Chapter Five
Abbott
What in the hell is going on with this day?
I watch as my stalker slinks away, gun in hand, taking my cell with him. This isn’t how I expected tonight to end. This isn’t how I’ve ever expected any night or maybe my actual life to end.
I could die here today. I could die, and what do I have to show for my life other than my career? What important connections have I made?
I’m stuck between a stalker and attempted murderers, not sure what the first wants, but clearly the second wants to kill him.
I should run. While they’re distracted, trying to kill each other, I should get the hell out of here.
Just as I move into position, ready to get lost among the sea of vehicles, I hear the pop, pop, pop of gunfire.
My first instinct is to curl up and cover my head. The shots are coming from behind the vehicle, a literal gunfight going on behind me.
I hear a curse, what I think is a body hitting the side of a vehicle, then another squeal of tires as the vehicle screeches away.
My body is frozen, heart punching heavily against my chest. I need to move, need to get up, need to get the hell out of here, but it’s not every day a guy holds a gun on you before other guys try to kill your stalker.
When I hear stumbling footsteps move toward me, I don’t have any choice but to prepare for whoever or whatever is about to happen.
I sit up just as my stalker comes around the corner, leaning against my vehicle, gun in his right hand, but also pressing that right hand to his left shoulder. “Get up,” he orders. “We’re leaving.”
“Fuck you,” I say, but push to my feet, just as he points the gun at me.
“Come with me.”
“I’m not.” The gun is shoved under my chin, and bile rises in my throat, heart running so fast I’m sure I’m going to drop dead right here. I have no choice but to follow him.
I trail behind my stalker as he pulls on the passenger door handle. The damn thing opens, probably because my keys are in my pocket and I’m standing close. “Get in.”
“You’ve been shot,” comes out of my mouth first, though.
“No shit. You must be really good at your job. I have no idea how you figured that out. Get in the fucking SUV.”
It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, but with a gun pointed at me, I don’t have a choice.
“Climb over to the driver’s seat.” I take a quick glance around, looking for something—someone—but the lot is quiet. Did he shoot one of the men? If so, where is he?
I shake my head. “We don’t need to go anywhere right now other than in the hospital to get you checked out by a doctor…and to call the cops.”
“No cops, and why do I need a doctor when I have one right here?”
I clench my jaw. “You can’t…you don’t…I’m not.”
“Get in the fucking SUV with me, Doc. Now.” He grabs me by the shirt and pushes me inside.
I do as he says, moving to the driver’s side. My stalker is right behind me.
“Did you kill any of those guys?” I have no idea why I need to know, but he has a gun, and there was shooting happening.
“I hope so. I shot him, but the coward got pulled back into the car before they took off. If he doesn’t die now, he will soon.”
I gulp at that, not doubting for a moment that what he says is true.
“You hope so?” And if they’re not dead, they will be. “You’re a murderer.”
“Just drive and get us the fuck out of here,” he says, ignoring what I said.
I open my mouth to reply, but then he points the gun, so with a sigh, I start the vehicle and then back out.
Jesus…this man just possibly killed someone—someone who was trying to kill him, but still. I’m in the car with a murderer going God-knows-where, and I don’t even hear any sirens. Didn’t anyone hear the gunshots? Shouldn’t the police be coming?
“Go right,” he says when I pull out of the hospital lot.
Clearly, that conversation is over. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Don’t think about doing something stupid.” He reaches into my center console, where I have a second work badge. “Doctor Abbott.”
“Do you know who my father is?” It’s the last thing I want to use, the last thing I want to say, but really, what choice do I have? If using my asshole father to get me out of this situation is the only card I have, I’ll play it.
“No, but I assume you’re going to tell me, and you think it will change something.” He takes off his suit jacket, trying to tie it around the bullet wound in his arm.
“You’re not going to be able to do that by yourself.”
“Shut up and drive,” he counters.
Okay, so he doesn’t care, so I go back to my previous discussion. “My name is Preston Abbott.” I’m sure my first name will add some context.
