Sammy Jo focused on her toes and when they wiggled on command, she would’ve shouted her relief and hallelujahs had it not required so much effort.
“I went to a party,” she said, remembering. “With Bonnie and Michelle.” She gasped. “Were they in the accident, too?”
Her mom shook her head. “Your friends are fine.”
“I snuck out.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she couldn’t wipe them away. Her mom did it for her, lingering a bit too long, as moms so often do. “I’m sorry.”
She was tired. So tired. And her eyes so heavy.
Her mom brushed the hair from her tear-dampened face. “Go back to sleep, honey. You’re safe now.”
Oh, good. She was safe now.
Safe? She wanted to question what her mom meant by that, but she succumbed to whatever medications were running through her veins instead.
* * *
Tears streamed down Bonnie’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Sammy Jo.”
“We should’ve never talked you into going to that party,” Michelle said on the edge of a sob as she smoothed the blanket over Sammy Jo’s ugly flowered hospital gown.
“We should have realized that guy was bad news.”
“Yeah, he was too good-looking.”
Sammy Jo only half listened. She waited until they’d blamed themselves out, then said, “You guys have to tell me what happened. I can’t... remember. My parents won’t tell me anything other than I was in an accident and some people were hurt.”
Her friends looked at each other before turning back to her, so Sammy Jo knew it was bad.
“What do you remember?” Bonnie asked.
It hurt her head to think— apparently she had a concussion, too. “I remember going to the party. The bonfire. I remember a guy following me.” She saw his face in her mind’s eye and something about it triggered an almost memory, but it flitted away before taking shape. “I remember meeting, um, a guy...”
“Morris,” Michelle supplied for her. “He was the one driving the car that, um...”
“They kidnapped you from the party.”
“The doctors say you were drugged.”
“You were in a stolen car.”
“The driver ran a stop sign.”
Sammy Jo squeezed shut her eyes at all the flashes of memories popping like light bulbs in her brain. “Why can’t I remember?”
“Maybe it’s better if you don’t,” Michelle said softly.
“I have the newspaper,” Bonnie said, reaching for her purse.
Michelle slapped her arm. “Her parents don’t want her to—”
“Newspaper?” Sammy Jo’s brows drew together. Even that nothing little movement hurt.
“Yeah, the story made the front page,” Michelle said. “You’re sort of famous.”
“Let me see it,” Sammy Jo held out a shaky hand. Thank God her ability to move was coming back. The drugs must be wearing off.
Bonnie dipped into her purse, but paused before pulling the folded paper out. “Okay, but promise me you won’t tell your parents I showed it to you. They’ll kill me.”
Sammy Jo nodded and reached for the newspaper, unfolded it and held it in front of her face. It took a moment before her eyes focused enough to read the headline blaring at her. Two children and three others killed in fiery crash in Bothell.
Tears filled her eyes. “Two kids—” She swallowed hard. “—were killed?” Her head and heart hurt to think about that. Her belly clenched and unclenched. She set down the paper, unable to read more.
“You guys ran a stop sign and ran into another car.”
She squeezed shut her eyes, but that didn’t stop her from crying. “And the three others?” Her voice broke on the edge of a sob.
“Those losers that took you from the party.”
“Three...?” She struggled to remember. “But there were four, I think.” Shadowy flits of memory flashed through her head again. “Yes, I remember four guys.” Two in the front. Two in the back with her. She’d been on the floor.
“Yeah, one of them survived. Jimmy or Johnny or something. He’s in juvie. Hope he rots in there.”
“He did save her though,” Michelle added. “Maybe he’s not all bad.”
“He saved me?” Jimmy? Johnny? She strained her brain to remember. Shit! Why couldn’t she remember anything?
Michelle nodded. “Your car — well, the one you were in — was on fire. He pulled you out, before it... well, before you...” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “He pulled you out.”
* * *
That night, after her friends had gone, and her parents had fallen asleep in the chairs beside the hospital bed, Sammy Jo lay wide awake, unable to sleep because of the motion picture of memories downloading in her brain. She still couldn’t remember everything. But she remembered enough.
She’d been hesitant to go to the party. Her gut had rightly told her to stay home. Then she’d met Morris. Her gut had wrongly told her he was a nice guy, that she could trust him. She’d seen Johnny at that party— her gut had told her to be wary of him, that he was trouble. But Morris had drugged her, kidnapped her, and almost got her killed. And, apparently, Johnny had saved her.
Obviously, where guys were concerned, she couldn’t trust her gut. Or maybe she just couldn’t trust herself when it came to the opposite sex.
Either way, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Ever.
MY OTHER BOOKS
Shameless
(the full length novel that continues the story you just read)
Deliver the Moon
Her One-Night Prince
Borrowed Stilettos
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About the author
I’ve wanted to write romance novels since I read my first Harlequin Romance at age eleven. When I’m not writing, I work as a personal fitness trainer and group exercise instructor, where I teach Pilates, kickboxing and yoga. I feel very lucky to have not one, but two dream jobs: writing and fitness. Other jobs I’ve worked at over the years include portrait artist, marketing director, graphic designer, waitress and hoer (say it out loud, and you’ll know why I get a laugh out of this).
I live in the Pacific Northwest with my husband, two kids, a German Shepherd beast, two cats who plot to kill the dog, and a dead gecko (seriously). In my free time, I like to read, watch Criminal Minds reruns on TV, and do absolutely nothing.
Shameful Page 3