What if this is the last time Preston and I ever speak to each other?
I don’t even want to entertain that as a possibility, but whatever I say now, it has to count. “I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And how much I love you. You’re my whole life, Preston.”
The sirens are louder. Deafening. So many sets of flashing lights line the road now. Police cars, ambulances, even a fire truck.
Preston’s eyelids droop as he gazes up at me. “I love you, too, baby. Never thought I could love something like I love you. Never knew someone could help me love myself. And I haven’t given you enough credit, because you’re so strong. Did you know that? I think you might even be braver than me. So strong… And you’re like a lighthouse, only you shine love on me wherever I am. You’re a love lighthouse. It’s good… love…”
I think he’s delirious. His words are slurred and not making a ton of sense, but he’s talking, so I’ll take it.
People are approaching us. They fan out, surrounding us from all sides.
Instinctively, I curl over Preston.
The man who’s the closest stealthily moves around a tree, and he’s holding a gun. That’s when I notice a lot of the officers have weapons. They’re all looking at us as if we’re dangerous. As if we’re the threat.
“Don’t hurt him,” I beg. “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Baby,” Preston whispers weakly. “Just do what they say.”
“Ma’am, we’re going to need you to drop the weapon.”
I’d forgotten about the gun. It’s still in my hand.
I toss it away and raise my arms to prove I’m compliant. As they swarm in around us, my concern stays on Preston. He’s still lying flat on the ground, his hand covering the shirt to keep pressure on the wound. His face is too pale. Almost grayish. He’s not supposed to be that color.
“He’s been shot at least twice that I know of,” I announce. “He’s hurt, so be careful with him.”
Someone shouts for a medic and new people start running this way.
A blur of activity follows. A stretcher is brought over, and I scoot back to give everyone room to help Preston. After a tubed mask is put on his face, hands wrap around my wrists from behind. Two men help me—well, force me is more like it—to my feet.
“Ma’am, do you have any other weapons on you?”
“No.” I don’t know why they bother asking, because they’re checking for themselves, patting my ankles and legs, moving their way over my body.
“Do you need medical attention?” The question is aimed at me, but the voice seems far away. “Ma’am? Ma’am?”
“I think she’s in shock,” someone else says.
“Move! Move out of the way.” It’s the low, gravelly voice from the phone. Jen Harding. And she’s nothing like how I pictured her.
Petite and blonde, she wears a no-nonsense pantsuit. White and pristine. She’s going to get it all dirty out here. At least her shoes are ready for action. Combat boots are an odd pairing with her outfit, but somehow, they look right on her.
“Give the girl some space, for God’s sake,” she scolds, her middle-aged face wrinkling with a disapproving scowl. “And someone get her a blanket.”
When she locks eyes with me, her demeanor softens just a tad. She looks at me in a way that’s not quite motherly, but there’s a depth of something I can’t identify in her eyes.
I think she cares about me, but that can’t be right. I’ve never met her before. Have I?
She offers her hand for a shake, confirming that we probably don’t know each other. I just stare at it, but she stubbornly keeps it extended. “Jen Harding, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I specialize in missing children’s cases.”
I’m a little confused. That doesn’t pertain to me because I’m not a child. Besides, I haven’t been missing for that long. Yeah, my mom made a big stink about it, but the FBI should really save their resources for more important people.
I finally go to shake Jen’s hand, but metal clinks, and I realize my arms are locked behind my back. They cuffed me? I guess I hadn’t been paying attention. I didn’t even notice the metal go around my wrists.
Jen’s eyes widen, and she fumbles with a keyring. “You cuffed a kidnapping victim? What’s wrong with you? I knew I shouldn’t have let rookies come along for this.”
“Preston didn’t kidnap me,” I interject, but everyone ignores me.
“She had a gun,” a man argues.
Another officer tries to back up his coworker, but Jen cuts them off with a loud scoff as she unlocks my handcuffs.
“You’re not old enough to know who this is, are you?” she asks the young officer to my right. “Melody Parks. Name ring a bell?” She waits for all of one second before answering, “Of course it doesn’t. You were too busy playing T-ball while she was living a nightmare.”
“I’m not really Melody Parks,” I admit, rubbing my freed wrists. “Preston—I mean, Ethan just told me to say that.”
A scratchy blanket is draped over my shoulders, and Jen gets in front of me. “Do you know why he told you to say that?”
“No?” It comes out sounding like a question.
She scrutinizes me with her light-brown eyes, and I get a weird feeling. Like she can see through me. Like she can see something I don’t.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and my body convulses with a shiver.
She tugs the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I’m going to ride in the ambulance with you, if that’s all right.”
Absentmindedly, I nod. “As long as I get to be with Preston, I don’t care.”
Gently urging me to move forward, she puts her hand on my back. “They’re already leaving with him.”
I see what she means when the sirens and lights turn back on, and the big white vehicle speeds past Donovan’s wrecked SUV. Panic floods in at the thought of being separated from Preston, and I resist Jen’s efforts to get me to go toward the second ambulance.
“They’re going to the same place,” she reminds me.
And I relent because I go where Preston goes. Always.
Well, this isn’t how I pictured my day.
I’m supposed to be freaking out on a plane while flying over the ocean.
Now I’m just freaking out in a hospital room by myself.
Two officers are stationed outside my door, so I feel a little bit like a prisoner. Not like I want to leave, though. On arrival, I was told Preston is in surgery and it could be a while before he wakes up. Might as well wait.
Hanging out in a bed with TV, meals, and nurses on standby in the meantime isn’t so bad. The IV and the heart monitor are probably overkill.
I’ve had a battery of tests done to determine if I have whiplash or a concussion from the crash. Other than being cold, shaken up, and sore, the doctor hasn’t found anything seriously wrong with me. They still want me to stay the night for observation.
My mom is probably shitting her pants.
By now, I’m sure she’s caught wind of the fact that I’ve been found, so I’ve made sure everyone knows I don’t want her visiting. The last thing I need is my suffocating mother hovering over my bed. If she comes here, hopefully Jen will be around to intercept her.