10. Bianca
Chapter 10
Bianca
C hurch dismisses on Sunday morning with a hopeful song from the worship band, and I stand to gather my things with a smile. Eliza does the same beside me, though she’s grabbing a diaper bag and not her purse.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” she asks Lance for what is probably the dozenth time.
“Yes, baby, go. Have fun. Bring me a burger.”
“But—” She glances back at me, then him again. “You’re sure. She’s been fussy. What if?—”
He smiles and leans in to kiss her nose. “My love. I can handle our daughter—fussy or not—for a few hours. Go and have a fun lunch.”
“Okay. But call me if she won’t eat her bottle or go down for a nap.”
“I will, honey. I love you,” Lance kisses her and she slings the diaper bag over his shoulder as he lifts the infant car seat with their smiling daughter strapped in.
“I love you, too. And I love you, my little sweetie.” She leans in and kisses Mable’s nose.
“Ready?” I ask as she turns to me.
“I am, I—wait. Is that Silas?”
I turn, certain that it can’t be. But then I see him with Eloise, standing in the back wearing slacks and a crisp white button-down, talking to Pastor Redding. “He came to church?” Our conversation last night comes rushing back.
Is Silas looking for answers, too? Peace?
Tears blur my vision as emotion surges through my system. And then his gaze finds mine. I can’t look away. Can’t bring myself to break the connection we seem to share despite the fact that, at one point, both of us wished didn’t exist.
Eloise tugs on his shirt and he looks down at her, so I tear my gaze from him and wipe my eyes quickly. By the time I turn back to Eliza, she’s grinning at me and Lance is already gone.
“What?”
“I think I just found our topic for lunch,” she replies with a laugh and loops her arm through mine.
“What are you talking about?” We make our way toward the door.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
The sun is warm on my face as we step out of the church. The salty sea air filling my lungs is something I will never tire of, and I let Eliza guide me toward the crosswalk so we can head to the diner. My mind is reeling, thoughts on Silas in church.
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I stop walking, immediately reaching to draw the firearm holstered beneath the waistband of my skirt as my gaze scans the rooftops.
And then I see it.
The smallest glint of light.
“Get down!” I scream and throw myself in front of Eliza.
Searing pain shoots through my right arm, but I don’t let it slow me down as I sprint behind her, covering her back until we’re behind the cover of a parked car. People in front of the church scream and race back inside for safety.
Another bullet.
This one pierces the sidewalk right where I’d been standing a mere heartbeat before.
Thankfully, the bullet hit my non-dominant arm, so I draw my weapon and aim it over the hood of the car.
I scan the rooftops again and see a man running away, a rifle bag on his shoulder. “Stay here,” I order and kick off my heels, then dash across the street. My heart is racing, adrenaline surging through my system and numbing the pain in my arm.
Warmth drips down to my wrist, so I know I’m bleeding, and the asphalt is rough against my bare feet, but the only thing I can think of is getting to the shooter before he can hurt anyone. I reach the building seconds after he’s dropped down from the fire escape.
“Freeze!” I yell, but he doesn’t stop.
I fire.
He grunts as the bullet hits its mark, tearing through the flesh of his leg, but he keeps moving, albeit slower than before.
I sprint toward him as he disappears from sight. By the time I get behind the building, he’s gone. And then tires screech against the pavement. I leap to the side, barely managing not to get hit as a vehicle speeds past me and out of view.
“No!”
“Bianca!” Silas is at my side.
“He got away. No plates. Dark sedan.” I’m all business, quickly reciting the information I have so I don’t forget it.
“You’ve been shot!” He yanks the button-down shirt from his torso, ripping the buttons as he wraps my arm with the once-clean fabric. “What were you thinking?”
“That I needed to stop him.” I continue staring down the path he took. How far could he have gone with a bullet wound like that? Will he go to the hospital?
“Alone?”
“I was the only one on the street. Did you see him? I didn’t get a good look with the mask he was wearing. We need to get to the hospitals, see if he checks in?—”
“Bianca.” Silas grips my face, cradling it in his hands and forcing me to look at him. His eyes are wide and wild, his cheeks red.
“What?” I ask. “We need to get Lance. The others. We need to?—”
“Get you to the hospital,” he interrupts. “You’ve been shot. Do you hear me? You’re losing a lot of blood.”
For the first time, I look down at the blood covering my skirt and pooling on the pavement beneath me. It’s a lot. Enough that it’s already saturated the shirt he wrapped around my arm.
It means the bullet likely caught my brachial artery. Which also means that if I don’t get help, I’m going to go into shock.
Soon.
As if on cue, my vision wavers. Dark spots invade my sightline.
“I think I need to sit down. Just for a minute.”
