Chapter 18 #2
A patrol car appeared at the truck stop entrance. Then another. And another.
Callie swerved onto the highway, accelerating. The SUV fishtailed, and Emery rolled, her head cracking against something hard. Stars exploded across her vision.
"You're going to kill us both.” Emery struggled to sit up, her balance impossible with her hands tied. "Callie, stop.”
"I'm not going to prison.” Callie glanced in the rearview mirror. "I'm not losing everything because of you.”
More sirens. More lights. Coming from ahead now—state patrol cars blocking the road, forming a barrier.
Callie yanked the wheel, trying to veer off onto a side road. The SUV tilted, two wheels lifting off the pavement. Emery screamed. They were going to roll. They were going to—
The vehicle slammed back down with bone-jarring force. Callie overcorrected, and suddenly they were sliding sideways, the world spinning in a chaos of lights and sirens and Callie screaming.
Callie yanked the wheel back and forth, the SUV swerving wildly across both lanes.
A guardrail appeared ahead. The SUV sped toward it, and then suddenly, the tires squealed. Rubber burned. And the vehicle suddenly slowed.
Emery flew forward. Her shoulder slammed into the back of the passenger seat. The front airbags deployed with explosive force. The SUV spun once, twice, then came to a shuddering stop half on the road, half in the ditch beside it.
Emery's ears rang. Everything hurt. Every muscle. Every bone. She blinked, and all she saw was a combination of stars and flashing lights. Her head throbbed like a jackhammer digging into concrete and not making progress. She shifted, blinking more, as her vision slowly came into focus.
Through the cracked windshield, she could see patrol cars surrounding them, officers emerging with weapons drawn.
I’m safe. I’m safe. They’re here to save me. To protect me. But Emery’s pulse didn’t slow.
Callie fumbled with her seatbelt, cursing. She undid the belt, shoved the door open, and tried to run.
She made it maybe ten feet before officers tackled her to the ground.
"No!" Callie screamed and thrashed. "Get off me. You don't understand. She’s the one who kidnapped me. I was protecting myself.”
Emery stared. She couldn’t turn away. She couldn’t blink. The entire scene was part of a horror movie. This didn’t happen in real life.
Callie continued to plead her case as the policeman lifted her off the ground and guided her to a police car.
Another officer approached the rear of the SUV and opened the rear hatch. "Ma'am? Are you Emery Tate?”
Emery blinked up at him, dazed, still confused by the events. Rattled by the confessions. Horrified by the outcome. “Yes,” she managed.
"Hold still." He pulled out a knife and carefully cut through the zip ties. Blood rushed back into Emery's hands and feet in a painful flood. "Can you move? Are you hurt?"
"I don't know." Everything felt disconnected, unreal. She reached up and gently touched the back of her head. When she looked at her hand, there was a small amount of blood on her fingertips. "The man. The one driving before. He ran."
"We saw him. Units are searching now." The officer helped her sit up. "Ambulance is on its way."
Emery, needing fresh air, inched to the edge of the cargo area and swung her shaky legs over the side.
She could still hear Callie spewing lies about Emery.
About what had happened. Trying to explain why she had to tie Emery up, because it was Emery trying to kill her over the fact that Devon loved Callie, not Emery.
It was pure insanity.
Emery almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Sandy appeared, her face tight with concern. "Emery. Jesus, we thought—are you okay?"
"The man," Emery said. Her voice sounded strange, too calm. It was almost as if she’d left her body, and someone else was speaking. Shock, probably. "He's still out there. He was hired to kill me. What if he goes after Devon? After the family?"
"We're already on it. I've got units at the main house. We know who he is—Jim Webb, hired gun with a record. We'll find him." Sandy placed a kind, warm hand over Emery’s. "But right now, you need medical attention."
An ambulance pulled up, EMTs jumping out with a stretcher. Emery wanted to protest, to say she was fine, but she knew that wasn’t true. And when she tried to stand on her own, her legs gave out.
The EMTs caught her, eased her onto the stretcher. One of them shone a light in her eyes, asked her questions she barely heard. Everything felt muffled, distant.
But she was alive.
As they loaded her into the ambulance, she caught sight of Callie being shoved into the back of a patrol car. Their eyes met for one, brief moment.
Callie's expression was pure hatred. But behind it, Emery saw something else.
Fear.
Callie Callaway had lost. And she knew it.
Bryson's truck had barely rolled to a stop in the ER drop off zone when Devon threw open the passenger door and hit the pavement running. His brother shouted something behind him, but Devon didn't stop, didn't slow, just sprinted toward the automatic doors.
They whooshed open, and he was inside, desperately scanning the waiting area.
