When my nose starts to tingle, I know it’s a lie. What the fuck? My internal lie detector is extended to Preston now? Well, they do say holy matrimony joins you as one person.
I sneeze as Preston puts his hands up. I sneeze again when he slowly moves forward while shrugging me off his arm.
I don’t want to let him go, but I don’t want to defy him either. He gave me instructions that could save us.
Or save me, at least.
Needless to say, I don’t agree with that.
What would Harlee Verona do? Would she listen to Preston or would she do something stupid along with him?
Putting his injured hand out behind him, he gives me a ‘stay’ gesture, making it clear that he’s going forward with his plan whether I like it or not. Blood is soaking through his self-made bandage, and it’s dripping from his fingertips.
My heart’s in my throat as he exposes himself completely to the man after us. The man who doesn’t care if Preston lives or dies.
“Where’s the girl?” Donovan asks, and just so he knows I’m still here and doesn’t start shooting again, I peek out from behind the tree.
“I’m here.”
He doesn’t look triumphant or happy to see me. It’s worse. He looks resentful. Bitter. He has the same disappointed expression my mom always wore when I did something bad.
Keeping his gun aimed at Preston, he says, “You two have caused me a lot of trouble.”
Yeah, I guess so. Preston got Donovan good yesterday with that headbutt. Two little white strips are taped over the gash on the bridge of his red, swollen nose. Dark bruises surround his eyes like a raccoon.
In addition to that, he’s made an enemy out of Ivan. I suspect if my father gets Donovan alone, he’ll have worse worries than a banged-up face.
He crooks his finger. “Out, girlie.”
Preston discreetly wags his hand at me, flicking blood this way and that.
I know he wants me to leave. To run away from him. I just can’t right now. Not when a gun is pointed right at him.
“How did you find me?” I ask, stalling.
Donovan smiles, but what should look like a friendly expression is creepy with his dead, dark eyes. “The tracker, of course.”
“Ivan turned it off.”
“And he thinks I can’t turn it back on?” He laughs. “I can find anyone, anywhere. I’m the best investigator there is.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Preston is.”
Donovan smirks. “If that were the case, do you really think we’d be in this situation? Listen, I’m not fucking around. Do you want to end up like the last guy Ivan hired?”
Preston’s body jerks, like he’s shocked. “That was you? You killed the detective?”
“Who else would it be?” Donovan screws up his face, like he’s offended someone else might get the credit for his murder.
“Honestly? Figured the guy pissed Ivan off, and Ivan offed him in return.”
Shrugging, Donovan explains, “He was standing in the way of me and a lot of money. I needed this job. Then Ivan went and hired you instead. He put me on the sidelines like I’m his backup plan.”
“So you decided to double dip?” Preston asks. “Take his money and collect Loralee’s reward?”
“No. I was loyal to Ivan until he made it clear he wants to bash my face in. I did my job—he should be thanking me, but of course nothing is good enough for him. I’m done with this shit. I’m looking to retire. Today,” Donovan emphasizes. “And I can’t do it without Loralee Pearson’s money.”
During the conversation, Donovan’s been distracted, and I notice Preston’s using it to his advantage. He’s been inching, ever so slowly, toward his gun that’s still on the ground. It’s several feet ahead of him, though. Plus, it’s closer to Donovan than it is to him.
Raising my hands above my head, I start to shuffle from my hiding place. “Okay. Okay, Donovan. You got us. See? I’m coming out. Just don’t hurt us. We’ll go with you.”
My damn nose. It burns as soon as I say the last part, because I know for a fact Preston doesn’t intend to make this easy for him.
When I sneeze a third time, Donovan motions me forward with the gun. “Move it. It’s too cold out here. I can’t deliver you sick.”
Suddenly, Preston lunges forward. At first, I think he’s diving for his gun but instead, he goes past it, tackling Donovan at the knees.
With a pained shout, Donovan falls backward, and his handgun goes off, sending a bullet to the sky. There’s a scuffle between the two men. Preston gets a few good punches in with his left fist, but Donovan’s still got a firm grasp on the gun.
“Go, Rosalie!” Preston yells. “I mean it, damn it. RUN!”
Remembering what he said about the business card in his wallet, I do just that. I turn and stumble over logs and leaves as my shaking fingers take out the card and the phone. It’s difficult to keep going while tapping the right digits on the cell, but somehow, I get it done.
I press send.
Without stopping my hike, I hold the phone to my ear and listen as the line rings twice.
“Harding,” a female voice answers. Her voice is low and gravelly, like someone in the movies who smokes a lot.
I’m out of breath, but I manage to repeat what Preston told me to. “M-my name is Melody Parks.” Pant, wheeze. Much to my surprise, I don’t sneeze at the falsehood, and after I rattle off our approximate location, I finish with, “A guy is here with a gun. Donovan somebody. Preston—I mean, Ethan Smith is fighting him right now. Ethan’s trying to protect me, but he might get killed.”
Silence. Thinking the connection got cut off, I check the screen, but the call is still there.
“Hello?” I ask impatiently, stomping over beds of twigs.
“Did you say Melody Parks?” There are some papers rustling in the background, and I don’t know why the hell she’s caught up on that part and not sending help.
“Yes! Please, hurry,” I tell her urgently.
“We’re on our way,” she says. “I need you to get somewhere safe.”
Just then, the cracking blast of the gun echoes through the woods.
I stop.
Turn.
I’ve gone so far that I can barely see the road, but I know Preston’s back there somewhere.
Another shot.
Then another.
I flinch with each one, and it feels like my heart is going to leap right out of my chest.
“Melody? Melody, are you there?” The words coming through the speaker are needy and excited, but this call isn’t important.
Not if Preston is dead.
Because if he’s gone, nothing matters.
I flip the phone shut and slip it back into my pocket.
I can’t leave without Preston by my side, so I stagger in the direction I came from, back toward the danger. I’m already winded from running, but I keep going as fast as I can without falling on my face.
Everything is too silent and still.
Quiet as death itself.
No birds are chirping. There’s no wind whistling through the branches.
It’s just my footsteps and breathing. Alone. All alone.
As I get closer to where we were before, I recognize the tree we’d been standing behind because a chunk of bark is missing from where the bullet struck.