by Amy Miles
“The front doors only open from the inside after ten. We’ll go out that way.” Lynn adjusted Amanda in her arms, then held her breath as the elevator rocked gently to a halt, and dinged.
The doors slid open and I charged out with my blade, then promptly smacked into a tall, waif-like figure.
“What the . . . hey. Look what you did to my arm!” An elderly man in a khaki uniform stood in front of me, his forehead scrunched, his mouth hanging open. He had a silver badge and wore a gun belt loaded with a flashlight, radio, mace, but no gun. I’d have felt better with a gun right about now, which seemed to be a recurring thought lately.
I looked at the shredded material on the old guy’s shirtsleeve and a thin scratch showed through, bright red. “Sorry about that,” I said, wondering if that was the proper response. Not like I’d knifed someone before. I wondered if I could snatch his mace without him punching me out.
“We need your help.” Lynn stepped forward, adjusting Amanda up in her arms so she seemed to have a better grip. “Someone’s after us,” she said to the security guard before taking off down the hall at high speed, leaving us in the dust.
“Wait up!” I remembered the nurse’s scream and turned toward the wimpy security guard. I mean, what if she’s upstairs right now being bound and gagged? She needed this security dude’s help more than us. “Listen, there’s a nurse on the second floor—”
“Are you sure someone’s after you?” His voice shook and he gasped for breath as if he might pass out. Oh, just what we needed. A lightweight. The poor nurse was undoubtedly on her own. I let out a frustrated grunt, turned and hurried after Lynn. Marmaduke totally needed to beef up their security.
I’ll give the old guy a tiny bit of credit though because he started running down the corridor with us. My money would’ve been on him hightailing it in the other direction. “This guy your ex-boyfriend? Relationship gone bad?”
Oh great, now this was my fault? “Why do you assume he’s after me? Don’t jump to conclusions just because I’m a teen, buddy.”
“I’m Vern. This is my first day solo on the job.” He paused between breaths as he ran with his elbows bent. “Did you get a description of the guy?”
“Short, bald, and evil,” I said, filling him in. Did evil count as a description? It should in my book. We turned right and flew down another hall. “I’m sorry about your arm, Vern.”
He threw me an angry look as he huffed and puffed down the hall, obviously way out of shape. “Knives . . . aren’t . . . permitted . . . on the premises, young lady.”
Glancing down at the blade in my hand, I gripped it for dear life and wasn’t giving it up for anything.
We hurried across the dark mat in the front lobby and right on cue, the doors slowly slid open. The cool air rushed over me, causing goose pimples up my arms. Or maybe running for my life had caused them. Either way, we’d made it outside but there was no sign of Trip. Had it not been five minutes? Could he have gone to the wrong hospital? What if Bishop killed us while we were waiting? Maybe we should’ve just gone to my car!
Lynn adjusted the sedated girl in her arms while at the same time frantically checking around the lighted circular drive.
Completely deserted.
She turned to me with a desperate look. “Where is the detective?”
“Assistant detective.” It sounded better than gopher and let’s face it, the guy was dedicated.
I scanned the area behind us, making sure we weren’t being followed. Thankfully, the lobby was still empty. My heart pounded, knowing he could catch up to us at any minute. “Maybe I should call him again. Do you have a cell?”
“Yes. Of course.” Lynn nodded, her brown hair flying up behind her in the breeze. “It’s in my purse. Hurry.”
“I think I left that back in the hospital room.” I quickly checked my shoulder, my arm, and even my hand. Switchblade, yes. Purse, no.
Lynn’s mouth fell open.
“You didn’t ask me to bring it along.” I know, passing the buck is a cop out but I didn’t want the blame for getting us killed.
Lynn pressed her lips together and looked down the street fruitlessly. “If the detective doesn’t get here soon, we should just go to my car.”
“He’s not a detect—”
“Did I hear you right? We’re waiting for a detective? Thank heavens.” Vern came and stood next to me, checking his arm again with a frown. Head of security? What a joke. I had the sinking feeling we’d be defending ourselves. Again, I contemplated snagging his mace—at the rate I was going, it was bound to come in handy sooner, rather than later.
