“Ma’am?” Cal dropped to his knees beside her, careful not to move her neck. “Officer, can you hear me?” He pressed two fingers against her throat. A pulse. Weak, but steady. Relief surged—but it was quickly replaced by something colder.
There were no skid marks. No shattered glass trailing down the road. No debris field indicating a second vehicle. The crash looked violent—but incomplete. And the driver’s door was open.
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