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50 Delilah
There’s a pillow beneath my head and a hand in mine. Rough. Calloused. Calming. I groan, fighting to open my eyes, but failing. I try to move, but my legs and arms are heavy. My eyes fight to open, sick of the darkness that’s been keeping me here.
“Easy, darlin’. Just take it easy. You’re safe now. I have you.”
The deep, familiar rumble has me turning my face in search of the noise. I know that voice. This man.
Cole.
I blink open my eyes, then smile. Cole.
He’s the best sight I’ve ever seen, sitting beside me in a too-small chair, fists clenched on his knees.
“Hi, cowboy,” I croak.
“Delilah.” My name rips from his throat like a desperate prayer. His eyes are red, crazed, like I’ve been the source of his madness. “Thank god.”
He leans in, placing a big palm on my cheek before kissing my lips softly. He settles back in his chair, gaze still locked on my face.
“Where am I?” I scan my surroundings. At first, I think I’m in a hospital, but then I realize it’s a sterile-looking bedroom with medical equipment. Sunlight streams through a small window. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. The faint scent of gasoline and oil linger in the air.
He inhales deeply and blows out a breath. “You’re at Syd’s shop. He has a doctor on site. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last two days.”
Cole’s voice is ragged, raw. As is his face. The man looks battered. Dark circles under his eyes. His scruff thicker than usual. He hasn’t slept or showered or changed. Ash and blood cover his wrinkled clothes.
“Hmm. An autobody shop and a hospital. I think I’ve seen everything.” Cocking my head, I give him a small smile. “What happened?” I try to recall my last memory, but my mind is fuzzy.
“You don’t remember?”
I touch my temple like the very act can conjure up a memory. “There was a fire…and a…” I strain my mind. As fuzziness gives way to clarity, so do the memories. The church. Please. Fighting for my life. Melly. Pain in my arm. Hot, searing. I remember the force of the bullet, so violent as it slammed into me.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You got shot.”
My eyes find the bandage on my upper left arm, then move to the IV stand next to the bed.
I reach up to clasp my necklace. Only it’s not there. I look to him with wide eyes. “Cole?”
“You got shot more than once,” he amends, and my heart stutters as he lifts the locket to my eyeline. I don’t miss the tremble of his hands. “You took a bullet in the chest, Delilah, but this stopped it.”
I swallow as Cole drops the locket in my palm. A bullet’s wedged deep in the center of the heart. I stare at it, breathless, teary-eyed.
“Lucky,” I breathe.
“Not lucky, Delilah.” His dark, serious gaze meets mine. “It was a miracle.”
“It was Lucy.” She was there with me that night. I felt her. She wouldn’t let me give up.
“Baby, you’re a miracle.” He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against my palm, then white knuckles my hand like he’ll never give it up. “You have some muscle damage, but you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to go slow. Take it easy.” A chuckle leaves his lips. “Take it easy on me. Because you nearly put me in the grave waiting for word on you.”
“Just keeping you on your toes, cowboy.” I squeeze his hand. A second of hesitation, then I ask, “What about Please?”
“Dead.” Cole’s eyes harden, his expression merciless. Those broad shoulders tighten with tension. “His name’s Marcus D’Angelo. He was a movie producer in Los Angeles. Langford’s contact at the FBI is putting the pieces together. He found a library of movies, and a paper trail leading to a dark web browser. They’re arresting anyone who ever purchased any of his fucking movies.”
I blink back tears, but nod, needing to hear it all.
“It’s all over the news. They’re looking for the girls on the USB drive. They’ve recovered two alive, so far. But there are still hundreds out there.”
“Melly?”
