Cooked Goose

of you, Coulter—heads or tails—until I give you the thumbs-up. Promise.”
    “All right,” he mumbled.
    “She’s hiding at the Mobil station on Turner Canyon Road . She says she wrecked her car nearby with him in it. Hit some sort of water tank. That’s how she got away from him.”
    “So, there’s nothing to stop me from lookin’ for the car and him in that area, while you check her out.”
    “Absolutely nothing.”
    The phone clicked and the line went dead.
    Dirk never had been one for sentimental good-byes.

    8.05 p.m.

    Savannah pulled her Camaro into the dark, empty lot of the service station a couple of minutes later, her eyes scanning the area for signs of life... or, more specifically, lowlife. Besides a scared Margie Bloss, Savannah was looking for one rapist/woman beater who she would love to plug between the eyes with a 9mm bullet.
    Savannah knew that some people might have considered her cold-blooded attitudes toward criminals less than compassionate or humanitarian. But she didn’t give a damn what the liberals thought about her politics. When they had scraped up the shattered remains of innocent victims’ lives from bedroom floors, city streets, and back alleys, then they could talk to her about understanding and pitying the underprivileged, abused perpetrator.
    She reserved her compassion for their victims. And right now, she was hoping this latest crime victim would be basically intact, emotionally as well as physically.
    When she thought of Charlene Yardley, bruised and broken, on that hospital bed, she shuddered to think what could have happened to young Margie.
    Having pulled the Camaro close to the pile of tires and the truck that Margie had described, she put the car in Park but left the engine running, her headlights trained on the dark area beside the broken-down, rusted truck.
    So far, she saw neither hide nor orange and green hair of the girl.
    With her Beretta in her right hand, she opened the car door and got out. “Margie!” she called. “Margie, it’s Savannah . Come out, honey.”
    At first, she heard nothing. Then there was a rustling off to her left, a shuffling sound, and a soft curse as someone banged into something metal.
    She readied her weapon, pointing it upward, but prepared to lower it if she saw anything resembling a Santa beard and hat.
    “Margie, if that’s you, say something,” she said, every nerve torquing tighter as she waited for a response.
    Finally, just as she was about to lower the Beretta, she saw a white, frightened face appear in the car’s bright lights.
    “Hi, kiddo,” she said, infinitely relieved to see the girl alive and relatively whole. “I hear your date turned out to be a first-rate creep and you need a ride home.”
    The next minute Savannah’s arms were full of a sobbing and sniffling, cut and scraped, dirty and exhausted—but infinitely grateful—teenage girl.
    “Come on, darlin’,” Savannah told her, helping her into the car. “It’s all over now, and I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take it from here.”

    * * *

    8:22 p.m.

    “I told you I didn’t want to go to a stupid hospital!” Margie yelled in her loudest, most completely outraged, adolescent voice as she sat on the edge of an emergency room gurney, wearing a shapeless, pale blue, tie-in-the-back and show-your-bare-butt gown.
    The kid was definitely not a satisfied customer of the Community General Hospital of San Carmelita. And Savannah couldn’t really blame her.
    First, they had ignored her, keeping her waiting while they tended to more immediate, life-threatening situations. Then they had scrubbed the grit out of her deeply scraped knees and elbows... a very painful process, judging from the bloodcurdling yowls she had produced.
    Next, they stitched one particularly deep cut on her upper shoulder, the only wound directly inflicted by her attacker. The other damage had been done during the automobile wreck or while she was running through the orange grove to safety.
    Finally, the hospital staff had added insult to injury.
    “Do you know what they want to do to me?” Margie demanded, bristling with indignation.
    “Yes, I have an idea,” Savannah replied as she sat on the gurney beside the girl and placed her hand on her shoulder. “Do they want to do a rape test examination?”
    “Yeah! That’s what he said... that smartass young doctor with the major attitude. He said I don’t have a choice, that I have to