Headlights lit the dark street and swung toward us as a vehicle zoomed into the driveway. A faded blue truck. Must be Trip. We were saved!
The doors to the lobby rattled open behind us. “Get back here, Lynn.” The man’s voice was deep and low.
A chill rang through me. I swiveled around, prepared to meet Bishop once again. Only this time, it wouldn’t be with armed police officers protecting me.
The figure coming out of the hospital doors was not short, not bald, and definitely not Bishop. This guy had dark eyes, a muscular build, and resembled Orlando Bloom. I would’ve begged for a date if he weren’t trying to kill us.
Images flashed in my mind and I recognized him from when I’d read Bishop. A man. Long dark hair. A tattoo on his right forearm. Look-a-like Orlando had to be Bishop’s partner in crime.
He held out a knife, three times the size of mine, and I’d bet he knew how to use it. “Tell me where she is, Lynn.”
Who was he looking for? Could he not see Amanda right there in Lynn’s arms?
“Never.” Lynn shook her head and took a step backward toward the curb, where Trip’s truck screeched to a halt.
Orlando pointed his knife at her and then twisted it clockwise in a way that made my insides turn. “You tell me where you’re hiding her or I slice your throat.”
What, was he visually impaired? Amanda lay in plain view across Lynn’s ribcage. Make that her torso. Her grip seemed to be slipping.
“Go away and leave us alone.” Lynn’s voice shook. “This has to stop.”
Trip’s car doors squeaked open, just as Orlando stepped toward Lynn in a very threatening manner. “You willing to die for someone else’s kid? Tell me where she is and you can leave here in one piece.”
What had I missed? Was there another child involved?
Lynn bit her lip and shook her head. A fat tear slipped down her cheek.
“This could’ve been so simple, but you refused to cooperate. Maybe you’ll sing a different tune when you watch Amanda die.” This was no idle threat. Definitely not the real Orlando Bloom.
My heart pounded in my chest, and Vern stood frozen. I suspected he might run at any moment. Not a bad idea.
“Put your hands up!” The shout came from Sam, who stepped out of Trip’s passenger side—and he had his shiny gun with him. Trip, unarmed, dashed around to the front of his truck.
Fake Orlando flashed a look toward Sam and Trip, and that’s when I made my move.
I yanked the thick flashlight out of Vern’s belt, hammered it down on Orlando’s arm, and his giant knife clanked to the ground. I turned to Lynn. “Run!”
She didn’t have to be told twice. As Orlando recovered from the shock and pain of having his weapon banged out of his grip, Lynn flew out of Orlando’s reach and ran toward the rear driver’s side door of Trip’s truck.
“Don’t move!” Sam stepped toward the curb with his gun held out, pointed directly at Orlando. Thank goodness he’d come to our rescue.
Trip gave me a look that said, “Get the hell out of there.”
Done playing hero, I lunged for the truck. Before I’d even completed a step, a hand clamped around my throat and pulled me against a rock hard chest. Coughing and sputtering, I scratched and raked at the thick claw that choked me.
“All I want is the girl I came for.” The deep voice reverberated in my ear. “This one doesn’t
have to die.”
Please don’t kill me, I tried to say but only managed to sputter instead. Tears burned my eyes and my heels left the ground as the tightened grip squeezed the last breath out of me. My lungs ached to be filled, but were left dry and empty. This was it. The end. I knew it. My eyes searched for Trip’s and found them.
Trip made a move toward us but Sam grabbed his arm and shoved back so hard he fell to the asphalt. Sam aimed his gun again but it’d be impossible for him to hit Orlando without going through me first.
I thought of Trip in my room earlier. How we’d fallen on my bed. Our mouths only inches apart. Why hadn’t I kissed him when I had the chance?
As everything around me started to fade, a pale, wrinkly face appeared in front of me, pointed a small can and sprayed a stream of liquid just over my head. Vern.
“Agghh!”
