Chapter 17
Five hours.
That’s how long it had been since Trigger figured Gillian had gone missing.
He and his team had gone straight to the parking garage where her phone was pinging and, after driving through it, had found her car on the top level. Her purse, with her phone and pepper spray inside, was also there, kicked underneath a car near the elevators.
The app had said the phone had been there since eleven thirty-three and it was now four-thirty.
He felt sick and at the moment had no idea what to do next to try to find her.
They’d called the police as soon as they’d found her purse and realized she was missing, but searching for someone took time. Time Gillian might not have.
He’d told the cops as much as he could about Gillian being a hostage a couple months ago and how the seventh hijacker hadn’t been identified, but knew none of that was any help.
Lucky had called the DEA agent who’d interviewed Gillian, and he’d been in contact with the FBI, but again, nothing happened fast with those bureaucracies, and the thought of Gillian being in the hands of the drug cartel who’d had no problem killing innocent civilians on the plane ate away at his soul.
“We’re gonna find her,” Grover said quietly as he stood next to Trigger on the top level of the garage.
Trigger hadn’t wanted to leave since it was the last place Gillian had been.
The surveillance cameras were on a timer, and at the exact moment his woman had been taken, the fucking things had been pointed at the other end of the garage.
By the time they’d swung back around, Gillian was gone.
He’d promised to keep her safe, but how the hell could he do that when he had no idea who to keep her safe from?
“Trigger? Did you hear me?” Grover asked.
He nodded. The words were merely platitudes.
They both knew there was no way Grover could promise that they’d find her.
Thousands of people disappeared off the face of the earth every day.
Killed by strangers, or even by people they knew and loved, their bodies buried or dismembered and thrown away like trash.
The thought of his Gillian being discarded like that hurt like hell.
“Holy shit, Trigger!” Lefty exclaimed, running toward him and Grover at a dead sprint from the other end of the garage, where he’d been looking for clues.
Trigger’s heart stopped.
“A woman’s been found on the other side of the city,” Lefty told him excitedly. “She was lying unconscious in a parking lot between two cars. They think it’s Gillian!”
“Is she alive?” Trigger forced himself to ask.
“Yes. She’s being transferred to St. David’s, north of here.”
Trigger was on the move before Lefty had finished talking.
Gillian was alive. That was the only thing that mattered to him at the moment.
Brain got behind the wheel of Trigger’s Blazer and drove like a bat out of hell to St. David’s. He didn’t bother to park, but pulled up outside the emergency room entrance to let everyone out.
Trigger made a mental note to thank him later, but for now, all his attention was focused on getting to Gillian.
He strode up to the desk and noticed that the woman’s eyes widened in alarm at his approach, but he didn’t slow down.
“Gillian Romano,” he barked. “She should’ve just been brought in. She was found unconscious in a parking lot. Where is she?”
The woman cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry, sir, if you’ll just take a seat, I’ll see what I can find out about her. Are you family?”
“Yes.” The lie came out without hesitation. “I’m her fiancé.”
She looked skeptical, but didn’t call him on it. “Okay, as I said, if you’ll take a seat, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“No,” Trigger said with a shake of his head. “I need to be with her now. She has to be scared out of her mind.”
The woman opened her mouth, probably to deny him once again, when a commotion sounded behind them.
Turning, Trigger immediately recognized Gillian lying on the stretcher that was being wheeled into the emergency room. Somehow they’d beaten the ambulance to the hospital.
Without hesitation, Trigger headed for the woman who held his heart in her hand.
“Step back, sir.” He heard someone say, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Gillian?” he called when he got close.
Her head turned—and the second he caught sight of her, Trigger wanted to fucking kill someone. She had the beginnings of a black eye and her cheekbone was bruised.
But it was the clear finger marks on her neck that had him seeing red.
“Walker?” she croaked and held out a hand to him.
Both the paramedics’ heads swung toward him at the same time security closed in on the group. Trigger knew his team had been at his back the entire time, and they probably made quite an imposing sight to the employees in reception.
