STEPHANIE
THIRTEEN
The trouble with finding a safe place is that sometimes it’s a person.
“Call it in,” Agent Thompson snaps from the back seat.
I keep my gaze trained on the road, terrified to look at the two agents bleeding around me.
“No,” James says, his voice echoing with command. I relax a little. “Someone ratted you out.”
“There are other ways he could have found her,” Agent Thompson argues.
That Camryn isn’t arguing or even speaking is worrying.
“Are you sure enough to risk it?” James says.
A sign for a local hospital appears. I need to get off the freeway and get her to a hospital.
Agent Thompson mutters something under his breath.
“Where are you going?” James asks.
I frown. Who is he speaking to?
“Stephanie.”
Oh, me.
“Emergency room.”
“Nope. Get back on the freeway.”
I risk a glance at Camryn. There’s an alarming amount of blood pooling on the seat beneath her.
“No.”
“Don’t argue with me, woman. It’s the first place they’ll check.”
“He’s not wrong,” Agent Thompson adds.
“And will your wife find that excuse satisfactory when she’s standing over your grave with your two fatherless children?”
Shocked silence surrounds me. That’s the problem when you’re someone who rarely asserts themselves; everyone acts like you’re being difficult when you do. I’m not apologizing for prioritizing the health of the people protecting me.
“If you guys die, then who is going to help me?” I explain. “Give me another solution that gets medical help for you both and I will happily take it.”
“We need to get off the road anyway,” Agent Thompson says with a pained groan. “The shattered window will attract attention soon enough.”
“Precisely. Glad you see it my way.”
“I’m sending you a location now,” James says. The navigation screen comes to life, and a destination twenty-three minutes away appears. I don’t bother asking how he’s hacked the car’s computer system. That’s not the important thing.
“It’s too far. The hospital is closer.”
“The hospital will get you kidnapped and the agents you are trying to protect killed. There’s already a notification search for a woman with two injured agents out for the state.”
I grit my teeth. I know he’s right, but I don’t like it.
“What kind of medical team is there?”
“It’s a private hospital. Two emergency surgeons and a team are on standby.”
Why does he have private medical staff on hand? The answer is both obvious and terrifying.
“They won’t report the gunshot wounds,” James adds.
Agent Thompson presses his fingers against Camryn’s neck. Don’t tell me she’s dead. My heart won’t take it. No one needs to die because of me. I don’t care if it’s their job.
“She’s okay,” Agent Thompson declares. “Do it.”
I shake my head and focus on following the satnav, drowning out everything but driving. James is quiet, but I know he’s still there. Every so often, he offers words of encouragement. Since when does one get praised for taking the right turn?
Time does that magic thing where it stretches impossibly thin and disappears with each heartbeat that edges Camryn toward death.
I turn onto a leafy, quiet main street in a town.
The dark windows of the stores promise a variety of local goods and delights.
I have no idea where we are. It should be disorienting, but having coordinates won’t tether me to the world.
That is formed by something intangible I haven’t yet discovered.
I thought maybe I could find it with Honor and Fox.
The universe sure proved me wrong. Is it me?
Am I fighting a fate that was written in my flesh when I was born?
“It’s the white building on your left,” James instructs. “The man and the women standing outside are the surgeons ready to assess both agents.”
I nod at the pair and pull the car to a stop. I blink at the window.
“Stephanie?” James prompts. “You need to release the internal locks.”
I swallow the rising panic and press the button, allowing the strangers entry.
Four more people appear with two gurneys.
The staff work fast, muttering vitals and immediate medical decisions to each other before they move either agent.
I gather Camryn isn’t as bad as I thought, but Agent Thompson was hiding the extent of his injuries.
Idiotic man. If he dies, I’ll bring him back to murder him for not putting himself first.
I watch the staff for signs that they aren’t here to help us until they disappear with both patients on gurneys and it’s just me.
Alone. For the first time since this started.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and stare into the night, contemplating my choices.
I could drive. Disappear. The thought is more appealing than it should be.
Perhaps society isn’t for me? I grit my teeth as I try to control the rush of thoughts demanding that I retreat to the institute.
That’s not living though. I close my eyes, lean my head on the steering wheel, and breathe.
In, out. In, out. Why does it hurt so much? It shouldn’t be this difficult.
“Stephanie?”
I jerk my head up. “I thought you’d left me.”
“Never. But there’s a doctor waiting to check you over.”
I glance at the door and frown at the woman standing patiently with her hands folded in front of her. “Did one of them die?” I whisper. Is that why the doctor is here and not with one of the agents?
“No, but Camryn is stable. This is Melanie. I trust her, but she’s not going to approach without your permission.”
My shoulders sag, and I blow out a breath.
She’s going to be okay. I roll my head against the steering wheel and squeeze my eyes closed at the rush of memories.
The internal examination, the collection of evidence, the woman medic who reassured me at every step that it would be kept confidential and safe.
It wasn’t, and that torture was for nothing when the samples and notes disappeared, taking with them the hope for a win in the courtroom.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure, but it would give me peace of mind if you let her double-check.”
I groan and shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“For me.”
I hate that he knows how to manipulate me. That my weakness is making sure everyone around me is happy, regardless of how I feel. It’s a product of growing up with a narcissistic mother. I was always the problem, no matter how perfect I tried to be for her.
“Fine, but don’t leave me.”
“Not a chance. Melanie is going to hand you her phone.”
The doctor with kind blue eyes and a reassuring smile opens the door and does exactly that. I take it and find James staring at me through the screen. “I’m here,” he reassures me. His voice is no longer around me; he’s more tangible on a video call.
