by Box Set
“So you know Dylan?” he asked. “Did you see him in the lineup earlier?”
I nodded, ashamed that I’d lied. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but they threatened me. Me and those I love.” To emphasize my point, I glanced at Tyler.
“Who threatened you?” His lips pressed together as his gaze went to Tyler. “Dylan’s in jail, so he couldn’t have done this.” He looked at me again. “Who did this? Do you know?”
Mitch walked in then, carrying food.
“Who are you?” Turner asked.
I explained who he was, then Turner asked him to come back later. Mitch looked at me, and I nodded to let him know it was okay.
“You were about to tell me more?” Turner prompted.
I nodded, then told him about Dylan’s warning in the parking lot, meeting him at the park, Baldy and his friends showing up, then Baldy’s words earlier that day.
“I’d like you to come to the station and ID this Baldy. We have photos of known gang members, and I’d wager he’s among them.”
“What will happen if I ID him?”
“We’ll arrest him for witness tampering.”
That will infuriate him. As much as I wanted Baldy off the streets, I didn’t want to be the reason for that happening. I didn’t want to be the target of his revenge.
“Will you do that?” Turner asked.
“Um, I guess.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
My eyes widened. “Now? You want me to go now?”
He sighed, and I could tell he was beginning to lose his patience. “The people who did this to your friend need to be arrested.” His jaw tightened. “If you’d come to me earlier, we could have prevented this.”
His flat accusation sliced right to my core and my gaze slid to my lap. It’s my fault. I knew it was, and now he’s confirmed it. All my fault. He stood and I could feel his eyes on me. I lifted my head and met his gaze.
His expression seemed to soften. “Courtney, you can’t blame yourself.”
“But you’re right. I should have told you the truth from the beginning.” I glanced at Tyler and tears filled my eyes. My voice wavered as I spoke. “If he doesn’t get better, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
“I don’t blame you for being afraid.”
Though I was glad to hear that, it didn’t change anything—Tyler was still unconscious, and Baldy would still be more than happy to hurt me. But now that I’d told the truth—all of it—I could at least do my part to make things right.
I stood, and together we walked out of the hospital.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, which I appreciated since the sun had gone down. “Then you can follow me to the station.”
“Okay.”
When we reached my car, he made sure no one was in it, then he waited while I got inside and locked the doors. A few moments later he pulled up behind my parked car, then I began following him as we headed out of the hospital parking lot.
Five minutes later Turner pulled to the curb, and I stopped behind him. He climbed out of his car and walked back to mine, where I rolled down my window.
“There’s an emergency I need to deal with,” he said. “Can you meet me at the station?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
He tapped my open window frame. “Great. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Okay.” I rolled up my window as I watched him walk back to his car. He made a U-turn, then drove off with a wave. I waved back, then pulled back onto the road. There wasn’t a lot of traffic at this time of the evening, and as I noticed the nearly empty streets, a sense of foreboding swept over me.
I’m in my car. Nothing can happen. I’ll drive to the police station, ID Baldy, then get Shelby and we’ll get the heck out of Dodge.
I thought about Mom and how glad she would be once I told her I’d confessed all to Detective Turner and that I was leaving town. My mind wandered as I pictured her face and remembered how simple life had been only a few weeks before. Before I’d met Dylan.
Wham!
My head snapped back and it took me a moment to realize that someone had pulled out in front of me, then slammed on their brakes. And I’d run into them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stunned, it took me a moment to notice that the driver of the car I’d run into had jumped out of his car and was running towards me, waving his hands as if he was angry with me. I didn’t understand why he was so upset—the accident had totally been his fault. I squinted as he got closer—it was hard to see well in the dark. But as he reached the hood of my car, I realized that something about him seemed familiar. Too familiar.
One of Baldy’s minions.
Alarm bells began a harsh chorus in my head, and my heart jackhammered in response.
Get out of here, Courtney. Now!
I threw my car into reverse and mashed my foot on the gas, but ran into some sort of obstacle. My gaze jumped to my rear-view mirror and I saw another car jammed up against the rear of mine. I was blocked in.
They’ve found me. Baldy’s found me.
An image of Tyler, beaten senseless, filled my mind, and I imagined myself lying in the room next to his, unconscious, near death, ruined. Absolute panic took over and I heard a high-pitched wail, then realized it was coming from me. I slapped my hand over my mouth, but the wailing continued.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
My chest rose and fell in unnaturally fast breaths as I began to hyperventilate, but I managed to stop my screams.
The police. Call the police.
I turned my head to find my phone—which was on the passenger seat—and when I swiveled back to the face the front, my phone in my hand, out of the corner of my eye I saw someone approaching my window. Terrified to look, and desperate to get help, I focused on the phone and dialed 911.
“What is your emergency?” A calm voiced asked.
