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Having done his part, Jim puts the mask back on and sags. He’s doing everything he can to help, but at what cost? He’s obviously unwell. “Thanks, Jim. Go to the hospital. We’ll keep you updated,” I say, praying he’ll listen, but he’s tough as old leather, and I worry he’ll stay until his heart completely gives out.
Thankfully, the paramedic doesn’t give him a choice. “Loading,” she calls a second before she shoves the gurney into the ambulance, not giving a shit whether Jim is ready to go or not. “Incoming with cardiac arrhythmia post-stun gun shock,” she says over a radio, probably calling ahead to the hospital.
Evan arrived a few minutes after the police, and he offers, “I’ll check Stephen’s file for his address.”
“Already got it,” another officer says, holding up his phone where I can see Stephen’s driver’s license.
“Do you have any idea where he might’ve taken her? Other than his house, any place special? Or even readily available?”
I’m racking my mind, my family at my back and Samantha’s mom staring at me hopefully as if I hold the entirety of her world in my hands.
Samantha’s my world too, and I’d gladly take her place in this situation if I only knew where she was.
I look around, seeing the people along the curb who’ve come out to watch the drama unfold like this is some sort of television show, not my life ripping apart at the seams.
People.
There’s not a lot of them because so many of the buildings around here have been redone for businesses that are open during the day, and it’s late. But there’s one...
“What about Zack’s place?” I ask Carter. “It’s close, empty, private.”
“Where?” the officer demands. “Let’s check it.”
Carter frowns, thinking hard. “The address is... 11359 Jordan, I think.”
The officer nods, pushing a button at his shoulder and talking to the police at the other end of the channel. “Roll a unit to this address—”
But I can’t stand here and wait. I need to do something. It’s too far to run, and my car is blocked in by emergency vehicles. I hold my hand out to Kyle. “Key.”
His eyebrows jump up, but he digs in his pocket and puts them in my outstretched palm. “I will kill you if you so much as cuss at Lucille. She’s sensitive.”
I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in a long time, and only a few times at that, but it comes back to me literally like ‘riding a bike’ as I sling my leg over the machine and start it. The loud rumble draws everyone’s attention, and I rev it a couple of times before I speed out of the lot.
It’s not even a minute later that a patrol car cuts me off, rolling to Zack’s place with sirens and lights wailing, so I follow them.
She’s got to be there.
Please let her be there and be okay.
The building looks deserted at first, and my heart sinks. But I see the police officer waving me off, so I park the motorcycle, keeping a close watch. His partner moves toward the side of building, and it’s then that I see it.
A silver sedan.
He’s here. That means Samantha’s here.
I run toward the door, only to have an officer stop me, physically shoving me back a split second before the door pops open.
“HELP! HELP!” Samantha shouts so loudly that her voice breaks as she runs free of the building.
Her steps stutter when she sees the lit-up police cars and officers with their guns drawn. I yell, running toward her, “Samantha!”
“Chance!”
In a heartbeat, she’s in my arms. Safe, alive, and hugging me as tightly as I’m squeezing her.
Stephen runs out too, following Samantha, but when he sees the police, he tries to reverse, his legs goingScooby-Doowild. But an officer grabs him, roughly shoving him to the ground face-down and locking handcuffs to his wrists. “Stephen Simpson, you’re under arrest...”
“Samantha! Tell them you wanted it. You want ME! You’re mine!” His eyes are wild, his grin maniacal, and his shouts are hysterical and bordering on nonsense, but Samantha’s shaking her head, clearly understanding every word.
