Dangerous Curves Read Free Page A

to tell him. And right now talking about Cassie hurt too much.
    He remembered receiving the call, arriving at the hospital to the sound of his son’s screams—from terror or pain or both he didn’t know, but the sound still echoed in his ears, ripping his heart in two. He also remembered his wife’s silence. How she didn’t respond to anything and that silence tore at him as much as his son’s cries. He remembered bloody clothes—a tiny shoe, blue jeans ripped away with scissors—and rapid-fire questions he could barely answer. Yes, he knew the driver. He was taking them out for Marcus’s birthday. No, Jackson wasn’t known for speeding. No, he didn’t know where they were heading.
    He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t sleep. He was afraid to close his eyes.
    His phone rang. He glanced at the number. Eric again. His brother wouldn’t stop until he got a response. If he didn’t get a response, he’d show up at the hospital and then his house. He could be relentless. Drake took a deep breath and answered.

Chapter 4
    Two months later
    S he was devout , he’d give her that. She’d been to the church every Sunday without fail for more than a year, staying late in the pews and staring at the pulpit as if she expected the resurrection to come. At first, Pastor Desmond Redding of the Jordan Lake Methodist Church had felt a little uneasy about her, something didn’t sit right with him. The woman who sat in the middle pew, with her hands gripped together and her head bowed in prayer, was in her late twenties, not pretty but average. Clean. Yes, that’s what first came to his mind.
    Everything about her was clean, from her flat brown hair, her coat, her shoes, her face and her hands. Clean, as if a speck of dirt would be repelled by her from sheer will. Clean, pure, wholesome features with skin the color of a wheat field. She looked as if she’d been transplanted to the city from a farm down south. Wide innocent eyes that followed him…maybe that’s what made him feel so uneasy. She seemed to be very watchful. Watching, observing every movement around her.
    But she was a child of God and obviously wanted to serve Him, so Pastor Redding would not judge her seemingly strange ways. She rarely met his eyes when he spoke to her. If he caught her looking, she’d glance away like a frightened child. She clapped to the songs, but she never sang. Didn’t open her mouth once; he doubted she even hummed, but she kept rhythm almost mechanically.
    â€œWe’re going to have to tell her to leave soon,” Michael Leland, his music minister said. He was a thickly built man with a great baritone voice. Every holiday he’d have the congregation in tears with his rendition of “Amazing Grace.”
    Pastor Redding turned to him. “Let her finish her prayer.”
    â€œShe needs it,” Michael’s wife, Patricia, said. She was as thickly built as her husband, with a soft voice and curly black hair she pulled back into pigtails. “Heard that the family she works for is in terrible trouble.”
    Pastor Redding frowned. “Trouble?”
    â€œYes, she’s a nanny and the mother of the family she works for was in a horrible accident. Left in a coma. And the boy was hurt too.”
    He looked at the young woman again, feeling guilty for his uncharitable thoughts. “She must be praying for them. Such vigilant prayers,” he said, offering up a prayer of his own. She clearly had a good heart. “Come, let’s leave her for a moment.” He ushered the other two out of the main chapel.
    Alone in her pew, Ruth Quinn didn’t hear the others leave. She was too focused on her prayers to be aware of anything around her. She gripped her hands together even tighter, desperate for God to hear her. Another week had passed and there had been no word of improvement. Cassie Henson hadn’t opened her eyes in nearly two