“You could also say thanks,” Atlas noted. “You know, seeing as how Lily and I helped save your life, too.” He rolled one shoulder. “According to the rules of legend, you now owe us your first born.”
Lily sighed. Heavily. “He didn’t mean that.” Atlas could be…a lot.
“I did mean that the man should thank us.” A fast retort from Atlas. “We were pivotal in the rescue mission. I hired those people who were helping dig him up?—”
“I’m going home with him,” Sloane cut in before Atlas got too wound up. “I’ll check in tomorrow. After we’ve rested.”
“Sloane…” A warning edge in Lily’s voice.
“I know what I’m doing.” Maybe. Potentially. Perhaps not. “He was the target, not me.”
Atlas peered over Preston’s shoulder. “Very determined doctors in white lab coats are storming this way. If you’re departing, I would suggest you do so now.” A brisk nod. “In the meantime, I’ll start my own investigation.”
“We’ll start it,” Lily corrected.
“Thank you,” Preston gritted out the words. Again, rusty, rusty words. Apparently, he did not often say please or thank you. “I will owe you, and I will pay you back.”
“Just not with a first born,” Sloane mumbled, but she didn’t know if Atlas or Lily even heard her because Preston was already moving. Not heading for the front of the hospital but dipping and dodging through a maze of corridors.
“This is not your first visit,” she murmured. No way could it be. She was lost, but he clearly wasn’t.
“I donated a wing.”
Sure.
He swept them past a security guard who frowned but didn’t stop the two people in scrubs before they exited through sliding glass doors. Sloane found herself in what looked like a loading zone. Lots of dollies. Some pallets. A few trucks.
And a limo.
Which one of these does not belong?
A driver jumped out of the limo. Opened the back door for Preston. In moments, Preston had her tucked inside the limo, and then they were driving off into the night.
They probably should have talked more to the sheriff and her deputies.
But she was just incredibly grateful to be out of the hospital. Not her favorite venue. She would have said a hospital was her least favorite place to be, but…
I have a new least favorite place to be now. That place would be in the ground, buried alive in a wooden coffin. A hospital was her second least favorite place to be.
Sloane was confident that the sheriff would find them soon enough. For the moment, she was just happy that she’d accomplished a few items on her to-do list.
Item one…Get out of my grave.
Done. With some timely assistance from her friends.
Item two…Stay close to Preston.
Again, done. All because he seemed to want to keep her at his side. Lovely, of course. Perhaps he’d felt that intense connection between them the same way she had. Maybe he’d been intent on keeping her close because part of him wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Kissing in the back of the limo would be far better than kissing in the tight confines of a coffin. And maybe they’d even go a step beyond kissing. She sent him a hopeful, wide smile. There was a soft, warm glow of light in the back of the limo. Romantic lighting. He’d be able to see her smile clearly.
Preston’s head tilted as his stare drifted to her smile. His expression seemed to harden. “All right, Sloane, cut the bullshit.”
Um…pardon?
“Who the fuck are you?”
She’d given the man her name. He’d literally just said it. He’d said…All right, Sloane, cut the bullshit.
But…
