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    Pam Champagne

    The sergeant reached over and poured her a glass