He turns his head slowly, looking at me. I see when recognition hits his green eyes. They’re really vivid in color, almost like an emerald green. It’s a contrast to his thick, dark lashes and dark hair. “The fucking governor’s son?” he asks before laughing. “Because of course you are.”
Of course I’m the governor’s son? “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He rubs the back of his neck with his good hand, gun on his lap.
“You should really let me check your wound,” I say. “I have a medical bag in the back with some supplies.”
“Get on Interstate 93 North,” he instructs, before placing his hand on the gun again. I take that as the warning I’m sure it is.
Without much choice, I do as he says, while trying to figure out how this can end well for me.
He was following me tonight.
This couldn’t be about me. His surprise when I told him who my father is was obvious, so I know it’s not some weird political thing where someone comes for me to get back at my dirty politician of a father.
Someone then tried to kill him…he shot at least one of them…then kidnapped me. Those are the three points that are truly sticking out to me. There’s no way he can let me out of this alive. The only way I don’t end up dead is to hurt him first or get away from him myself.
“Who are you?” I ask, but he ignores me. “Fine. Why were you following me?” I try, and then glance over to see him rubbing his nape again. Nervous habit? He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who gets nervous about much—if anything. And if he does, I feel like he would try to hide it.
“Because you’re intriguing.”
I’m… “What?” That makes absolutely no sense.
“You heard me,” he replies before turning to look at me. “Are you married?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” I counter, and the look of disgust on his face tells me everything I need to know about him. “Oh, too macho for that? You’re sitting in the car next to a gay man right now. Starting to regret your choice of target?”
Maybe I misjudged him, and this is some kind of ransom situation, and he does know who my father is. But if that were the case, he would have looked into me, and my sexuality is common knowledge.
“I’m not homophobic,” he says.
“You seem like it to me,” I taunt.
“You don’t know anything about me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Why am I arguing with you?” From the tone of his voice, the uncertainty of it, I can tell it’s a real question.
I seem to be able to irritate him. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.
“My son is…well, honestly, I don’t know what my son is, but he’s in love with a man. ”
“First of all, the whole I know a queer person defense isn’t really a defense, and how do you not know how your son identifies?”
Before I realize what’s happening, he has the gun in hand, pointed at me. My heart jumps into my throat, and I swear it nearly climbs up and out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.” His son is a weak spot. That much is obvious.
“My. Son. Is. Everything. To. Me.” Each word is said like they’re each their own sentence, with such a ferocity I can guarantee my own father has never shown about me.
“Okay. Sorry. I understand.”
My stalker lowers the gun again, but doesn’t turn away from me. I feel his gaze on me as I continue to drive. “He’s lucky…to have you,” I say, but he scoffs.
“I don’t know about that. I’m a murderer, remember?”
“Yes, but one who loves your son…and his boyfriend.” I try for a lightness I don’t feel, hoping to put him at ease.
Maybe I can get more out of him that way.
Maybe I can find something to help me out of this situation before he makes me drive us to wherever he plans to kill me.
“So, you know two queer people. And now me, of course. I go by Abbott, by the way. Not Preston.” I hate sharing a name with my father.
“First of all, what you’re doing won’t work with me—trying to talk to me, to get close. Second, my nephew is with a man, as is my son’s best friend. My niece is also with a woman. I’m not homophobic.”
Wow. That definitely seems to be important to him, so I say, “Okay. You have an incredibly queer family. I’ve got it.” Still doesn’t mean he’s not a homophobe. That’s not how this works.
I’m surprised when he gives a soft chuckle. It feels so unlike him, but I don’t know why. It’s not as if I know him. Maybe because the main thing I know about him is that he’s a cold-blooded killer.
“I guess you could say that.”
He wipes sweat from his brow, which is wetter than it was a moment ago. He looks paler too. At least he’s back to holding the jacket over his wound instead of pointing his gun at me.
I glance up just as I approach an exit, make a quick decision, then pull off.
“What the fuck are you doing, Doc?” he asks.
“Going to take care of your wound so you don’t die.”
