her. She could hardly budge, pinned as she was with the man’s head on her chest and the rest of him draped over her.
She struggled to organize her thoughts. “Sarah, take Taryn and Yolanda up to the infirmary and bring back the stretcher. You may use the elevator coming down,” she called as they went running up the stairs. “Just hurry!”
A glance at the agitated faces of the other girls told her she had to get them out of the way and occupied. “You four are the dinner crew.”
When the moans died down, she continued. “Let’s keep it simple, since we’ve got an emergency to deal with. Haley and Monique, make grilled cheese sandwiches. At least twelve of them. Selena and Beth, heat up soup in a big pot on the stove. We’ll need some hot tea, too, for Mr. Two Tons, here.”
She tried to shift, and groaned at her lack of success. The girls gave nervous laughs. “Just make something we can eat when we get this guy settled. That’s all I ask.”
They returned the way they’d come, and Jayne let her head fall back, trying to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. “Hurry,” she murmured to Sarah, Taryn and Yolanda. “Or I may never walk again.”
As if in answer, wheels squeaked somewhere beyond the top of the grand curved staircase. “We’re on our way,” Sarah called. “Had some trouble figuring out how to operate the stretcher. Be there in a minute.”
“Whew.” Jayne sighed in relief, then gasped as the body lying on top of her moved.
“What the hell…?” His words were slurred, his voice hoarse. “Where am I?” He jerked to the side, off of her, then propped himself on one elbow and stared at Jayne. Comprehension dawned in those sky-blue eyes. “Did I pass out on top of you? Are you okay?”
Before she could answer, he tried to lift his other hand to his head. Swearing, he fell backward instead, and lay flat on the floor, his face twisted in pain.
Jayne shifted to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? Is your arm broken?”
“Dislocated,” he growled between bared teeth. “Shoulder.”
The squeak of wheels announced the arrival of the stretcher.
“What can we do?” Sarah asked, breathing hard.
Jayne considered the white-faced man on the floor. “Yolanda and Taryn, you two go down to the staff kitchen and see if the girls there need help with supper. Sarah and I can manage here.”
“But—” Yolanda started.
Looking up, Jayne lifted an eyebrow. “Surely you’re not going to argue. I believe I made the rules clear at our meeting this afternoon.” She used her quietest, most intimidating headmistress voice.
“Yes, ma’am.” Haley Farrish, a ninth-grader, elbowed the other girl in the side. “Come on. We can get some chips. I’m starving.”
Yolanda Warner hesitated, her lower lip stuck out in a pout. As a junior, she probably thought she should be allowed to help. But when the man on the floor groaned and struggled to sit up, panic chased away her self-importance. In the next moment, she and Haley disappeared through the office doorway.
Jayne scrambled to her feet and motioned for Sarah to come to the man’s uninjured side. “Let us help you up,” she told him. “We’ll lift under your arms—”
“God, no.” Holding his injured left arm against his side with his other hand, he had somehow managed to maneuver himself to his knees. “Just give me a second.” He stayed there for much longer than a second, head bowed, his harsh breaths the only sound in the immense space of the entry hall.
Then his right knee jerked up, he planted his foot against the marble floor and drove himself to stand. He swayed, and Jayne stepped closer, arms out. Sarah, on his other side, did the same.
But this time he didn’t collapse. Blowing out a deep breath, the man turned slowly to face Jayne.
His eyes were bloodshot, his hair hanging in wet tangles, his face frozen in lines of agony. For the first time, though, she recognized her stalker from the previous day in town.
“Remember me? I’m Chris Hammond,” he said, his voice still ragged. “I came here to find out where you’ve been the last twelve years.
“And why the hell you’re lying about who you are.”
THE HEADMISTRESS DROPPED her jaw till Chris could practically see her tonsils. Her dark, straight brows drew together over eyes the exact hazel color he remembered. He would swear he knew the shape of every freckle on her nose. Oh, yeah, she was lying, all right.
“Well?” He dragged in a breath against the agony searing his shoulder. “What’s with the fake name?”
She gave her head a quick shake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about your real name—Juliet Radcliffe. If you were trying to hide, Ridgeville wasn’t the smartest spot to choose.”
“I’m not hiding.” She looked across him at the girl still standing with her arms out, ready to catch him if he fell. Or maybe tackle him if he attacked. “Sarah, go check on the girls. If the food is ready, you all should eat.”
“But—”
A lift of the headmistress’s right eyebrow stifled the protest and Sarah disappeared behind the curving staircase.
Chris waited until the woman turned back to him. “Girls? I don’t remember any other girls.”
“This is a school,” she said, letting her effort to stay patient show. “There are students here.”
He shrugged, which was a mistake. Pain narrowed the world to whirling white dots in front of his eyes. He didn’t know if he’d be sick or pass out. Maybe throw up, then pass out.
Her hand closed around the elbow of his good arm. “Look, we can settle identities later. You need medical attention. I’ll drive you—”
His laugh set off another spasm of anguish. “You’re not driving anywhere,” he said, when he could stop gasping. “The roads are slicker than a skating rink.”
“Is it really that bad?”
Chris snorted. “How do you think I got in this shape?” She just stared at him, a bemused look on her face. “My bike slid out from under me down on the highway, that’s how. I landed at your front gate, with the Harley wrapped around a nearby tree.”
“You walked up here from the highway? After an accident?” Now both her hands gripped his arm, the only warm spot on his entire body. He could almost see the wheels in her head turning, preparing to deal with the situation. “We’ve got to get you taken care of. What can we do about your shoulder?”
He wasn’t surprised at the question—Juliet would know he’d been dealing with this issue since he was fifteen. “Just take hold of my wrist. Come on,” he said when she hesitated. “You’ve done this before.”
She shook her head, but moved her hands to his left wrist. “You have me confused with someone else.”
“Not likely.” He forced his numb fingers to wrap around her wrist, linking them together. “Bend the arm to my waist. Right angle.” He couldn’t stop the hiss as she followed directions. “Okay. Hold tight, now. Brace yourself for a jerk.”
“I believe we’ve already met,” she murmured.
Chris felt his lips twitch with the urge to grin in response. But in the next moment the slight curve of her full lips straightened.
“Are you sure this will work?”
“Hell, no.” Chris took a breath, turned his head, then used his legs to drag all of his weight to the left. His shoulder muscles screamed, he groaned…and the ball of his shoulder slipped back