Under the Moon by Natalie J. Damschroder Page A

him.
    “No, seriously.” He tried to roll to his side, but Quinn pressed him back down. “What the fuck happened?”
    “Your car flipped. What do you remember?”
    Sam frowned. The movement pulled at his cut, releasing a tiny trickle of blood, and turned his expression into a wince. He touched his forehead. “Something rolled me. Is the car…?”
    “Yeah. Can you move your legs?”
    His boots scraped on the gravel. “Yeah. I think I’m okay. Hurts. But not bad.” He made to sit up and Quinn backed off to give him room. She watched his movements carefully. He wouldn’t tell the truth about his injuries. Only once she got to her feet so she could hold the jacket over his head did she become aware of all the people standing around the Camaro. A state police car sat several yards behind them, lights flashing. The trooper stood next to his vehicle, talking urgently on the radio he’d pulled through the window, probably reporting in before approaching the wreck. She could see the top of an ambulance winding through the gridlock. They weren’t getting out of here anytime soon.
    A man in the crowd made eye contact with her. Her heart skipped, but he turned to talk to the woman beside him, his body language unthreatening. Maybe Quinn was paranoid to think someone could have caused the accident on purpose, but given everything that had happened lately, it was safer to assume so.
    “Nick.” Sam’s voice was weak.
    Nick crouched next to him. Quinn couldn’t hear what he said, but Nick nodded, then crawled inside the car. He backed out with a laptop case and a huge canvas duffel that almost didn’t fit through the bent window. He carried them toward the Charger as the trooper approached.
    “How’s he doin’, ma’am?” The trooper touched the brim of his hat and settled on his heels at Sam’s feet.
    “I’m not sure. He seems okay.”
    “I’m fine.” Sam pulled his feet under him to rise but wobbled on the hand braced on the ground and sat back down. He pressed his fingers to his eyes.
    “Lightheaded?” Quinn asked. He nodded. She put her hand on the back of his neck, wishing she could do something.
    “You know him?” The trooper stood.
    “Yes, sir, we were a short ways back. We were on the phone with him, as a matter of fact, when it happened.”
    The officer looked disapproving. “You hear it?”
    “No. It was on speaker, and we were talking on our side.”
    “You see anything?”
    Nick joined them on the shoulder. “The wheel flying by, that’s it. Doesn’t look like any other car was involved.”
    “It wasn’t.” Sam braced himself again. Nick bent to help him up and steadied him when he swayed. Quinn slipped under his other arm to take some of his weight. His T-shirt was soaked through, and fine tremors shook his torso.
    “What happened, son?”
    Sam squeezed his eyes shut and blinked them back open, as if his vision were fuzzy. “I’m not sure, Officer.”
    The ambulance had made its way to the crowded shoulder, and paramedics hustled over. Sam threw Quinn a pleading look as they led him to the ambulance, but she didn’t know what she could do. He was hurt, and she had no power to heal him. They would be safe here with paramedics and state police around.
    The trooper asked Nick and Quinn a few more questions. When he seemed to have all the answers they could give, he moved on to canvass the onlookers for eyewitnesses. As soon as Sam was taken to the ambulance, though, the people who’d stopped to help or watch thinned out. Traffic streamed by at a faster rate now, and in minutes a tow truck appeared.
    “Crap,” Nick muttered. “Sam’s gonna freak about them towing his car.”
    “I’ll take care of it.” Quinn walked over as the driver climbed down from the tow truck’s cab and eyed the flipped Camaro.
    “That’s my friend’s car,” she told him. “Where are you going to take it?”
    “Garage in Angola.” He handed her a business card. “Where’s the driver?”
    “He’s