Page 107 of Jameson’s Salvation

I pounded my head on the seatback in frustration and immediately regretted the sudden movement.

“And I have a damn headache. I’m going to kick her in the face when she comes back.”

I looked at the house and imagined Deloris sitting on the couch reading a magazine, not a care in the world I was dying of thirst and hot as hell.

“God! What a bitch. She blames me for Peyton’s death. Me! Can you believe that shit? He broke into my house. He tried to kill me. It’s Reggie’s fault, not mine. God, I hope he rots in jail forever.”

I don’t know how long I sat there feeling sorry for myself but it was long enough to be soaked in sweat and for fear to replace my anger. My head no longer ached—instead I was dizzy, so dizzy my eyes kept drifting closed.

This must’ve been Deloris’s plan. She was going to bake me in the car until I was dead. I fucked up, I should’ve kicked out the window when I had time. I should’ve taken the chance and if there was someone else in the house, I could’ve figured something out. Instead I’d waited too long.

“McKenna, if you’re still there, tell Jameson I’m sorry I messed up.”

I took a shallow breath and thought about his smile and what he sounded like when he laughed. I didn’t have it for long, but at least I had it.

“If I die in here, I need you to tell my mom I love her. And don’t let the police tell her. I know it’s a lot to ask, McKenna, but Jameson and Nixon should do it. They’ll know to go easy. They’ll know how to help her.”

I was so damn tired and my throat was so raw it hurt to speak, but if this was all the time I had left I needed to say a few more things before I fell asleep.

33

Jameson

Jameson had slipped past anger over two hours ago when Kennedy had started talking to McKenna after Deloris had locked her in the car. Then thirty minutes ago when she started talking about dying in the car, Jameson felt his heart shatter.

They’d made good time but they were still twenty minutes away, and by then, Kennedy could be out of time. On a day like it was, it would take thirty minutes for the temperature inside the car to reach over a hundred degrees. Kennedy had now been locked inside for almost two-and-a-half hours.

“I can’t breathe in here, it’s so hot,” Kennedy said. “I’m going to try to kick out the window.”

“Stay still, Kennedy,” Nixon muttered as if she could hear him.

The less energy she used, the better off she’d be.

There was a soft bang and Kennedy slurred, “I can’t fucking do it. I’m so stupid. McKenna. Tell Jameson I’m so sorry for being so stupid. God, I wish he was here.”

Jameson cursed a blue-streak and swerved around two cars in front of him.

“You’re turning left up here,” Nixon instructed.

“McKenna?” Kennedy called. “Thank you for keeping me company. I’m so happy Nixon found you. He’s so good. Always was.”

“Goddammit, Kennedy,” McKenna cried. “Don’t give up.”

“I hope you guys have lots of babies. I wish I could’ve seen them.” Kennedy sniffed, then started to cry. “I wish I’d had babies.”

That sob from Kennedy had wetness brimming in Jameson’s eyes.

“Hold on, Kennedy,” he growled. “Hold the fuck on.”

“I love him,” Kennedy cried. “Tell him that I was thinking about him when I closed my eyes.”

“Kennedy!” McKenna shouted even though there was no way for her to hear.

“Tell him I loved it when he laughed. That’s what I’m thinking about. The last thing I’m gonna hear is him laughing.” Kennedy choked back a sob and Jameson couldn’t breathe. “Thank you for being here, McKenna. Tell Jameson…just tell him…I’m tired. Too tired. I’m gonna go to sleep.”

Silence descended like a blow, the weight of it debilitating.

“Jameson,” Nixon called.