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“Drew!”
“What’s wrong?”
Shaking so badly I drop the phone on my knee, I try to answer.
But I can’t.
“Just look,” I finally whisper.
He picks up the phone, reads, and steel pours into his face.
His eyes meet mine.
“Everything just changed, Lindsay. I’m not leaving this room. Not for one second until you’re home.”
Chapter 36
Welcome back, Lindsay. Ready to play with us again? the text reads.
I don’t recognize the number, but then again, how would I? I don’t recognize any numbers. I’ve been gone for four years. I don’t think I know my own mother and father’s cell numbers by heart.
“Gentian!” Drew snaps. Silas appears instantly. The two huddle, Silas’s expression hardening, eyes glancing at me. A toughness takes over in him, a visual change that is stunning.
“Got it,” Silas says, answering whatever instructions Drew just gave.
“I have two more men on their way, Lindsay, and we’re covering your car now.”
“Covering?”
“In case the evidence is tampered with. We need to protect whatever the investigators need in order to find these guys.”
“So you think it’s...” I don’t have to say the words.
Drew goes to my window and pulls the curtains shut. I know he’s not doing it to help me sleep. Closing curtains covers the windows and makes me less of a sniper target. Then he grabs a chair and stands on it, checking the sprinkler system, the fire alarm, the duct work, and anything on the ceiling or wall that might conceal a camera.
“Clean,” he says into his earpiece.
“Considering I came in through the ER, I can’t imagine that someone would—”
“You don’t have to imagine. That’s my job.”
He is so upset. I’m too tired to be upset. Adrenaline can’t run through me anymore. It’s all gone. If I had any left to give, my body would inject every cell with a flood of emotion and fear. Instead, all I can do is close my eyes and feel everything all at once.
“What are we going to do?” My words echo through the room like a machine with an alert or the whoosh of an electronic gadget designed to monitor me. Not the kind my father has used for years as part of his overall strategy, but a medical device. One designed to make sure that I stay as healthy and alive as possible.
Whoever sent me that text is determined. They did the opposite. They want me hurt. They want me unhealthy. They want me unstable.
I’ve been home for two days.
So far, they’re winning.
Drew sits on the edge of my bed, his hand reaching for mine. I open my eyes so slowly. It takes energy. It takes so much energy to open my eyes, but when I do it’s worth it. Drew leans forward, his eyes piercing my soul. I want to trust him. I want to think that he can do the job my father hired him to do. Having Drew protect me from them—from my attackers—feels like a fantasy.
He studies me, his head tilted to the side. He is so serious. I take the luxury of looking back at him. My eyes dart back and forth, capturing his eyes, studying the fine lines that intelligence has etched into his face. Drew has always been smart, but there’s something more now. Experience has sharpened him. That’s what life does.
You scrape yourself, over and over, against all the hard edges of life so that you become so sharp that people can be wounded by the wrong touch.
What happens when the right touch comes along?