"Devon."
He spun. Sandy stood near the admissions desk, exhaustion written across her face.
"Where is she?" His voice came out rough. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Banged up, bruised, a possible concussion. She needs stitches but otherwise fine." Sandy moved toward him. "But there's news you need to hear first."
"I don't care about the news. I need to see her."
“Jim Webb was found hiding in a drainage culvert two miles from the truck stop.
He's in custody." Sandy's voice was firm, making him listen, even as his heart raced for the woman he loved.
"He confessed to everything. Callie hiring him to kidnap and kill Emery.
He's got a record—hired muscle, extortion, assault. This was just another job to him."
Devon's hands curled into fists—another job. Emery's life had been another job for this man.
"Winston's in custody too," Sandy continued. "And he wants to make a deal. Full cooperation, testimony against Callie, everything—as long as he gets immunity."
"Immunity?" Devon's voice rose. "He paid Harold to destroy her. He orchestrated—"
"He claims he never wanted it to go this far. That he only wanted Emery's career destroyed, wanted her driven out of the valley, humiliated, so his family wouldn’t want her as an heir if and when his father decided to find her —or he passed. He says his sister always had something else in mind, and he couldn’t keep her in check.
” Sandy held up her hand when he tried to say something.
"I'm not saying he's innocent. I'm saying he's willing to testify to put his sister away for a very long time. "
Devon wanted to care. Wanted to feel something about Winston's change of heart or Jim Webb's arrest. But all he could think about was Emery. Seeing her. Touching her. Knowing for certain she was alive and safe.
"Where is she?"
"Room 4, down that hall." Sandy pointed. "She was asking for you. Very brave, by the way. Kept her head through the whole ordeal."
Devon was already moving, striding down the corridor, scanning room numbers. One. Two. Three. Four.
He pushed through the door.
Emery sat on the exam table, her hair tangled, a bruise blooming across her cheek, her wrists and ankles wrapped in bandages. But she was alive. Whole. Looking up at him with those green eyes that had haunted him for hours.
"Devon—"
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into his arms, careful of her injuries but unable to stop himself from holding her as close as possible. She was warm and solid and real, her heart beating against his chest, her breath on his neck.
"I thought I lost you," he said, his voice breaking. "When I found that mug in the grass and you were gone—I thought—"
"I'm okay." Her arms came around him, squeezing back. "I'm okay."
He pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curve of her jaw. "I love you. God, I love you so much. I'd be lost without you. I can't—I couldn't imagine my life without you in it."
She laughed. Actually laughed. The sound caught him off guard.
"What?"
"You're coming on a bit strong." Her smile was soft, warm, everything he'd been terrified he'd never see again. "Though, I appreciate the dedication."
"I almost lost you."
"But you didn't." She reached up, covering his hands with hers. "I'm right here. And I love you, too."
He kissed her then, pouring every ounce of fear and relief and love into it. She kissed him back, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, despite her injuries and the fact that they were in a hospital room with the door wide open.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his.
"Never again," he said. "Never again do I leave you alone. I don't care if family or police or an entire army surrounds us. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"That might get awkward."
"I don't care."
"Even in the bathroom?"
"Especially in the bathroom. Those are prime kidnapping locations."
She laughed again, and the sound loosened something in his chest that had been locked tight for hours.
Familiar voices echoed in the hallway, growing louder and louder.
Michael Tate entered first, his face flooding with relief when he saw his daughter, followed by Walter and Brea, then Riley, Ashley, and Hasley. Bryson was the last to stroll across the threshold.
"Emery." Michael pushed past everyone else and pulled her into a careful hug. "Thank God you're okay."
"I'm fine, Dad. Really."
"Don't ever do that to me again." His voice was rough with emotion. "My heart can't take it." He pulled back, cupping her face, and kissing her temple.
"I'll do my best to avoid getting kidnapped in the future."
Brea wiped a tear before pulling Emery into a warm embrace. "We were so worried. We thought—"
"I know. I'm sorry,” Emery said.
"Don't apologize." Walter rested a gentle hand on her arm. “We’re just glad you’re safe, and that Callie and the man she hired have been arrested.”
Ashley and Hasley crowded in, both talking at once about how scared they'd been, how brave she was, how they were never letting her out of their sight again, either.
Riley hung back slightly, typing on her phone, probably already documenting everything for legal purposes or social media damage control.
Devon watched them all fuss over Emery, his family claiming her as one of their own, and felt his throat tighten. This was what he'd wanted. What he'd hoped for but hadn't quite believed could happen.
Emery belonged here. With them. With him.
And now that they'd almost lost her, he was never letting her go.