“Look, it’s the only solution we have right now.” I fling my arms wide. “If he has to pee in a bucket, then I’ll empty it for him. I mean, whatever. We just need to make this work!”
“You’re goin’ out of your way for this stranger, Annie. I don’t think he should be traveling anywhere for at least the rest of this week. That’s a long time to keep him hidden.” Mirren winces. “Why am I helpin’ you? I think this is a terrible idea! We don’t know anything about this man!”
“Oh, come on, Mirren. He’s wounded. It’s not like he can do any harm to anyone.”
She tips her head with a look of total exasperation. “He’s gonna get better.”
“And when he does, he’ll probably leave. He said he was just passin’ through.”
Mirren points her finger at my nose. “He better. Your mama was my best friend, and I love you. I know I can’t keep you away from Dean right now, but I can protect you from this one.”
“You won’t need to,” I assure her.
She shakes her head, obviously unconvinced. “Any funny business, I am going straight to Hank.”
The words bring me up short. I glance at Franks, then back to Mirren, my blue eyes hopefully filled with a silent plea.
She looks away from me. “I mean it, Annabelle Mae. It’ll be for your own good.”
I nearly scoff at that remark.
My own good?
Since when have Hank or Trudy Keyes ever done anything for my own good?
“Oh, Mama.” Franks steps up, her mischievous smile trying to kill the tension. Threading her arm through the crook of Mirren’s elbow, she leans her head on her mother’s shoulder and sighs. “You don’t need Hank. You should just let Tucker know. I’m sure he’d love to help you out.”
I grin. Trust Franks to lighten the moment.
Mirren rolls her eyes. “Don’t start on that.”
My best friend winks at me, her smile growing a little wider.
Mirren unwinds herself from her daughter’s clutches. “He’s ten years younger than me. And I don’t care that you think he’s the best-looking cop in Buckland Springs. It’s not gonna happen.”
“He’s single. You’re single. He loves animals. You’re a vet.”
“Stop talkin’.” She walks into the next room while Franks and I stifle our giggles. We’ve been trying to set her up with Tucker ever since he broke up with his girlfriend at the start of this year.
I flatten out my grin when Mirren walks back into the room and hands me a small bottle of pills. “He needs to take three a day for the next week. That should kill any infection that might be tryin’ to brew. I’ll stop by and check on him when I can.”
“Thank you.” Before she can tell me off again, I lurch into her arms, squeezing her shoulders tight.
After a moment’s hesitation, her arms wind around my waist, and I know I’m forgiven.
“Come on now. Let’s move this man while the town’s asleep. God help us if anyone finds out what we’ve done tonight.” She rolls her eyes, and we all expel a few nervous giggles before getting down to the business of shifting Michael safely.
13
Vague Explanations
I wake up with a sharp gasp, my senses struggling to come online. My heart is pounding, fear pulsing through me as a pop ricochets in my brain.
Pop. Pain.
Pop. Pain.
My eyes jerk from one foreign object to the next. I’m on a bed. In a tiny, cluttered space. Glass windows line two walls, and a dim light filters over an old dusty desk in the corner. The brass handles are dull, and there are nicks in the wood. Next to it is an armchair that’s so worn I can see some of the stuffing popping through the frayed fabric.
Where the hell am I?
Rising to my elbow, I wince and cradle my side.
Pop. Pain.
I was shot.
Luis shot me.
I look down at my bare torso.
Where’s my shirt?
My jacket?
Johnny’s jacket.
Deeks’s lighter!
My breath hitches, but then I spot the faded black leather resting over the back of the armchair.
“Please be in the pocket still,” I whisper, shoving the handmade quilt off me.
Perfect squares, each one a different material, tumble to the floor.
I force my body up and perch my bare feet on the soft fabric.
“Ow,” I whimper, ignoring the pain eating my side as I fumble two steps across the room and hunt the pockets.
I have to lean against the desk to hold myself up, using my other hand to pat the jacket down. My fingers awkwardly wrap around the lighter and I yank it out, clutching it in my fist and pressing the hard metal to my lips.
Thank God.
Stumbling back, I crash onto my butt, pain firing from the center point of my wound.
I groan and lie down.
My head hurts.
I run the pads of my fingers over it, then lightly tap my hairline.
What am I doing here?
What the hell happened last night?
Vague memories try to invade, but so far all I’ve got is the sound of Luis’s gun and the pain searing my side.
Then I drove. I sped. I escaped.
So where’s the car?
Trees. Forest. Darkness.
I hid the car. But where am I now?
Blonde hair. Kind words. Sunshine smile.
Snapshots flash through me as I build a mental picture of the waitress who served me apple pie.
Waitress.
Annie.
I wanted to pay her…
“A tip.” My eyes pop open.
The money.
Sloan!
Shit, I have to get out of here.
Bolting back up, I try to stand, but my head starts spinning as pain rockets through my middle. My limbs are jelly as I waver and fight the urge to throw up.
Slow the hell down, man.
Cradling my head, I force air through my nostrils and scream at myself to get up. I need that money. I need to split before Marlo and his crew find me.
A door clicks.
My head pops up and I jolt to my feet, toppling over immediately and landing on the hard edge of the desk.
I hiss and grit my teeth as the office door jiggles, then eases open to reveal a blonde ray of light carrying a tray of food.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Annie’s warm smile disappears. “What are you doin’? You should be lying down. You might reopen your wounds if you’re not careful.”
She sets the tray down beside an old computer on the dusty office desk and moves to my side.
My muscles clench tight, but her small fingers on my shoulder don’t make them snap. Her blue eyes are gentle and kind. It makes my heart want to slow down a little. It makes the air in my lungs want to whistle out on a soft sigh.
“Do you remember much about last night?” she asks.
Her fingers slip off me. I study her expression, worried about what I might have said or done. Keeping my lips sealed, I shake my head.
“Well, you passed out right in front of me. I hope you don’t mind, but I had to find out what was wrong.” Her eyes flutter over my bare chest, her cheeks tinging pink before she turns back to the tray. “My friend’s mama is a vet. I took you there, and she stitched you up and…” Her voice trails off, her gaze a touch nervous as her eyes graze my stomach. “She cleaned the wounds. You got shot all the way through, but she’s hopeful nothing vital was nicked or cut or anything. She took her time. Did a good job.”