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I ignore all of it.
“Evangeline,” I call out. The hair on my arm stands up, and I raise my gun on instinct.
I press my back against the cool window-wall. My gaze darts around the lobby, turning my head slightly to make sure I’m still alone. The parking lot remains empty, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong here.
Think, I command myself. If I was Evangeline, where would I go? What would I do?
My brain feels muddled and sleep-deprived. I shake my head a few times, the movement small and quick, my eyelashes blinking too fast as if that will simply clear the cobwebs and fog from my brain.
Think.
It’s been days since she was taken, so If I was her, I would find somewhere relatively safe. A space where I could lay low and defend myself if I had to.
I squint, scanning the lobby for any blind spots or out-of-the-way spaces. My gaze snags on the large fake potted plants in the corners and the little alcove with three vending machines. Otherwise, the lobby is a big open, empty space.
Which leaves the restrooms.
The soles of my boots crunch over shattered glass from the corner of the last vending machine. I idly wonder if Evangeline busted it open to snag some food. My gut clenches at the idea of her being hungry and scared.
My senses are on high alert as I listen for even the smallest, the most minute noise. I shoulder open the door to the women’s restroom and the hinges creak so loudly I have to suppress my own flinch.
“Evangeline?” I keep my voice nice and even. I don’t know if she’s in here, but I have to imagine if she is, she’s scared. Possibly not thinking straight. And the last thing I want to do is be the cause of more fear.
“It’s me, sugar. Are you in here? You can come on out now, you’re safe.”
Silence echoes off the walls, the only sound a faint drip of a leaky faucet. The fluorescent lights flicker, casting shadows around the room.
I tuck my gun back into the waistband of my pants and take a step forward. Every beat of my heart pounds against my ribcage and adrenaline courses through my body, making me feel weightless.
Two stalls stand open and empty, their metal doors gleaming under the harsh lights. I approach the last stall and push against the door, but it doesn’t budge.
It’s locked from the inside.
Hope zips down my spine, sparking along each vertebrae as I realize that maybe, just maybe, she’s in there.
“Evangeline,” I murmur. “Come on out now, baby girl. It’s alright.” I try the handle again, giving it a gentle shake, but it stays firm.
A sniffle breaks the silence, and then the lock spins and the door swings open with a low creak. And in the dimly lit public restroom of a rest stop, in the middle of nowhere, I lay eyes on the love of my life for the first time in three days.
Evangeline Carter looks like an avenging angel.
Dirt-stained clothes, dried blood on her forehead, and wild eyes.
And still, she’s the most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen.
I find myself thanking god or whoever is listening for giving her back to me.
“Lincoln,” she says on a hopeful gasp, dropping something to the floor and rushing toward me.
I barely have enough time to open my arms before she jumps. She wraps herself around me with a sob, burying her face in my neck. One hand instinctively goes under her ass to hold her up while the other slides up her back and hugs her to me.
Her soft gasp catches in her throat. “Lincoln, you’re here.”
Relief and gratitude become a tempest of storms inside of me, swirling around and around until I feel my sinuses tingle. It’s a foreign feeling, and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to realize what’s happening. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull her in even tighter. I worry for a second that I’m hurting her, but when I try to lessen my hold, she makes a low noise in protest.
“Are you okay? Hurt anywhere?” I run my hand up her spine, palming the base of her hairline and sinking my fingers into her locks.
She shakes her head, her lips skimming against my skin. Hot tears seeping through the fabric of my tee and soaking into my skin. The words she mumbles are incoherent, but I can feel the heavy weight of her emotion.