He curses but doesn’t argue. It’s not a busy exit, but one with a rest stop, so that’s where I go. There are a couple semitrucks and two cars, but they’re all toward one side of the lot, so I go to the opposite side.
Once parked, I turn off the vehicle and get out. “Where the fuck—” he starts, but his voice is cut off when I slam the door closed.
I walk around the SUV, grab my bag from the back, then go around and open his door, realizing for the first time that he never put his seat belt on. “You didn’t wear your seat belt.”
“Sorry, I was distracted. I’m running from the scene of a crime and got shot.”
“Shh.” My gaze shoots around like I expect someone to be close enough to have heard him, but then I remember it would be a good thing because maybe they would call the police, and I would be rescued.
“Turn around and face me.” He does as I say. “We need to get your shirt off.”
“Wait.” He looks around toward the bathrooms closer to the other side of the lot, and then the trees.
“Cameras?” I ask.
“None here. Probably by the bathroom.”
He doesn’t need to say that it would be impossible to see what we’re doing at this angle.
I’m all business as I unbutton his white shirt that’s covered in blood.
“Lean forward for me.”
He does, and there’s an exit wound, so the bullet will be back at the hospital.
“That’s good. It went all the way through. It’s impossible for me to tell how bad the bone or nerve damage is.”
“I’ll be fine,” he replies. “Though I’m sure you wish I weren’t.”
“That’s not true. I’m not like you. I don’t rejoice in the death of anyone.”
“Who said I do?”
“The fact that you shot that man so callously.”
“That man who would have killed us both if I hadn’t,” he counters.
“That doesn’t make it right,” I say. Luckily, I have saline solution in my bag, which I use to clean his wound. “You’re going to have a lot of soft tissue damage.”
“Sew it up so we can be on our way. I don’t want to be here for long.”
“Good thing I’m the physician, and you’re not. I’m not going to sew it up, as you say. It needs to be left open to debride and be irrigated. Otherwise, bacteria will be trapped in your wound, and that’s how you die.”
“Again, something that would make life easier for you.”
“I’m not you,” I tell him. “I save lives, not take them.”
He doesn’t respond, but I see his jaw tighten, see the way it ticks in anger, but I didn’t say anything that’s not true. If he doesn’t like who he is, he’s the only one who can change that.
I do a quick job of cleaning his injury and bandaging it, which, for now, is the best I can do. I don’t have antibiotics, but I do have some ibuprofen, so I give him four of those. My stalker takes them dry without any question.
I have a clean T-shirt in my gym bag, so I grab that and hand it to him. He cocks a brow, and I roll my eyes before sliding it over his head and pulling his arms through.
“I’m sorry,” I say, when he winces.
“Why do you care?” At first, I think the question is sarcastic, but when I meet his gaze, I see the sincerity there.
He’s actually curious why I would care that I hurt him.
Is it because he wouldn’t care? Or because no one is careful with him?
Maybe a combination of both—not that it should matter.
Psychoanalyzing my kidnapper shouldn’t be a priority.
“I told you why. I take care of people. It’s what I do.”
“But I’m a murderer…and a kidnapper…among other things. You’ve said so yourself.”
“Yes, you are. And I hate you for that, but I’m not going to let who you are change who I am. Your demons are your own.” I reach around him and grab the empty water bottle from the cup holder. “You need to stay hydrated. I’m going to fill this up.”
I try to walk away, but his hand lashes out, wrapping swiftly around my wrist. “Who said you could go anywhere? You’re my prisoner.”
“As you pointed out earlier, I’m also your doctor. Let go of my hand…please.”
He watches me, his emerald gaze intense and penetrating. My pulse stumbles, this strange flipping happening in my gut that has to be…fear? Hell, I don’t know. It’s hard to understand, but anything would be in this moment.
“The water fountain is right there.” I point to one that’s only about fifty feet away from us.
“Don’t run, Doc. You won’t get far.”
He lets me go, the lingering feeling of his warm palm still ringing my wrist.
That’s…weird, right? It’s all I can think as I walk to the water fountain. That I can still feel where he touched me…and that I don’t even try to run.