The hand released from my neck, and I fell hands and knees to the pavement. My neck felt like a cement block as I gasped for air, my throat burning and my eyes dripping from whatever Vern had sprayed.
In a flash, Trip knelt down next to me, his green eyes wild as they searched mine.
The vise on my throat loosened enough to suck in a deep breath and I rolled my eyes left just in time to see Sam twist Orlando’s wrist behind his back and shove him to the cement.
Orlando’s chin scraped the ground as Sam pressed him against the pavement and dug a knee into his back. Silver handcuffs clipped around the guy’s wrists. Only moments before those hands had been crushing the life out of me.
Unable to watch any longer, I rolled onto my back, inhaling delicious air. I swore never again to take breathing for granted.
I stared up above me. The night sky remained oddly calm despite me almost losing my life. I blinked back watery film and became increasingly aware of the warm hand that was holding mine. Trip.
I was safe now. I wasn’t going to die. It took a moment to get used to it.
“Roger that.” Vern’s scraggly voice broke through my thoughts. “I radioed for help. Should be here right quick.”
I glanced at Vern, who was talking to Sam, who was looking at me.
Sam nodded in my direction. “You all right?”
I wanted to say yes, but it would’ve been a lie. A guy had just tried to kill me. Not something you get over quickly. Instead, I fought to sit up. Strong arms lifted me most of the way and Trip let me lean against him for support.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.” Trip then pressed his forehead against my hair.
I squeezed his hand as an answer, still not ready to test my vocal cords, and at the same time realizing he’d put his left hand in mine—even knowing I was a mind reader.
No images had appeared.
Guess that confirmed my power was limited to the right hand only. First Lynn’s and now Trip’s without any images appearing. But, Trip didn’t know that and still he held my hand.
“I take it you’re the detective?” Vern stood in front of Sam, sounding as if he were talking to the President of the United States.
“Officer Williams,” Sam said.
“Dispatch confirmed the description of this guy.” Vern gestured to the Orlando look-a-like. “He caused quite a raucous inside. Scared the daylights outta one of our nurses. If you’ve got things handled, I should check the premises. Make sure he doesn’t have an accomplice lurking.”
Vern seemed oddly charged for a guy who’d been scared out of his wits earlier. I wanted to thank him for saving my life, but talking didn’t seem possible yet.
“Good idea.” Sam nodded at Vern. “Probably should send a medic out for this guy too. Nice job with the pepper spray.”
Mace, pepper spray, whatever they called it, I needed to get my own. I’d definitely sign up for self-defense next quarter, too. With the turn my life had taken, I needed it more than volleyball.
I held onto Trip’s hand and stared at Sam, who seemed to have Orlando detained securely despite the guy’s constant writhing. Not to mention the whiny complaints that his eyes were burning. Apparently he really did need medical attention. Not that I cared.
Screw him.
Sam looked over at me and I raised an eyebrow. Could he tell what I was thinking? I raised my right hand and flicked my eyes toward Orlando’s upturned palms. Part of me wondered if I could physically take the pain right now, but I couldn’t let this opportunity go.
A siren screamed in the distance.
Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “You sure you’re up for it?”
He said it with no doubt I could do it, only concern for my well being. I also saw something else in his green eyes. Respect. It gave me a similar feeling to when teacher’s praised me. Only better.
“I’m up for it,” I said, knowing I had to get answers and this was the only way.
He moved a fraction, allowing me full access to my attempted murderer’s palms. “Let me know if I can help.”
Trip stayed glued behind me, his left hand tightening around mine as I moved next to Orlando. Even though Sam had him pinned securely, my body shook being this close to the man who’d been strangling me, minutes earlier.
Trip gave me a look and I could tell he didn’t want me to read this loser. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.” My voice was as shaky as my body so I closed my eyes, took a breath, and cleared my mind.
I hadn’t read anyone since Mr. McKay. My failed read on my dad nagged at my brain, but then I remembered I was holding Trip’s left hand and wasn’t getting images.
