Chapter 31
Knox
My heart hammered against my ribs as I flew down Ocean Boulevard, phone pressed to my ear, redialing over and over. Straight to voicemail every time.
Nash’s voice crackled through my Jeep’s speakers. “I’ve got units en route. ETA three minutes.”
“I’ll be there in one.” I took the turn onto Sloane’s street on two wheels.
Her house came into view. Deputy Lennox’s cruiser in the driveway. But Lennox was in the emergency room. Severe head trauma.
I slammed the Jeep into park and ran through the open garage door.
Blood dripped over the hardwood floor toward the marble tiles in the kitchen where sounds of a struggle rose and echoed.
I rounded the corner, fear turning to red-hot rage. And my world narrowed to a single point.
Walter Lehman Junior stood over Sloane, a kitchen knife raised high. Ready to strike.
Sloane sprawled on the floor before him, sliding backward, bleeding, eyes wide with terror.
Time slowed.
I crossed the space in an instant, bent forward at the waist, muscles braced for impact, and I hit him like a freight train. My shoulder blasted against his ribs from the side, lifting him off his feet and sending him through the air. We crashed into the kitchen island in a tangled heap.
The knife clattered across tile.
Walter swung his arms in a wild effort. His fist glanced off my jaw.
I grabbed his shirt, hauled him up, and put him down with two precise strikes. One to the solar plexus. One to the temple.
He dropped like a stone.
I kicked the knife away, then pulled zip ties from my pocket and secured his wrists behind his back.
“Knox.” Sloane’s terrorized voice broke me.
I spun and she was there, curled on the floor, trembling. Blood on her hands and streaked across her face. Fresh bruises already forming on her throat.
I crossed to her in two steps, dropping to my knees. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She collapsed against my chest, shaking. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her heartbeat against mine. Too fast. Too hard. But alive.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Always.” I pulled back just enough to check her over. The cuts on her palms. The swelling around her throat. Her split lip. “Did he cut you?”
“No.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, louder with my every breath.
I held her tighter, pressing my face into her hair. My hands shook as I ran them down her back, needing to feel she was real. Whole. Here.
“I thought I lost you.” My voice came out rough.
“I’m here.” She pulled back, cupping my face. “I’m okay.”
Nash and two deputies stormed in through the open garage doors, heavy footfalls preceding them, weapons drawn.
“We’re here,” I called.
Nash appeared first, taking in the scene. Walter unconscious on the floor. Sloane in my arms. Blood everywhere.
“Christ.” He holstered his weapon and spoke into his radio. “Suspect secured. Need paramedics inside.”
Emergency vehicles continued arriving until the house was filled with first responders.
Agent Darvis led Agent Reid through the mess.
“Ms. Mercer.” Darvis surveyed the destruction. She scanned Walter’s battered face, where paramedics strapped him to a gurney, my zip ties replaced with proper restraints. “When you’re late for an appointment, you certainly have a reason.”
Sloane managed a weak laugh.
A young paramedic approached us with a medical bag. “Do you need a gurney?”
“I can walk.” Sloane tried to stand, but her legs buckled.
I scooped her into my arms. “I’ve got her.”
I carried her through the house, past the deputies processing the scene, past the broken glass and splintered door.
Morning sun hit me like a physical blow when I stepped outside. Too bright. Too cheerful for what had happened. The growing wind did its best to blow us away.
Inside the ambulance, paramedics worked to remove glass fragments from her hands. I took a seat on the bench at her side.
The male paramedic climbed in and began his assessment. Blood pressure. Oxygen levels. Shining a light in her eyes.
“Pupils are reactive,” he said. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”
“Sloane Mercer.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Tuesday.” She coughed. “I think.”
“Close enough. It’s Wednesday.” He pressed gently around her throat. “This is going to hurt. Tell me if it gets too intense.”
Sloane flinched but held still.
It hurt me physically to see her in pain. Watching her try to be brave when she’d already fought so damn hard.
“Significant bruising,” the paramedic said. “Possible damage to the larynx. You’ll need imaging at the hospital.”
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You’re safe now. I promise.”
Through the back window, I watched Sloane’s house shrink and disappear from view, along with the week’s horrors.
And I made a silent vow.
Starting tomorrow, I would spend every day making her life beautiful.