Page 98 of Knox

“You’ll be with her?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The older woman deliberated, then nodded. “I’ll sign the discharge papers, if you promise to take it easy for the next few days,” she told Sloane. “If you experience any measure of dizziness, nausea, or difficulty breathing, come back immediately.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Thirty minutes later, we were free.

I guided Sloane through the emergency department, past gawking staff and curious patients, into the parking lot where afternoon sun beat down with cheerful indifference to the morning’s horror.

“The missing woman?” Sloane asked as we reached my Jeep.

My jaw clenched. “Still missing. But Walter Junior’s lawyer is already working on a plea deal. He’ll tell them where she is, and if she’s still alive, he wants life in prison instead of the death penalty.”

“If she’s alive.” Sloane’s voice broke on the last word.

“They’re moving fast. There’s still a chance.” I helped her into the passenger seat, hating how carefully she moved. How gingerly she touched her bruised throat. “Here.” I pulled a bottle of water from the backseat. “Doctor said to stay hydrated. And take these.” I shook a prescription bottle. “Super strength Tylenol. Take two now.”

Sloane accepted the pills and we were on our way.

I drove toward her house on autopilot, mind replaying the moment I’d arrived to find Walter Lehman Junior attacking her. My call to her had been cut short by her attack, and I’d broken every traffic law on the island getting to her.

I never should’ve left her alone. I’d spend the rest of my life making that up to her, if she’ll let me.

Thankfully, Sloane was a fighter. She’d held him off long enough for me to get there. And I loved that about her.

Hell, I just loved her.

Pride swelled in my chest, mixing with residual terror and overwhelming relief. I was lucky just to know her. And she loved me too.

My phone rang. Nash’s name appeared on the screen.

“Yeah?” I answered, putting the call on speaker.

“Got an update,” Nash said, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

Sloane’s hand found mine, cold fingers gripping tight.

“Walter Senior’s talking,” Nash said. “Asked for a lawyer first, but he’s cooperating now. Turns out he suspected his son might be involved but didn’t want to point fingers without being certain.”

“Jesus.” I tightened my grip on the wheel.

Sloane looked at me. “That’s why he was acting so weird, wanting to help us search. He thought we’d find his kid.”

“Probably,” Nash agreed. “Senior has a long history of domestic violence with multiple restraining orders over the years. His son took it ten steps further. Stalking and abducting women across multiple states. Unlike Dad, he just never got caught.”

Sloane made a small sound beside me, and I squeezed her her hand.

“How did Sam identify him?” I asked. “If Junior’s been flying under the radar?”

“One drunk and disorderly charge eight years ago. Only thing in the system. Without that arrest photo in the database, the sketch artist would’ve had nothing to match.” Nash paused. “Sam saved the day on this one. Kid’s got a hell of an eye for detail.”

“Walter told me about his son. I never gave the detail any thought,” I said. “He told me he lived in Walla Walla.”

“According to records, he hasn’t lived there in a very long time,” Nash said.

No, he’d been hunting women along the eastern seaboard.