Here Comes the Rainne Again (Invertary 6)

“I am so freaking dead.” Joe groaned.

The beams from flashlights scanned over the glass of the new conservatory. Time had run out.

“Upstairs,” Joe shouted.

There was a thunder of footfalls as the women ran four flights of stairs to the tower.

6

* Rainne and Alastair *

There was a pulse.

Thank you, God. There was a pulse. Rainne brushed the hair from Alastair’s forehead as tears streamed down her cheeks. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. Why wouldn’t he open his eyes?

She looked around them in dismay. The truck was resting on its side. Snow fell fast and thick in the black night. Only the dim lights that came on when the door was damaged illuminated the interior of the truck. Rainne was lying half on, half off Alastair, her back squeezed against the steering wheel.

“What now?” she asked the silence.

She couldn’t leave him lying in the broken glass, but could she move him? What if he was injured? What if his neck was broken? What if moving him killed him?

She took a minute to slow her breathing. To force herself to calm down. It was time to be practical. She could do practical. She wasn’t the same airy-fairy woman who’d left Invertary three years earlier. She could do this. She could be useful. She just had to think.

Help. They needed help.

She rooted around in her pocket until her hand hit her mobile phone. No signal. And very little battery left. She’d forgotten to charge it. As usual. She could still use it as a flashlight, but only if she was desperate.

She eyed the back of the truck. Alastair had put his tools in a locked box on the flatbed. She’d bet there was a better flashlight in there. Key. She needed the key.

“Sorry,” she whispered as she rooted around in Alastair’s pockets.

His jeans were snug. The heat from his body and the solid feel of his muscle under her touch made her cheeks flush. A totally inappropriate reaction to an unconscious man. But then, he was Alastair, and just being in the same town as him made her flush. His pockets were empty. No key. She let out a wail, cutting it off as fast as it erupted. She was an idiot. She wasn’t thinking straight. The keys were in the ignition.

She leaned around Alastair and wiggled the key free. Alastair moaned as she jostled him. She froze. Was he waking? Please please please...

He didn’t open his eyes.

Rainne took a deep breath, struggled up towards the passenger door and pushed it open. It was strange to exit the car the same way you’d come out of a submarine hatch. But then, nothing about this experience was normal.

Her climb out was awkward and graceless, ending in her landing on her backside in the snow. She didn’t care. In a minute she was around the truck, staring into the back where the toolbox was secured to the flatbed. She used the flashlight app on her phone to find the locked box. It took several tries and lots of creative cursing to find the right key and get it into the lock. At last the box clicked open and the contents spilled out around her. She almost whooped with joy. There was a flashlight. A huge one with more bells and whistles than it probably needed.

She switched off her phone and used the space-age flashlight to examine the contents of the box—all the while terrified that the guy with the gun would see the light and come to investigate. She really didn’t want to see that guy, or his gun, ever again. She stuffed her pockets with everything she thought might be useful, then scrambled out and back around to the cabin.

She leaned over the open door and shone the light inside. Alastair hadn’t moved. There was blood on the snow beneath his head. Not good. Bandages. She needed bandages. She shone the light around the interior, hoping to find a first-aid kit, and spotted a small one strapped underneath the passenger

seat. She let out a squeal of triumph as she reached for it. Alastair groaned in response. Adrenalin and hope shot through Rainne in equal measures. She dropped the kit and climbed awkwardly into the cab beside him, leaning on the side of his seat to stop herself from landing on top of him.

“Alastair, honey, you need to wake up.” She reached over and brushed his hair off his forehead. “Alastair. Please. I need you.”

He groaned again and moved his head. Rainne gasped. Should he be doing that? Should she have immobilised his neck? It made her furious with herself that she didn’t know. All these years proving she was independent and it never once occurred to her to take a basic first-aid course. If they got out of this situation in one piece, she was so signing up for one. Along with a self-defence course. And a class on what to do if a crazy man shoots at your car in a blizzard.

Alastair grunted and turned towards her. His eyes flickered open, as though it took great effort to get his eyelids to work.

“Rainne?” His gaze was unfocused and the word was slurred.

That wasn’t a good sign, was it? She needed to remember how you checked for a concussion. She’d seen it done on TV so many times. How did House do it?

He blinked at her as though she was coming into focus. “Rainne? Am I dreaming again? Why can’t I get you out of my dreams? We both know you don’t want to be there. You just want to run away. Why are women always running away from me? You can’t be trusted. None of you. And why are you upside down?”