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Could she have left with someone? Did the scumbag return after I let down my guard?
The unease is beginning to bite. I knock once more, pressing my nose to the glass. My stomach plummets. The groceries are right where she left them hours ago, including the ones needing refrigeration.
Something is wrong, I know it in my gut.
Cardinal rule: I always listen to my gut.Always.
I jog out to my truck and in the depths of the glove box find my lockpick. Yes, I own a lockpick.
I make short work of the kitchen door but release an audible breath when the alarm doesn’t blare, even though I know the code.
The stillness feels eerie. I’m not easily spooked, yet a foreboding has wormed its way into my psyche. I whisper-curse when I realize I don’t have my gun. Surely I’m overreacting. I’m about as far from the hood as can be, and although Kyle is a complete—okay, I won’t go there—I doubt he’s a physical threat.
Well, not to me...although…the memory of his fingers digging into Annalise’s arm rockets back.
I call her name once, and a second time when I get no answer. I flip on the kitchen light, then cautiously enter the foyer. I know for a fact the lady is armed.
Standing in the middle of the grand space, I try again. The ground floor is dark except for the lights I’ve turned on. The second floor looks the same, but I make my way up the stairs because something isn’t right. I suppose she could have left with a friend, but that doesn’t explain the groceries.
I flip the switch at the landing and the upper hallway illuminates. I go straight to what I know is her bedroom and call her name, hitting that light switch when there’s no answer. The bed is unmade but empty. I lean against the doorframe, figuring I missed her departure, when I hear a rustle. A moan.
I jog to Tripp’s doorway, and with the light from the hall, I make out Annalise in the bed, curled into a ball half her actual size. “Annalise?”
I kneel beside the bed, touching her shoulder and saying her name again. Another moan is all I get. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I feel her shudder. I press the backs of my fingers to her cheek, and horror consumes me. She’s on fire. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re burning up!”
Glassy eyes stare blankly up. Another moan but no actual words. Seriously, she’s scary hot to the touch.
I’m a man who works best in crisis, but at this moment, I feel clear thinking abandon me. Give me a crazed druggie and I know what to do. Give me a sick woman, and my brain freezes.
Thank you, God, that cerebral shutdown only lasts a moment. I untangle the sheet from her legs, slide my arm under her knees, and lift her from the mattress. Groaning, she thrashes, and I suspect the only reason she stops is because she hasn’t the energy for more. She mumbles a protest.
Ignoring a woman is a dangerous move but I’m confident the right one in the present circumstances.
She’s light as a feather as I carry her down the stairs, outside, and buckle her into the passenger seat of my truck. I’m half a mile from the house before I realize I have no idea where I’m going. I pull to the shoulder and thank the God I rarely speak to for smartphones and mapping apps. I locate the nearest ER, crank the volume on my Bluetooth, and proceed with a lead foot.
I run my hand along Annalise’s fiery skin, squeezing her arm as I murmur reassuring words. I try to get information from her, details I’m sure a doctor will need, but I’m getting nothing. I think she’s delirious.
What could possibly be wrong? She was walking-and-talking healthy this afternoon.
Exceeding the speed limit by more than a little, I weave through traffic. I turn the wrong way down a one-way street, thanks, dumb app, but it’s only a block and everyone survives.
We finally reach the hospital, a large complex with poor signage, if you ask me. I zip past the emergency entrance, squeal the brakes, and back up a good fifty feet.
Don’t think the guy behind me appreciated the maneuver much.
I slam to a stop under the portico and lift Annalise from the seat. I swear she’s hotter than before—and not in the good way. I nearly melt when she wraps her hands around my neck and presses her face into my chest.
Ugh. We may both be in big trouble here.
I barrel past the coughing, bleeding masses, right up to the lady at the desk.
“She’s needs helpnow!” I have an authoritative way about me when I want to.
To her credit, the twenty-something clerk takes me at my word. She holds a back door open for me to carry Annalise straight to a triage nurse.
In the tiny room, I set her in a chair, but she can barely remain upright, moaning and cradling her abdomen, obviously in a world of hurt. Besides the evident fever, this is the only hint I’ve seen as to what might be wrong. I sit beside her, curling her into my side. Unsure why I’m doing what I’m doing, I lay a kiss on the top of her head, her golden hair soft beneath my lips, and murmur yet more useless words.
