It’s hard to breathe as I take this all in.
She knows I’ve been shot.
She’ll want to know why.
Who is this vet that stitched me up?
Why didn’t she—
“I was gonna call 9-1-1, but…” Annie holds out a glass of water to me. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t. You were talking about rubbing pennies together, and I figured you don’t have health insurance and probably can’t pay for a hospital. Plus, you were… shot.” She ends with a whisper that I nearly miss.
But I think I heard it, and I know what she’s silently asking.
Sipping the water, I take my time drinking half the glass while she silently waits for me to say something.
I can tell it’s hard for her. She keeps crossing her arms, then squeezing her slender biceps before letting her arms flop to her sides and leaning against the desk for just a second before standing straight again.
“I don’t have health insurance,” I murmur.
“Right. Okay.” She nods and keeps looking at me, expecting more.
But what can I possibly say?
“So, good call on the hospital. And I need you to thank your friend’s mom for helping me.”
Annie bobs her head, turning to grab a plate of toast off the tray. She shoves it at me. “You need to eat this so you can have your antibiotics. You have to take three a day for a week to kill any infection. And you shouldn’t move around too much. We don’t know for sure about those internal injuries. Mirren thinks you should have a scan, but that’ll just take you to a hospital, which I’m pretty sure you’re not interested in. So, to be safe, I think you need to stay here for at least a week. If you get better, then we know you’re okay. If you go downhill, then I’ll have no choice but to call an ambulance.”
Her stern gaze leaves no room for argument, and I nod before I realize what I’m doing.
“Are you gonna tell me who shot you?”
I shake my head.
She crosses her arms and squeezes tight, her narrow nostrils flaring. “Did you deserve the bullet?”
My lips part. The question surprises me, and I should probably answer with a yes, but I look her in the eye and whisper, “No.”
She studies me for a long minute, her stubborn chin jutting out. I keep staring at her, knowing the art of a good lie comes in the way you deliver it.
Finally, her jaw jerks to the side and she asks another question. “Do you have a gun on you?”
“No.” Easy answer. It’s the truth.
“Is the person who shot you gonna come after you?”
I should lie again, but instead I look to the floor. “Maybe. But right now he has no idea where I am. I ditched my phone, so I’m untraceable. All I’ve got on me is my license and a little cash.” I look up at her, my gaze as sincere as I can make it.
“Plus that lighter you’re holdin’.” She points at it.
I unfurl my fingers and gaze at the tiger face. She probably wants to know that story too, but I don’t have it in me right now.
Instead, I look up and catch her eye. “I promise you, I’m not here to hurt you or anyone in this town. I’m gonna go and take whatever trouble might be chasing me somewhere else.”
“Well, you’re in no state to leave right now.” Her body pings straight. “But the thing is…” She taps the toe of her sneaker on the hard floor. “Trouble might catch up to you if you’re caught by my step… my… by Dean. My boss. He doesn’t come in here much, but I don’t want to risk it. So, I need to move you into a different space. He wouldn’t appreciate you being here. So, if you feel up to it, I can set you up in a more secure location.”
I should say no.
I should tell her that I’ll walk away, no matter how bad I’m feeling. I’m obviously inconveniencing her. But what if she’s right about the internal injuries? Maybe hiding out in this sleepy little town for a couple of days would actually be a good thing.
The car is hidden deep in the forest. Sloan has no idea which direction I went. I could be in California or halfway to Mexico for all he knows.
This could work. A couple of days recovering here, and then I’ll sneak out one night under the cover of darkness.
“Thank you,” I rasp, forcing down the slice of toast. I manage about half before I feel like I’m gonna throw up again.
Passing it back with shaking fingers, I apologize.
“That’s probably enough, anyway.” She hands me a pill, and I swallow it down with the rest of the water while she arranges the tray and leaves it outside the door.
“Okay now. Let me get you upstairs, and then I’ll try to hunt you down a shirt and some clean pants.”
I use the edge of the desk to help me stand, but my pathetic rubber-band legs shake beneath me. Annie swoops under my arm, lightly resting her hand around my waist and steadying me.
“Take it slow now. We’ve got time. Dean doesn’t usually get up for another hour or so.”
“Who’s Dean again?”
“My boss.”
I clutch her shoulder as we walk down the stairs. Pain rockets up my feet and straight through my middle.
“Easy,” she murmurs. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” She points to a white door on our left.
I wish I didn’t, but I should probably use it now while she’s supporting me.
Shuffling to the door, I quickly do my business, leaning against the wall for support while she hovers in the doorway.
It’s beyond humiliating to be peeing right in front of her, but I’m almost too exhausted to care.
The simple act wears me out, and I flag against her as she walks me through a door-less frame and into a garage. There’s a tarp-covered car and a bench of work tools we have to shuffle between. Cobwebs hang in the corners, a thick layer of dust coating most surfaces.
The garage hasn’t been used in years.
“This was my grandpa’s space,” Annie starts quietly explaining as she leans me against the car and grabs a stick from behind the workbench. There’s a hook on the end of it, which she deftly slots into a metal circle above her. “He died a while ago, and my gramma just couldn’t come in here no more. It’s like she wanted to keep it sacred or somethin’. I was just a kid, but I’d sneak in still. Pretend like he was talkin’ to me while he restored another old rust bucket. He used to let me hand him tools, and I felt like some nurse in an operating room.” She grins and gives a sharp yank on the stick. A trap door lowers from the ceiling, revealing a steep set of stairs, which she unfolds. “About a month before his heart attack, he showed me his secret space, and ever since then, I’ve been making it my own.”
Her smile captures me, and I can’t do anything but gaze at it.
She holds my stare for a second, until her cheeks start to bloom with color and she dips her head. Her blonde hair is floating free around her face and covers her cheek while she scrapes at a mark on the concrete floor with her shoe.
“Right, so we should get you up here. Do you think you can climb?”
I ease off the car and grip the step at my eye level. My head sways a little, but I suck in a breath and force my body up. She comes around behind me, steadying my hips as I inch up into the attic space. By the time I reach the top, I’m shattered and crawl on my hands and knees toward the mattress in the corner.