I knew I needed to be just as calm, or the woman would never understand what I was saying. I gulped in a breath of air, released it, then squeaked out, “I’m in my car and I’m about to be attacked.” The words ricocheted inside my head—attacked, attacked, attacked—and it was all I could do to keep the building hysteria from taking over.
“Where are you, ma’am?”
I don’t know.
Eyes wild with fear, I looked out the passenger window, but I didn’t know the area and I couldn’t see any landmarks. I looked at my lap, determined not to look at whomever stood on the other side of the thin pane of glass.
Pounding on my window made me jump, and I screamed in terror.
“Ma’am?”
Without moving my head, my eyes slid to my left and I saw a hulking figure standing beside my car. “I . . . I just came from the hospital. I was on my way to the police station.” The pitch of my voice rose. “Call Detective Turner. Tell him it’s Courtney. He knows where I am.”
“Okay, ma’am. Please stay on the line.”
The deafening crash of the window imploding filled my world. Petrified beyond belief, my hands stiffened and my phone slid to the floorboards.
“You talked to the cops, didn’t you?” Baldy said as he reached through the window. Both hands were clothed in black gloves—the same gloves he’d been wearing earlier that day. And in one hand he held a gun.
On instinct, I jerked away from him, and his hand brushed against my shoulder. Desperate to get away from him, I tried to scramble into the passenger side, but my seatbelt held me in place.
Crap!
With shaking hands, and while still leaning to the right, I punched at the seatbelt release, and after a moment I was free.
“I warned you not to talk,” Baldy said through clenched teeth as he made another grab for me. “And now you’re gonna pay.” He pointed the gun right at me. “But first I wanna have a little chat with you. Find out exactly what you said.”
The words Shelby had said when I’d suggested we leave the dressing room came back to me. You’re the on
e he’s going to kill. He’ll probably do it slowly too. You know, torture you first to see what you told the police.
She was right. He is going to torture me. Pure hysteria flooded me and I knew I couldn’t let him get me.
“Leave me alone!” I screamed as loud as I could, and launched myself into the passenger seat. I landed on my purse, which I’d set on the seat when I’d gotten in the car. Something hard pressed into my back.
The pepper spray. That cute pink canister. Get it!
I yanked my purse out from behind me, and as I frantically thrust my hand into my purse, my gaze shifted to Baldy and I saw him reaching through the broken window to unlock the door.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
With a mania I’d never experienced before, I raked my fingers through my purse, and a moment later I felt it—a cold, hard cylinder.
Yes! Yes, yes, yes!
Tears of joy pooled in my eyes as I yanked out my only means of defense.
The driver’s side door swung open and Baldy filled the opening as he bent forward, ready to come for me again.
With the canister gripped in my hand, I swung it up, aimed it at his face, put my finger on the trigger and squeezed. The moment I saw the spray hit its target, I closed my eyes. Baldy shouted a string of obscenities and I blindly reached for the door handle behind me. My fingers found the smooth handle and I pulled. The door opened and I released the trigger on the pepper spray.
Terrified that one of Baldy’s lackeys would be there to grab me, I forced myself to keep my eyes closed so that I wouldn’t get pepper spray in them, then swung my legs to the pavement.
“Get her,” someone yelled.
“Help me,” I screamed as loudly as I could.
The sound of sirens filled the air.
I heard another string of obscenities, followed by, “Let’s get out of here.”
I scrambled out of the car on the passenger side and cracked my eyes open. They stung, but after a moment I opened them fully and was able to see what was going on. Baldy stood on the other side of the car, his two buddies on either side of him, helping him to his feet.
Tears streamed from his eyes, but he glared at me with deadly hatred. Then he lifted the gun in my direction. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said to me, his voice carrying loud and clear over the sirens.
I ducked beside the front passenger wheel, the metal of the car shielding me from his aim. At least I hoped it would.
“We gotta get outta here,” one of his buddies said.
“Kill her,” Baldy screamed, his voice filled with fury. “Kill her now.”
The sirens sounded like they were about to arrive, and I huddled next to the wheel, terrified I was about to die.
I don’t want to die. I’m not ready to die. Please let me live.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Car doors slammed, engines started up, tires squealed.
They’re leaving. They didn’t kill me. They’re leaving.
Exhilaration surged through me, but that ended moments later when a gunshot rang out and the ground next to me exploded in a burst of rocks and dirt. Something sharp pierced my arm, and I screamed in horror as blood trickled down my skin. I leapt behind the open door, the passenger seat right beside me. Then I heard a loud bang as a bullet hit the outside of the open passenger door.
They’re shooting at me! I need to move.
I launched myself back into my car and curled up on the floor in front of the passenger seat, desperate for the police to get there and make it stop. Bracing myself for another bullet to hit, this time certain to find its way deep into my flesh, I tried to shrink into invisibility.
The magnificent sound of sirens grew closer, ever closer, until they were right beside me. The sound cut off, and I heard doors thrown open, and then my name called out.
