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“He said he was coming for me,” I whisper as Casper wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me out of the crypt. Instead of taking me up the stone staircase that leads back up to the church, he leads me through a dark tunnel.
“Where is he? Where’s Freddie?” My words echo around us, along with our footsteps.
“He’s at the hospital.” The grit in his voice tells me that he never intended on telling me.
“Why? Is he okay? What happened? Tell me he’s okay!” He doesn’t; instead, he picks me up and carries me the rest of the way to the car.
Freddie’s Merc.
“Why do you have his car?”
Still he doesn’t answer. He looks angrier and angrier the more I press him. The scent of blood gets heavier, stronger than the scent of the warm leather and the tang of fresh hay.
“Casper!”
Dark, rage-filled eyes meet mine as I fluster with the seat belt, trying not to crack as I notice the small hole in the corner of the windshield. A bullet hole. My already shattered heart crumbles to smithereens.
“Casper, please…”
He nods, driving away from the church. We’re being boxed in from every angle, and I know that whatever’s happened is bad. This isn’t high alert; this is imminent danger, and his demeanour says it all.
“Freddie got shot,” he finally tells me. The words are a sucker punch that pummels my insides without mercy.
“You said he’s at the hospital. You said… You… Casper.” The sob rips from me, stealing my last breath.
Everything is closing in. The sapidity of the iron-tinged air wraps around me, and I really can’t breathe. Doesn’t matter how desperately I claw at my chest or rub at my throat to try and thaw myself out enough to push through this sinking feeling, I can’t.
“Stop!” Casper snaps. “He’s fine. Alive.”
The way he says it takes me aback. As though there’s more. More he’s not telling me. That he doesn’t want to tell me. If Freddie really is okay, why is he being so difficult? Why can’t he give me all the details? This is me. I’m his sister, and I need to know whether this crushing pain in my chest is warning me or whether I’m in shock. I need to know if my heart is gone for good.
“Take me to the hospital.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You need to go home where you’re safe. I’m taking you home with me.”
“Take me to the hospital, or I will make sure I end up there one way or another.” If I have to hurt myself, I will. He knows it too from his low, frustrated growl.
“He’s fine, Georgina!”
“I need to see him with my own eyes.”
Until then, I won’t be able to catch my breath. I need to be sure that Freddie is all right. I need to touch him and feel his warmth with my own hands. I need to tell him how sorry I am for not being better at listening to his warnings.
I need him to forgive me because he was right—I underestimated everything. And now he’s hurt, and I need to make it better in any way I can.
“You really want me to take you to him? After everything?”
I’m not sure why Casper’s acting like this. It’s only making me feel worse. Panic fists my insides as I crack my knuckles and pick at my nails.
“Just take me to the hospital.”
“Fine,” he spits, focusing on the road as he tells the security following us about the change of plan.
Barring the rampant turmoil of my heart, the drive is short and silent. The instant he pulls up to the secret service medical centre, I’m taken back to the last time I was here. The night Lucy turned up.
