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“Lyrie.” She tried to knock at the door her head rested against.
The glass was cool against her temple but did nothing to help the pain. Her head felt scrambled, as if pieces had been rearranged inside it, leaving her with a feeling of disassociation and complete terror.
“Lyrie, please help me . . .” She tried to knock again, her voice hoarse, weak as she lay at her sister’s doorstep.
How had she gotten there?
Her breath hitched as sobs tried to escape yet still lay trapped inside her. She couldn’t scream or cry. Her voice was so raw and she was so weak. She wanted a drink of water so bad, but her stomach was still pitching, threatening to be sick again.
“Lyrie, please . . .” Where was her sister?
It was so cold. The cement of her sister’s small patio was like ice.
Oh God, was she dressed? Was she still naked?
She couldn’t tell. But she was so cold, so cold she was shuddering, icy from the inside out. Where was Lyrica? She was so scared. And she was so cold.
She needed to be warm again. Just for a minute. Just so she could think.
“Zoey?” It wasn’t her sister.
The voice was soft, gentle, as were the hands that pushed the hair back from her face with tender concern.
She forced her eyes open, staring into the confused, concerned gaze of her sister Lyrica’s neighbor, Samantha Bryce. The police detective, Samantha Bryce.
Sam. She had to tell Sam. Sam would keep her from dying.
Sam would take her away. She would lock her up and Zoey would never be free again.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Tell Momma I’m so sorry, Sam.”
“Come on, Zoey. Let’s get you inside before someone sees you.”
Long brown curls flowed around Zoey as Sam’s hair slipped over her shoulder and spilled against her own.
It was longer than Zoey thought. Spiral curls like her own. The long, loose, springy curls and deep waves were warm against her neck and shoulders.
Sam lifted her, cradling her in her arms and quickly moving from Lyrica’s patio door to the one next to it.
Icy air surrounded her, but she didn’t feel naked. She was in her shorts and tank she slept in. When had she dressed?
“Sam, I’m so scared,” she sobbed against the other woman’s neck. “I’m so scared.”
Sam’s heart was pounding hard and fast against Zoey’s arm beneath the tank she wore. And though Zoey knew the other woman should be warm, still, that icy freeze encased her.
She would never be warm again. Not ever.
“It’s okay, Zoey.” Sam whispered the promise, her voice deep, sounding thick, clogged. “I promise, we’ll make it okay.”
Sam laid her on a bed, easing her back and sitting down beside her.
“Zoey,” she whispered, her voice rough and worried. “Look at me, sweetie. Open your eyes.”
Zoey fought to open them, but it hurt so bad.
Her head hurt so bad.
“Tell Momma I’m so sorry,” Zoey begged, lifting her arm, trying to catch Sam’s arm, to make her understand.
