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Ryke Meadows is rushing past us, his motorcycle helmet beneath his armpit.
“LO!” he calls out to his brother.
The Keenes (the med team)—Edward, Tripp, and Farrow—are already surrounding Lily and shouting to the paramedics as ambulance doors swing open. My head rotates in each new direction.
Police saycrime sceneand push most bodyguards outside the rental car’s perimeter.
“Where’d they go?” Price asks for the fourth time, drawing my gaze back to him. “Who was involved?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t—”
“How many were here?” Bruno asks me.
“Who did this?” someone else questions.
“We need answers.”
I don’t fucking have them!I wouldn’t still be here if I did!
“Hey, back off!” Akara shoves into the huddle.
“He’s our onlyinto finding her quickly, Akara,” Price retorts. “I don’t care about his feelings right now.We need answers.”
“He doesn’t know anything.” That’s not Akara.
Oscar Highland-Oliveira has pushed into the cluster of bodyguards. Severity edges his assertive posture.
“You can’t be sure of that,” Price shoots back.
“I legitimately can,” Oscar retorts, rain droplets slipping down his golden-brown skin and stubbled jaw. Curly pieces of his brown hair are wet against his forehead, and he’s squinting through the storm. “Because if Donnelly knewwhere Luna was, he wouldn’t be standing here listening to you. He’d already be gone.”
“I’ll find her,” I suddenly say, knowing what I need to do.
“Where?” Price questions.
“I gotta go.” I turn out of the huddle, but multiple hands jut out and grab me. For fuck’s sake.
“You do thiswithus,” Price retorts and looks to my boss. “Akara.”
Akara stares into me. “He’s right. We do this together.”
“I can’t wear a wire, and there’s no time. Just let me go.”
Let me go.
“Give us three minutes,” Akara says, almost pleading. “That’s all. Just three minutes to form a plan.”
What if that’s three minutes too long?
Oscar squeezes my shoulder, and I end up nodding. “Alright. Three minutes.”
It takes four, and as the huddle breaks and a plan is set, we split off. I move towards the middle of this narrow road. Farrow’s father, Dr. Edward Keene, is climbing into the back of the ambulance with the stretcher, Lily strapped on—her face bloodied, beaten.
Sickness burns my throat again. Lo is the next to board the ambulance, but as he twists around, his destroyed gaze catches mine.
“Donnelly?” he calls out as wind whips through this dead-end. I approach, just as he says, “Luna—”
“I’m gonna get her. I promise you.”