But before he could be hauled away from Gillian, one of the paramedics held out his hand. “He’s fine,” the man barked, stopping the security officers in their tracks. “She hasn’t said much since she came to in the ambulance. But she recognizes him. Let him through.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Trigger didn’t hesitate, he went right up to Gillian’s side and gripped her hand in his. He tried to assess her, but when she whimpered, he couldn’t look anywhere but into her eyes. “I’m here, Di,” he told her softly. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
“Walker,” she said again.
“Move with us,” the paramedic ordered, and without looking away from Gillian’s dilated pupils, Trigger nodded.
“You’re okay,” he repeated as he walked alongside the gurney with Gillian’s hand in his.
They didn’t get a chance to say anything else as the paramedics wheeled her into a room and got to work transferring her from their gurney to the bed.
The grip Gillian had on his hand was almost painful, but there was no way Trigger was going to complain.
She looked okay, beyond the bruises on her face and throat. He turned to listen to a paramedic as he briefed the doctor who appeared inside the room.
“Patient’s name is Gillian Romano, age unknown, as she didn’t tell us anything other than her name.
She was found unconscious in a parking lot on the south end of town.
Other than the superficial bruising, we haven’t found any other obvious injuries.
No broken bones and no pain anywhere that we can tell.
Her heart rate and blood pressure are high, but that’s most likely because she didn’t seem to know where she was or what was happening when she regained consciousness.
We started an IV, but we suspect she’s high or has ingested some sort of drug within the last few hours because of her dilated pupils. ”
Trigger listened with a bizarre mixture of horror and relief.
The doctor nodded. “Nurse, please do a complete blood panel and we’ll see if we can get her to tell us what she’s taken. I’d also like a rape kit done, just in case. She might need an MRI to make sure she didn’t hit her head at any point. Gillian, can you look at me? What happened?”
Instead of looking at the doctor, Gillian kept her eyes glued to Trigger’s. He hated, hated, the look of terror in her eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now. Can you tell us what happened?”
She shook her head.
“You’re safe,” he reiterated.
“I don’t remember,” she whispered. “I’d tell you if I could, but I don’t remember anything. All I know is that I woke up in an ambulance and my head hurt.”
Trigger’s stomach rolled. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Gillian swallowed hard and closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them and said, “Talking to you on the phone in my car.”
“You were going to the caterer to taste cakes for the Howards’ anniversary party,” he prompted.
She blinked. “I don’t remember anything about that. Did I make it there?”
“Yes. You parked in the garage nearby and met with the Howards’ daughter. You guys picked out two different cakes.” Trigger knew all this because he’d talked to the caterer himself to verify that Gillian had actually made it there.
“I can’t remember,” she whimpered.
Trigger touched the backs of his fingers lightly to her face. “Does this hurt?”
She shook her head, but winced when she pressed against his fingers. “My throat hurts though, and I feel as if I’m hungover.”
“If you’d please step back, we need to examine her,” the nurse said impatiently.
Trigger reluctantly let go of Gillian’s hand and stepped to the side.
The second he let go of her hand, Gillian started to shake. Trigger wanted to go right back to her, but he forced himself to stay where he was. He knew he was lucky to be allowed to remain in the room, and he didn’t want to do anything to force the doctor to kick him out.
He watched as Gillian’s clothes were removed and placed into a bag for the police to collect later.
“Damp,” the nurse said as she cut Gillian’s shirt off. “Smells like alcohol too. Were you drinking earlier?” she asked.
Gillian shook her head, but kept her eyes closed as her body was manipulated by the medical personnel.
“She’s got ligature marks around her wrists and ankles,” the nurse added. “Looks like they’re bruising, but the skin’s not broken.”
“We’ll need pictures for the detective assigned to her case,” the doctor said.
They were talking as if Gillian wasn’t there. As if she couldn’t hear every word they said. It infuriated Trigger, but he kept quiet.
That was, he was silent until it came time for the nurse to do the rape kit, and she tried to kick him out of the room. “You’ll need to step outside, sir,” she told him firmly.
Doing his best not to lose his shit, Trigger stepped up to the bed and took hold of Gillian’s hand once more. “Do you want me to leave, Gilly?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes popped open and she shook her head frantically. “No! Don’t go! Please!”
“I’m staying,” Trigger told the nurse firmly.
She pressed her lips together but didn’t force the issue.
“I was raped?” Gillian asked fearfully as she looked up into Trigger’s eyes.