Conflict of Interest. GINA WILKINS

her umbrella, Adrienne ushered her to the car and secured her into the booster seat in the back. Isabelle started babbling about her day the minute Adrienne slid behind the steering wheel. Trying to concentrate on the child’s chatter and negotiate the wet roads at the same time, Adrienne murmured what she hoped were appropriate responses. Isabelle must have been satisfied, since she continued with barely a pause for breath.

      Cute kid, Adrienne thought with a faint smile, but the child did love to talk.

      A traffic light glowed red ahead of her as she approached the last intersection before leaving the city limits. It changed to green several seconds before she reached it, so she didn’t slow down. The nose of the rental car had just entered the intersection when a blur of red passed in front of her, so close she could almost feel the heat of its exhaust.

      She slammed on the brakes, missing a collision by a heartbeat. The lightweight rental car slid on the wet pavement, squealing into a spin that she fought with her heart pounding in her throat. The spin ended with a crunch of metal when the back of the car made jarring contact with a lamppost. Her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, Adrienne sat for a moment in frozen silence, trying to remember how to breathe again. And then a wail from the back seat got her moving.

      She whipped around in her seat. “Isabelle, are you all right?”

      Still strapped securely in her safety seat, the little girl was uninjured, though she was obviously frightened. Going limp with relief, Adrienne swallowed hard before saying, “It’s okay, sweetheart. The car’s a little crumpled, but you and I are fine. You don’t hurt anywhere, do you?”

      Drawing in a tremulous breath, Isabelle shook her head. “I’m not hurt.”

      “Good.” Because the child still appeared to be in need of comfort, Adrienne reached for the door handle. “Hold on just a minute. I’ll come around to you.”

      The rain had dwindled to barely more than a mist. Adrienne didn’t bother with an umbrella, figuring that after what they had just been through, a little moisture certainly wouldn’t hurt either of them. No other vehicles were immediately visible when she stepped out of the driver’s door, though she could hear a car engine approaching on the intersecting street. She hoped whoever it was would call for assistance while she comforted Isabelle. She had carelessly left her own cell phone sitting on Gideon’s kitchen table.

      Opening the rear passenger door, she reached inside to unbuckle Isabelle, who had stopped sniffling, but still looked shaken. The child wrapped her arms around Adrienne’s neck and buried her face in her throat. “I was scared.”

      Adrienne rocked her soothingly, an instinctive movement that somehow seemed appropriate. “So was I, sweetheart.”

      Fear was rapidly changing to anger for her. That moron in the red car could have killed them! And he hadn’t even stayed around to see if anyone was hurt.

      The vehicle she’d heard approaching stopped at the traffic light, then turned to slide in behind her car. She wouldn’t have to ask anyone to call the police, after all. The police had already arrived, she thought, relieved to see the marked patrol car. She was even more surprised to recognize the officer who exited the vehicle and moved toward her. He was the same man she’d almost bumped into that morning when she and Gideon left the diner.

      “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked her in the rough-edged drawl she remembered from earlier.

      “Yes, we’re okay. Just shaken.”

      He studied the crumpled rear of the nondescript compact. “What happened? Did you hydroplane?”

      Her temper flared again. “Some jerk in a red sports car ran a red light right in front of me! If I hadn’t practically stood on the brakes, I would have slammed right into him.”

      The officer’s cool gray eyes narrowed. “A red sports car?”

      She nodded, uncertain whether he believed her or not. “He was driving like a maniac—speeding and swerving. He didn’t even slow down to see if we were okay.”

      “You didn’t get a look at the license plate, did you?”

      “No. Everything happened too quickly.”

      “Doesn’t matter. I know who it was. Not much I can do about it without another witness, but you can bet I’ll let him know I heard about this.”

      She doubted that would accomplish much, but she supposed she had little recourse. She couldn’t even tell him the make of the vehicle, and he couldn’t go around questioning everyone in town who drove a red sports car, even though he seemed to think he already knew who’d been driving like such a maniac. A repeat offender, apparently.

      “You’re both getting wet in this mist. Why don’t we sit in the patrol car while I fill out the accident report and call for a wrecker?”

      “You really think a wrecker is necessary?”

      “Ma’am, you won’t be driving that car anywhere. The back fender is crumpled all around the rear tire.”

      She sighed. Terrific. She hoped her insurance company and the rental car service would be able to work all this out without much trouble. Running a hand over Isabelle’s damp hair, she moved toward the cruiser. “I appreciate your assistance, Officer…?”

      “Smith, ma’am. Dylan Smith.” He touched the brim of his hat in a rather charmingly old-fashioned gesture.

      “I’m Adrienne Corley.”

      “Yes, I know. You’re Gideon McCloud’s agent from New York. Heard all about you from Carla at the diner this morning.” He opened the back passenger door of the patrol car. “Your pretty little friend can sit in the back seat while you and I fill out the accident report in the front.”

      “Would you like to sit in the police car, Isabelle?”

      The child looked intrigued. “Okay.” She climbed obligingly into the car, leaning over the front seat to study the dashboard and radio.

      “I suppose I’ll need my identification and insurance policy number. Would you mind keeping an eye on Isabelle while I get my purse?”

      “Not at all, ma’am.”

      As Adrienne made her way across the slick pavement toward the crumpled car, she wondered if Dylan Smith deliberately tried to act the stereotype of a drawling Southern cop. She still didn’t know the root of his antagonism toward Gideon, or vice versa, since Gideon hadn’t mentioned the encounter again after leaving the diner, but Officer Smith had been pleasant enough to her. Apparently he didn’t hold her association with Gideon against her.

      She had just reached the front of the rental car when her foot came down on an oily pool of rain water. The slick sole of her loafer offered absolutely no traction. Her leg flew out from under her, and she felt herself falling.

      All she could do was brace herself for the impact with the hard, wet pavement.

      Gideon’s sneakers slapped hard against the floor tiles of the Honesty Medical Clinic. Staff and patients alike moved swiftly out of his path as he charged down the hallway to the emergency examining room. No one dared interfere with his progress.

      Sitting on a padded bench in the hallway outside the closed door of the examining room, Isabelle was happily listening to her own heartbeat through a stethoscope as a brightly uniformed young brunette hovered nearby. The child smiled broadly when she spotted her brother. “Hi, Gideon.”

      He knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee as he looked for injuries. “Are you all right?”

      She nodded. “We had a wreck, but nobody got hurt, and then Miss Corley fell down and Officer Smith brought us here, but Miss Corley’s going to be okay and Miss Nancy’s letting me listen through a stefascope.”

      “It’s a stethoscope, Isabelle,” the young woman corrected clearly.

      “Stethoscope,” the child parroted carefully.