“No.” Silas catches me as I start to fall. “Call an ambulance!”
I hate hospitals.
Everything about them. The smell. The feeling. The chill that seems to hang in the air. As twisted as it sounds, I prefer field medic tents to big hospitals like this. Probably because that’s what I’m used to.
The hospital in Hope Springs isn’t even that large, but it feels like a hospital and that’s enough for me. Which is why I’m endlessly grateful that I’m already at home after Doc removed the bullet that tore through the artery in my arm and stitched me back together.
Sheriff Vick managed to catch the shooter—he’d driven off the road after passing out due to blood loss. So, go me, I guess.
The pain in my arm is extensive since I refused anything stronger than over-the-counter pain meds once the surgery was done, but I can manage. Unfortunately, it’s not the worst pain I’ve faced. At least I have a sling this time.
Lance assured me that he’d call when they had anything, but I check my phone again just in case. I’m desperate to face down with the shooter myself, but he’d made me come home for the night, promising that I could be in the interrogation room as soon as I got some rest.
But rest is the last thing I need.
There’s a knock on my door, so I cross over and check the peephole. Silas stands just outside, his hands in his pockets.
I haven’t seen him since I passed out.
He didn’t come to the hospital, not that I blame him. He probably hates them more than I do. But I’d hated that he wasn’t there.
I open the door, and his gaze levels on me. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Do you want to come in?”
“Sure.”
The kettle I’d been prepping in the kitchen beeps, signaling the water is ready, so I leave him to shut the door and head into the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I pour water into the mug with my bag of tea. “Where’s Eloise?”
“Staying with Michael and Reyna. I figured it was safer to have her away from here until we figure out what’s going on. I might end up taking her to Texas. So she can spend some time with my cousins.”
I swallow hard, hating the idea of them leaving. “Makes sense.”
“I’m sticking around, though,” he says. “Staying here so I’m close if something happens.”
“You should leave, too, Silas. You’re all she has.” I turn to face him, surprised to find him closer than I thought he’d be, with only a foot between us. I suck in a breath, the intensity in his green gaze captivating my thoughts.
“You could have died,” he says softly.
“He nearly got Eliza because she was walking beside me.”
“You could have pushed her to the side, taking you both out of the path of the bullet, but instead you threw your body over hers.”
He’s not mad, or at least that’s not the impression I’m getting. But is it too much to hope for worry? That he really does care for me and my life?
“She has a baby. I didn’t think about my life. Only hers.”
“Like when we were in the jungle?” he asks.
I stiffen. “What?”
“You charged out of that brush without a single thought for your own safety.”
The memory is branded in my mind. The terror as I heard them slam Silas to the ground, telling him to speak his last words.
I had fully processed what would happen if I intervened. And I’d done it anyway. “They would have killed you.”
His gaze drops to my lips, then locks on mine again. “And you were going to stop them.”
“I wasn’t planning to save you,” I admit. “I knew we were both going to die, but I didn’t want to lose you and survive.”
Silas stiffens, his muscles going rigid. I worry that I’ve said too much. That he’s going to turn away from me for good, now that he knows my act of heroics was actually one of cowardice. The fact is, I couldn’t face life knowing Silas Williamson was no longer breathing.
He’d come to mean so much to me in that month we were running for our lives. We’d laughed together despite our fear, clung to happiness even though we knew the likelihood of us walking away was basically nonexistent.
“I should have told you who I was,” I say. “Should have mentioned it the moment you came to me. But to be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure you were real. I was dehydrated and exhausted.”
“You should have told me,” he says. “But I should have at least tried to understand why you felt like you couldn’t.”
“I did trust you, Silas. It was never about that.”
“Then what was it? Because for years, I’ve tried to rationalize why you didn’t ever tell me. Did you think I would leave you to die? Turn you over in exchange for my own freedom?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what, Bianca? Because even though we didn’t know each other long, I thought we’d gotten close. Even if the affection we felt for each other was manufactured by the fact that we could have died at any moment, I thought we’d at least end up friends.”
“We were more than friends,” I insist. “I just?—”
“What?” he demands again, tone turning frustrated.
“I didn’t want you to look at me like you looked when you talked about him.” I open my eyes and a tear slips free. I wipe it away quickly. “Every time you spoke about Lucian and about what you’d have done to him if given the chance, you looked so—I don’t even know a word appropriate for the level of fury on your face. And rightfully so, but I didn’t want to become an enemy. I couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing me as one.”
He studies me, the frustration on his face fading away. “I wouldn’t have seen you as an enemy.”
“You would have,” I reply. “Because it’s how you’ve been looking at me ever since I showed up in Hope Springs.”