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Carter notices my shiver and removes his coat to place around my shoulders as we walk arm-in-arm toward the entrance. “Why didn’t you use the valet like Callum? Wouldn’t it have been a lot quicker?” I ask.
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it gently before blowing his warm breath across it to warm it up. “Quicker to arrive, but not to depart. If we must leave in a hurry, I need to know exactly where my truck is parked and who has the keys. Sometimes, seconds count, and I don’t want to waste them waiting on a valet.” It makes sense, so I hold my tongue as my skin pimples from the cold.
The rest of our group waits inside the lobby, which is cozy and warm. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Brody says uncouthly, considering all the men are dressed to the nines, wearing three-piece suits.
“The menu said steak and lobster. I don’t recall seeing any horse,” Ansel retorts. I can’t tell if he’s messing with Brody or being completely serious. But the pretty young woman greeting all the guests winks at Ansel, “That’s next week’s specialty entrée. I hear it’s delicious.”
We’re seated at an eight-person table, which leaves one chair open. I glance around the room and note that Patrick and Savannah are at a table ten yards away, and behind them sit Mark, Brayden, and Amanda. I haven’t seen Melissa or Joe yet, but I’m sure they’ll be around soon enough.
My nerves are getting the better of me, and my hands tremble slightly. Carter notices and takes them in his to calm me down. He chuckles when the shaking in my hands subsides, but the energy travels through my body, and my foot begins to bounce.
“Do you want to dance?” Carter asks, even though there’s no music playing and no one’s on the dance floor.
I laugh. “Yes, but later. Right now, I need to walk around.” Carter stands up and offers his arm, which I gladly take, and we stroll around the outskirts of the room until I relax. Just as the lights in the dining area dim in preparation for dinner to be served, Carter warns me that Melissa has arrived. It had slipped my mind that he has two-way communication with his team, but I’m glad to get a heads-up.
Despite the warning, my smile fades when we return to the table to find grim expressions on everyone’s faces. Melissa isn’t simply here in the room. She’s sitting at our table wearing a teal blue cocktail dress that looks plastered to her skin, dressed more for a party than for a gala.
“What are you doing here, Melissa? And where is Joe?” Carter asks brusquely, scanning the room for her date.
“Joe is upstairs gaming and should be down later. He said he’s allergic to shellfish and doesn’t want to risk a bad reaction. I don’t see what the big deal is since he has one of those pen thingies,” she says flippantly.
“It’s called an Epi-pen, and it wasn’t too long ago that Joe nearly died from anaphylaxis, so you might want to cut him a little slack. With such a high probability of cross-contamination, it’s smart to refrain from the meal so he doesn’tdie,” I emphasize the last word, my irritation obvious.
Melissa looks down and clasps her hands in her lap, looking chagrined. “I had no idea that Joe almost died. He told me that he went to the hospital because he didn’t have his medication close by and that you took him there in your ambulance. But he didn’t give me any details or tell me you had to save his life. I didn’t mean to sound callous or uncaring,” she says. When her gaze meets mine, I see an unexpected tenderness in them and am shocked when she says, “Thank you, Leanna, for saving him. He’s a….He’s…”
“He’s a good guy?” I finish for her.
She nods her head. “He truly is. It’s one of the reasons why I would like five minutes of Carter’s time. I promise that when I’m done, neither of you will have to see or hear from me again.”
I turn to Carter, “The choice is yours.” Savannah and Patrick face our direction, and I watch as Savannah mouths something at the same time that Carter cocks his head slightly as if he’s straining to listen. Carter whispers in my ear, “Savannah says that they have your back should I go, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”
I kiss his cheek and linger, whispering back, “I’m not alone. Take five minutes to hear her out because this might be an apology or a goodbye. Closure would be good.”
He dips his chin once, then says to Melissa, “Five minutes.”
She leads him to a glass-enclosed balcony off the side of the ballroom, where they can talk privately while remaining in public view. It’s not the kind of place where you would sneak off and steal a kiss. For that, I’m thankful.
I try my best to avoid Carter and Melissa talking in the other room and pray for any distractions to help make the time pass faster. I should be more careful what I ask for because my prayer is answered when a woman screams, “Help! Please, somebody, help! My father is choking!”
The tingling sensation I’ve come to associate with saving a life during an emergency call permeates my body and propels me into action before any of my family even dares to respond. It’s as if they didn’t even hear the person cry out for help, continuing their conversation while I weave through the crowd and stop to find Mark Jenkins turning blue from lack of oxygen.
I point to Brayden. “Help me stand him up!” He quickly jumps in to assist. I get behind Mark and spread my legs for balance as I hold him to me and bend him over. I strike the area between his shoulders several times using the heel part of my hand, hoping the force will dislodge whatever is stuck.
“Nothing’s happening!” Amanda wails, going into full panic mode.
“What can we do?” Brayden asks, far more calm and collected than his sister.
By now, a crowd has gathered, blocking my family from getting to me. “Give me space!” I shout, answering not only Brayden’s question, but also telling the mass of people to step back.
Since the first technique didn’t work, I switch to the Heimlich maneuver, using abdominal thrusting to free the blockage. On the fifth thrust, an object flies from Mark’s mouth, and he takes a deep, gasping breath.
Amanda hugs her father, then me, thanking me profusely. Brayden’s gaze meets mine, and I see his eyes have welled with tears. He mouths the words “thank you” but can’t get them out. I smile at them both and step back while they comfort their father. As I’m about to turn around, the next distraction comes in the form of someone yelling from the kitchen, “Fire!”
Unlike Amanda’s call for help, my entire family hears this one and instinctually responds to this call, running toward the kitchen to put out the flames. The massive crowd pushes me toward the exit as they try to escape a perceived danger, leaving me with little choice but to go with the flow or be trampled. I lose sight of Patrick and Savannah amongst the wave of people and barely catch a glimpse of Carter banging on the glass door, trying to get to me.
I sigh in relief when I feel a large hand grip my arm to pull me from the fray into an empty corridor. I turn around to give Patrick my gratitude for getting me out of that mess, but instead of meeting my friend, I’m greeted with the muzzle end of a gun. The Glock 22 is the standard-issue weapon for the Newark Police Department and a weapon I’ve seen plenty of times before.
“Hello, Pollyanna. I think it’s time we had a talk.”
