“We’ll get out of this in one piece.” A trip to the police substation was a guarantee at this point. “Just a couple more blocks, right?”
“That’s right,” she confirmed.
“Can you grab a pic of the license plate?” he asked, figuring the law could track down the driver based on the vehicle’s registration.
The drive took a few minutes. The stop cost them two hours of time. As they were being walked out, a law enforcement officer looked up from his computer screen. His nametag read: Sargeant Amber.
“We got a hit on the plate,” he said, then frowned. “It was stolen from an elderly couple’s vehicle while they were at the grocery. They didn’t notice until one of our officers knocked on the door and asked about it.” He made a sharp tic of disapproval. “Shame it didn’t lead us anywhere.”
“We appreciate the update, Sargeant,” Blaize said. He shouldn’t be surprised at the development. As much as he was convinced the person who’d attacked Carys’s vehicle during the storm wasn’t an experienced criminal, switching plates before chasing someone didn’t take much brilliance. Or a criminal mind. The move fell into the “common sense” category. If you were going to chase someone and possibly ram your vehicle into them, you wouldn’t want to advertise your home address via a license plate.
With that, he and Carys headed outside into the late-afternoon sun.
Going to the address Thomas had given them felt like stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Since the license was a no-lead, doing nothing meant making no progress.
“Stinks that we didn’t make any progress on who is behind this,” Carys said after buckling her seat.
“I know.”
She rubbed the back of her neck and winced.
“Are you sure about not going to the ER to get checked out?” he asked, concerned she might still be in a mild state of shock, in which case any pain might not have kicked in yet.
“We don’t have time.”
“We can make time,” he said.
“It wouldn’t be worth the trip. I’ll take ibuprofen after we eat dinner.”
He opened his mouth to plead the case for going to the hospital and then clamped it shut. Panic seized him. The knot in the center of his chest tightened. He clenched his back teeth. All his systems went on high alert.
Memories of frequent hospital trips stamped his thoughts, playing out like a slideshow. Images of Lynn in wheelchair after wheelchair in various states of pain and anguish struck him like physical blows.
“I’m okay. I promise.” Carys’s reassurance did nothing to stem the emotional storm brewing.
After cutting on the engine, he forced an exhale and said, “Promise me one thing.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Let’s hear it.”
“You’ll let me know if the pain worsens or you think for a second you might need to get looked at. Okay?” He couldn’t count the times he’d had to respond to Lynn’s screams of pain or found her flopped onto the floor because she waited too long to tell him about the pain. Thinking about it now brought on a flood of frustration and stress.
Understanding dawned. It was written on her face in the way her eyes and lips softened, and the muscles in her forehead relaxed.
She dropped her hand and reached across to touch his. “I feel a little stiff in the back of my neck from the jolt during impact.My head doesn’t hurt. Just my neck. I fully believe it’s temporary and will go away on its own. However, if my vision blurs or I get a headache, you’ll be the first to know.”
Those words brought his pulse down faster than the temperature dropping on a winter day.
“Thank you,” he said to her, locking onto her gaze for a few seconds longer than was probably good for him. “You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
“Of course,” she said. “And I hope you’ll do the same. Tell me if anything feels off. Because I’m worried, too.”
He hadn’t expected that. He’d always been the “strong one” when it came to his relationship with Lynn. He’d been the one offering reassurances and sitting by her side during and after one of her episodes.
“Sounds like a fair deal to me,” he said before breaking eye contact and backing out of the parking spot.
The ride to the MLK house was quiet. Not the awkward silence of strangers but two people who didn’t need words between them. A lot could be said in the silence.
“I hate the fact that someone knows exactly who we are, and we have no clue about them,” Carys said as he drove past the house.