“Can you sit up for me, Stephanie?” Melissa coaxes. I lean back and hiss. She frowns at my temple. “Where does it hurt?”
My heart. My mind. My soul. Do you have a cure for a bruised psyche?
“My ribs,” I explain. “I think it’s stress.”
Black dots bounce across my vision, and my head swims as I allow the pain to register.
“Okay, perhaps not,” I whisper as I fight to stay conscious.
Melanie’s expression softens. “Okay, sweetheart, I need you to stay with me for a second.”
I hate that tone. The gentle one people use when they think you’re about to fall apart. “I’m staying,” I mutter as I narrow my eyes. “I’m also not a sweetheart.”
I can, on occasion, be a caustic bitch, but it’s not natural.
“You were in an environment where you were getting shot at.”
“I’m aware.”
One corner of James’s mouth twitches on the screen.
“Humor. That’s a good sign,” Melanie declares. “I meant I need to examine you for injuries after the amount of bullets that were flying around.”
“I wasn’t making a joke, and I think I’d know if I’d been shot.” But if sass is a measure of health, then consider me the poster child for perfection.
She reaches toward my shoulder. Every movement is telegraphed, giving me plenty of time to object. I appreciate that more than she probably realizes. Her fingers brush my side, and pain detonates beneath my ribs. Breath leaves my lungs in a hiss.
“There it is,” she murmurs. “You aren’t going to love me for what I need to do.”
“Don’t take it personally. I hate everybody.”
James chuckles, calling me out on my bullshit. Traitor. Melanie palpates higher, and I nearly climb out of my skin.
“Stephanie.”
“Hold still,” Melanie coaxes with a frown marring her forehead.
“I am holding still.”
“You tried to escape through the passenger door.”
I glance down at my body leaning over the console, trying to indeed make a break for it. Oops, that’s embarrassing. My vision tilts, and James’s face sharpens on the screen.
“Look at me,” he demands.
“I’m looking.”
“No, you’re glaring. There’s a difference.”
The laugh that escapes me hurts. Everything hurts. Melanie parts my hair near my temple.
“She’s got a graze, looks like a bullet wound on her temple. That’s where the blood is coming from.”
I frown. I’m bleeding?
She turns the phone slightly so I can see myself. A smear of dried blood streaks through my hairline.
“I didn’t feel it. I don’t know when it happened.”
But I do now, and holy wow, the burn is insane. Not a fan. Zero stars, do not recommend.
“You drove a getaway car with two injured FBI agents while being chased by armed men. I don’t think we need to pinpoint the exact moment.”
I like her.
She smiles. “Thanks.”
I said that aloud? I am not that person. I don’t word-vomit everything in my brain.
Melanie steps back and wiggles her fingers at me. “You’re safe to move inside so I can take an X-ray of your chest. You might have a concussion. Nothing severe from what I’m seeing, but I want a scan to be safe.”
I nod and swing my legs out of the car and onto the ground. My knees buckle, but Melanie has lightning-fast reflexes and catches me.
I grin at her. “Sorry. I can walk. I swear.’
“Well, save a woman’s old back and get in the wheelchair, okay?”
A man waits with the promised chair, and she lowers me into it before they rush me inside. James stays on the phone with me the entire time. I grit my teeth as the slightest jostle makes pain ricochet everywhere.
“Stay with me,” James demands. The words land deep. Not because of what he says, but because of how he says it. As if he knows exactly what I’m fighting. The vulnerability. The helplessness. The possibility of waking up and finding myself trapped again.
My fingers tighten around the phone. The black spots creep back into my vision as I’m wheeled into a room with a bed. It’s clean and clinical, but doesn’t smell of astringent like a typical medical building.
“I don’t want to pass out.” The confession slips out before I can stop it.
Melanie takes a step back, giving me space. James doesn’t rush to reassure me. Doesn’t tell me everything will be fine.
“I know,” he finally says. “But you have to be brave right now. Like you were when you barreled out of the garage like the hounds of hell were on your ass.”
Something inside my chest cracks, old and fragile.
“If I can’t protect myself...”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
I blink. The darkness presses at the edges of my sight. I fight it. Fight it harder. James witnesses every second.
“Stephanie, can you do something for me?”
My throat tightens. “What?”
“Count backwards from twenty.”
I stare at him. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
“That’s your plan?”
“Humor me.”
I roll my eyes. “Nineteen.”
“Good.”
“Eighteen.”
His voice remains steady. A lighthouse in rough water.
Seventeen.
Sixteen.
Fifteen.
The panic loosens its grip one number at a time.
Fourteen.
Thirteen.
Twelve.
“You’ve got a fractured rib or two,” Melanie murmurs. “Let’s get the machine in here.”
“Keep going,” James encourages.
She lifts my forearm. “There’s also a graze here.”
So close. I came so close to no longer living. Why? Because some rich asshole decided he wanted to ruin me?
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
My eyelids grow heavier.
“Stephanie.”
James’s face blurs.
Seven.
Six.
“Stay with me,” I beg. I don’t beg. I never beg. It doesn’t work.
Five.
“I am.”
Four.
A lie.
Three.
His gaze never leaves mine.
Two.
One.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I let someone else carry the weight. Just for a minute. I need to rest. Tomorrow, I’ll be back to fighting, because the alternative is to cry and hide, which I’ve already tried. It didn’t work out so well.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry for bringing him to your door. I will fix this, I promise. I will make your world safe again.”
I smile as the darkness takes me. Silly man. My world has never been safe, and he’s making promises he cannot keep.