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"We keep running," she said, taking Lily's hand once again. "We'll figure it out together."
Emma and Lily walked cautiously along the deserted street, keeping an eye out for any signs of danger. They had been walking for hours, and exhaustion was beginning to set in. Emma's stomach growled with hunger, but she knew they couldn't risk stealing anything else.
Just as they were about to turn a corner, a police officer suddenly appeared in front of them, blocking their path. He had a stern look on his face as he approached them, his hand resting on his gun.
"Stop right there," he commanded, his voice booming through the quiet street. "What are you two doing out here at this hour?"
Emma felt her heart sink as she realized they had been caught again. She didn't know how much longer they could keep running.
"We were just walking," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We don't mean any harm."
The officer looked at them suspiciously, his eyes scanning their faces for any signs of guilt. "Where do you live?"
"N-nowhere, or rather no, we live down that street,” she said, hoping he wouldn't realize they had nowhere to go and that she was lying to him.
He glared down at them, his look stern. "I think I need to take you to the station. Come with me."
Chapter45
Matt and I rushed through the hospital's automatic doors, our badges held over our heads like a white flag. The security guard recognized us both immediately, his eyes full of understanding for what we were about to face. He simply nodded before allowing us access, and we continued on without another word.
We hurried down the white-tiled hallway, our shoes slapping loudly on the floor. A few nurses hurried past us with anxious glances, and a doctor stood at the end of the hall, frantically typing on a tablet.
As we approached John's room, we could hear the steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vital signs. Dr. Calhoun, the top surgeon at the hospital, the man who had removed the bullet I put in John, was already there, examining John with a look of grave concern on his face.
"Detectives," he greeted us, not looking up from his patient. "I take it you got my message?"
He turned to look at us with a smile.
"Yes,” I said. "He's awake?"
"He's waking up slowly," Dr. Calhoun said, feeling Baker's pulse on his wrist. "It will take a little time before he is fully himself."
"But can we talk to him?" Matt asked.
The doctor looked at his patient and then back at us. "He's still quite groggy, but he should be able to answer a few questions. But make it brief, please. He needs rest."
Matt and I exchanged a look before we stepped closer to John's bed. He looked smaller somehow, more fragile than I remembered. His face was pale, his eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell with the steady beep of the machines.
"John," I said, "It's Agent Thomas. Can you hear me?"
There was a moment of silence before he stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He looked up at me with a dazed expression, his eyes struggling to focus.
"Thomas?" he murmured, his voice rough and weak. "Who is Thomas?"
I exchanged a glance with Matt, who shook his head slightly, indicating that I should continue to talk to John. I leaned closer to him, trying to keep my voice soft and reassuring.
"John, it's me, Agent Thomas. Do you remember what happened to you?" I asked.
John groaned softly, his eyes closing again for a moment before he opened them once more.
"The shooting," he muttered. "I remember the shooting. There was pain. A lot of pain, and it went on for a very long time."
"Good," Matt said, relief washing over his face. "He does remember."
"You were fleeing from the police," I said.
John's brows furrowed in concentration, and he struggled to speak. "I… I don't remember," he said after a moment. "It… it all happened so fast."
