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“Sophie Wright?”
A deep voice catches my attention, and I turn my head to see who said my name. It’s Banning. His face looks more severe than I’ve ever seen it, his eyes hard.
“I need you to tell me what happened here,” he says, lifting his brows slightly. “Everything that happened. You may be asked to come down to the station for questioning as well.”
I nod, but as he proceeds through a list of routine questions about the who and where and how, my mind is blank, numb. All I can think about is Gray’s body inside that ambulance, possibly at the hospital by now. I know they’ll do all they can to save his life, but with his absence comes a fresh wave of fear.
What if he doesn’t make it? What then? I won’t be able to live with the knowledge that he took a bullet for me, laid down his life in place of mine. What will I do if he’s gone?
I don’t have time to think about that, because a cop comes up from the bunker several moments later. “Two victims, both dead on the scene,” he says. “Identified as Alan Montgomery and Charles Davenport.”
Detective Banning steps over to him, glancing back at me before conferring in low voices with the other officer. I look down at the ground, staring blankly at the trampled leaves and grass as I listen to their quiet conversation.
I’m not able to pick up every word amidst the noises and chaos, but I hear enough to get the gist of their discussion.
Security footage… recovered… Montgomery killed Davenport…
As I listen, a knot slowly unwinds in my chest. Alan obviously had this bunker well-protected—including having security cameras set up to record any intruders. He almost certainly would’ve erased the footage if he’d gotten out of the bunker alive. But he didn’t. So video recordings of the entire fucked up confrontation still exist.
Proof that Alan attacked us. Proof that Declan killed him in self-defense.
Banning heads down into the bunker for a while, and I find Elias speaking to another cop, a slightly shell-shocked look on his face. I stand with him until Banning emerges from the depths of the bunker again several minutes later.
“You’re good to go.” He nods grimly. “We’ll be in touch with further questions. But for now, you can go.”
As soon as Detective Banning releases us, we practically sprint to Gray’s car, still parked where we left it. I panic for a second as we near it.
“The keys! Did—”
“I’ve got a spare.” Declan’s voice is hollow as he pulls his key ring from his pocket. “We’re good.”
“We have to get to the hospital,” I whisper, my voice shaking a little. “Fuck, we need to see if Gray is going to be…”
Elias reaches for the keys, plucking them from his friend’s hand. “Let me drive, I know the way.” He looks at Declan and me and adds, “Neither of you look fit to drive.”
Declan hasn’t said a word since he shot Alan, except for answering the police officer’s questions, and instead of taking the front seat, I slide into the back with him, sitting close enough that our shoulders and thighs touch.
Elias’s gaze flickers to us from the rearview mirror as he turns on the car and heads back toward the main road. I can see concern reflected in his light brown eyes, but his lips curve into a soft smile, as if he’s thanking me for taking care of Declan. For sticking close to him.
The drive to the hospital seems to take forever, and I spend all of that time wondering if Gray even made it to the ER alive. I’m sure it’s a state-of-the-art medical facility, and that the nurses and doctors taking care of him are well-trained professionals for emergency situations. But life has fucked me over enough times that I already feel hopelessness filling my chest.
As soon as we reach the hospital, I practically run to the front desk. “Gray Eastwood,” I blurt to the receptionist at the ER. “We’re looking for a Gray Eastwood. Can we see him? Is he…”
She gives me a tight smile, holding up a finger as she checks her computer. “What was the name?”
“Gray. Eastwood.”
I have to consciously work to keep from shouting the name at her. I want to rip the keyboard from her hands and type it in myself.
“Let me just check for you, all right?” She speaks in what I think is supposed to be a calming tone as she taps at the keyboard. “Yes. We did have a Gray Eastwood come in just over an hour ago. What’s your relation?”
“He’s my…”
My throat closes over the words.
He’s my what?
My enemy turned lover? My boyfriend? My protector?