Afraid to believe I might actually be safe, I slowly uncurled myself, then peered over the dash to see three police cars surrounding my car.
Sweet relief flowed over me in waves.
“I’m here,” I cried out. “In my car.”
A uniformed officer came to my side and helped me out. Once on the sidewalk, I saw one of the other officers checking the area, and another on his radio.
The officer who’d helped me out of the car asked, “Are you hurt?”
I held up my arm and showed him where a sharp rock had sliced open my skin. “Just a little cut.” Then the reality of being shot at crashed over me, and my voice shook as I spoke. “They tried to kill me.”
“But they didn’t hit you?”
“No.”
“Do you know how many shots they got off?”
“Two at least.”
He helped me sit on the curb, then he went to the officer who had been on the radio and spoke to him. A few minutes later he came back. “Detective Turner will be here soon, and an ambulance is on the way.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
He smiled. “They can look at your arm.”
I nodded, exhausted and scared, but glad I wasn’t alone. “Okay.”
A short time later an ambulance pulled up and the EMT’s helped me to the back where they tended to my cut.
“Courtney,” Detective Turner said as he walked toward me several minutes later. “How are you?”
Badly shaken, but feeling safe, I smiled. “I’m okay.”
The EMT finished what he was doing, then walked away.
Turner frowned. “I should never have left you alone.”
“Do you think they followed me from the hospital?”
“Most likely.” Turner glanced in the direction of my car, then met my gaze. “We’ll take prints and see if we can make a match.”
“He wore gloves.”
Turner nodded. “If you’re up to it, I’d like you to come look at some pictures.”
The thought of being in a police station, surrounded by people who would protect me, sounded like just the place I wanted to be at that moment. “Okay.”
“You’ll need to leave your car for evidence collection.”
My window had been shattered, so I needed to get it fixed as soon as possible. Especially since I was still planning on getting out of town. “When will I get it back?”
Something in my voice must have hinted at my anxiety, because he asked, “Do you need it right away?”
“Well, yeah.”
His head tilted. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”
It occurred to me that Detective Turner might not be happy to learn that my objective was to leave town. For good. I considered keeping that information to myself, but then decided I was done lying to the police. So far it hadn’t led to good things, so it seemed better to tell the truth. “I’m leaving.”
“Oh? Where are you going?” His eyes narrowed. “When are you leaving?”
“I’m not sure. And right away.”
“Uh-huh.”
What does that mean? I had to know his intentions. “Are you going to try to stop me?”
Turner walked over to the EMT and asked if he was done with me.
“Yes,” he said. “She’s all set.”
Turner nodded, then looked at me and gestured in the direction of his car. “Let’s talk over there.”
I climbed out of the ambulance and followed Turner.
“I know you’re scared, Courtney,” he began.
I didn’t let him finished his thought. “Baldy shot at me.” I’d seen plenty of movies where the good guys and the bad guys had been in a shoot out. But it had been so very different when someone—a very bad guy—had been trying to take me out. “Maybe for you it’s no big deal to be shot at, but for me it’s a new experience. And not one I want to have again. Ever.”
“I understand. And believe me, it is a big deal when I’m shot at.”
Good. Maybe he gets it.
“Courtney, I may be able to help you.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed. “If you’ll commit to testifying against both Dylan
and this Baldy, I can help you relocate to a safe place.”
That sounded serious. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can arrange for you to move somewhere else, somewhere no one will know you. You would need to keep your location a secret, of course.”
“Are you talking about the Witness Protection Program?” The idea that I would have to hide for the rest of my life freaked me out in a whole new way.
“It’s different from the Federal program. This program is a relocation and assistance program the state offers for people who testify against gang members,” he said. “We’ll facilitate your moving someplace else, and protect you when you come to town to testify.”
“A new location?” The thought of actually moving somewhere else both terrified and excited me.
“Yes.” He stared at me a moment. “These services will last until the perpetrators are put into prison.”
I didn’t love the idea that I would have to basically be in hiding. But isn’t that what you’d been planning on doing already? Just on your own? “What happens after they go to prison?”
“Then you can resume your normal life, although you might not want to move back to the same neighborhood where you currently live.”
I imagined Baldy and how angry he would be if he went to prison. “Won’t they want revenge?”
“We’ve found that once they’re in prison, they usually don’t want to compound things by going after the witness.”
Usually. With my luck, I’ll be the exception. “What other options do I have?” Impressed with how calm I sounded as I discussed critical decisions about my very life, I pushed down the hysteria that lay just below the surface.
“What do you mean? Like if you don’t agree to testify?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what I meant, and I felt ill-equipped to decide my future so casually.
He frowned. “If you choose not to testify, then I would suggest leaving town.”
“You won’t help me?”
His frown deepened. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I won’t be given approval to allocate resources to assist you unless you commit to testifying.”