“You okay, Kylie?” Lynn stood outside the rear passenger door of Trip’s truck, wearing a worried look. Amanda seemed to be sleeping peacefully in the backseat. The wonder of drugs.
“Fine,” I said, but doubted it was loud enough for her to hear. My voice was scratchy and throat sore, but she seemed relieved by my attempt to speak.
Such motherly concern for someone she barely knew. And then I remembered. . . Walker. In the elevator, Lynn had promised to explain later. I glanced up at her, studied her face. Something registered in her expression then, and it hit me. She knew. Somehow, Lynn knew I could read minds. That was why she’d shaken my hand with her left. She must know who’d sent me the mind message, too. Like I needed even more to worry about at this point.
Sirens grew louder, closer, and flashing red lights danced through the tree limbs from down the street. I glanced at Sam, who had his knee in the creep’s back, firmly holding him down.
Time to read now, ask questions later.
After a deep breath, I pressed my right palm firmly against the cuffed right palm of Bishop’s partner in crime.
The contact burned my hand, fire darted up my wrist then it slammed back down toward my fingertips and sizzled there.
Gasping in pain, I stared wide-eyed at my fingers expecting to see flames. All pain, no images. What was going on? This hadn’t happened before. The heat radiated, like a rocket ship had launched but the growing burst of flames remained in my wrist and fingers. My mind stayed blank. I started to panic. Couldn’t I do the read? I had to, but the pain was too much!
I gritted my teeth and wrapped my fingers around the bastard’s hand. The searing pain escaped immediately in a jolt of lightening that burned up my arm and burst into my head. An animal-like shriek sounded, and from somewhere far away I realized it came from me.
Smashing my forehead to my wrist, I cried out as hazy images flashed in my head. Rocks. Pine needles. Orlando, holding a knife. Me. The pointed blade slashing into my skin. Ripping it apart with red streaks. Again and again.
Anger seethed through me as I watched my own demise. In reflex, I dug my nails into the thick skin I gripped, shook the nasty scene from my mind and squeezed my eyes tighter.
New images appeared. They were crystal clear. Bishop opening a briefcase. Wads of cash. A serpent tattooed arm shutting the case. A middle-aged man in a dark suit, wearing a red tie and black sunglasses tucked into thin brown hair. He looked familiar. His satisfied smile curled in
my gut. I screamed.
Then blackness.
Trip had pried my hand away. With Sam throwing his weight on a struggling Orlando, Trip turned me around, and cupped my face with his hands. “Kylie? Can you hear me? Are you all right? Say something.”
Dizziness overwhelmed me. If I’d read that man a second longer, I would’ve passed out. “I’m fine.”
Total lie. I felt nauseated to the core and my head ached like it had split in two.
“What were you doing?” Trip’s tone was angrier than I’d ever heard.
“Trying to help . . . Amanda.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and peered into my eyes. “You’ve done enough.”
“I couldn’t not . . . ,” my voice drifted off and I felt myself sway. My temples pulsed as darts of pain shot between my eyes. My arm felt stiff, as if I’d stuck it in an electric socket.
A siren shrieked as if in my ear, not helping my blinding headache in the least. Somewhere in my side vision, a black and white vehicle screeched to a stop behind Trip’s faded blue truck. Uniformed men assisted Sam by lifting Orlando to his feet and hauling him toward the vehicle.
I flopped against Trip, unable to move. I was completely and utterly wiped out. Never had I read someone for so long. And twice. The first images were fuzzy, out of focus. He wanted to kill me.
It hadn’t been real. I knew that, but doubt crept in. What if blurry images were future events? Not like I had a degree in mind reading. What did fuzzy images mean? Would the tattooed guy stab me to death?
I shook my head. Death couldn’t be in the cards for me. At least not in the near future. I felt desperate to share this with Trip. See if we could sort it out.
The second set of pictures had been perfectly clear and I had no doubt it was a real exchange that had occurred in Orlando’s presence. Although I hadn’t seen his face, the tattoo proved he’d been there. That I was seeing the scene through his eyes.
“I’m taking you home.” Trip helped me to my feet, keeping an arm securely around my waist.