Authors: Becca Jameson
Out Of The Smoke (16 page)
“Down on the ground. Arms out.
Now
,” the guy with the megaphone yelled.
The guy was shaking, but slowly kneeled to the ground and then lay down in defeat. “That bitch was asking for it,” he yelled.
Alan nearly screamed. He had to bite into his thumb to hold back his anger. What did he mean? Where was she?
Cops ran at the man from every angle, guns aimed at him ready for any false move. Two officers pushed the door open and went into the room while Alan waited, his feet ambling forward with no regard for his own personal safety.
Moments later, they came back out.
“Where is she?” One of them screamed down at Matthew while others were in the process of cuffing him. “What did you do with your wife, Martin?”
Shrill laughter cut through the still air. “Fuck you, and fuck her. Get me a lawyer.” Martin rolled onto his side and kept laughing.
He was a psychopath. Insane.
Now what?
“How many times do I have to tell you to get back?” Alan jerked toward Brown who frowned at him and pointed behind the building. “This is not a safe area yet. Get back and let us do our job. If Liz is in the area, we’ll find her. Move.”
Alan backed up toward the car. What if Martin had killed her already? What did he do with her? Would he have dragged her body into the woods right here and left her?
Alan held his breath, headed toward the car and peered inside just as the police already had. He was careful not to touch anything and ruin evidence. There wasn’t anything inside. He cupped his hands over his face to block the rising sun. Not a trace of evidence that he’d even used the vehicle. It was almost too tidy. Not even a napkin or takeout cup on the floor.
Fuck
. Where was she? Should he start searching the woods?
Something caught his attention. The tiniest noise over the voices behind him. His mind was probably playing tricks on him, but he froze and gazed around the area. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought the car jerked. What was that?
Shit
. It did move. It happened again, a distinct swaying. The
trunk
! Why hadn’t anyone thought of that?
“
Liz
.” Alan ran the few steps back to the car, not caring a bit about prints anymore. “I’m here. I’m coming. Hang on.” He turned his voice the other way. “
Help
!
Someone
help me.” With his fingers, he pulled on the lip of the trunk as though that were going to be enough to open it. He needed to open the driver’s side door and pop it. He ran around the car. Locked. “
Help
,” he screamed again. “She’s in the fucking trunk!”
Loud voices. Yelling. And then others surrounded the car. Alan ran to the rear again, pulling on it futilely. A crash sounded, broken glass shattering, and then a pop and the lid sprang open. Alan hadn’t taken his eyes off the trunk.
God almighty. Alan reached in with both hands and pulled a terrified Liz into his arms. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He squeezed her body against his, her pounding heart the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.
Someone pried her away a few inches and gently pulled the tape from her mouth. She just sobbed, sucked huge lungs full of air into her body and laid her head against Alan’s shoulder while another officer cut the ropes clear of her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” Alan mumbled into her hair. He could kick himself for all the time they’d waited in a standoff with the bastard in the motel room, ignoring the car in their faces.
Slender weak arms clung to him, wrapped around his neck and held on for dear life.
“We need to get her to a hospital.” Brown had his hand on Alan’s shoulder, his look of great concern when Alan glanced up. “She’s been in there a long time. She’s dehydrated.”
Liz moaned, but didn’t speak. Alan cradled the back of her head with his entire palm to keep it from swaying off his chest and lulling to the side. She was barely coherent.
An ambulance pulled into the parking lot and sped toward them. Two paramedics jumped out and flung open the rear of the vehicle to pull out a stretcher.
“Mr. McCarthy, you have to let her go. Let the medics do their job.” Brown’s voice seemed far away. “Alan?”
In slow motion, Alan carried Liz’s shivering body over to the gurney and laid her on the stark white sheets. “I’m right here, baby. Right beside you.” He let his grasp on her slide away until all he had was her hand in his own. A death grip that had to be painful, but he didn’t care. She was here. She was alive.
People spoke all around him, but Alan only stared into Liz’s eyes and held her gaze. Huge green eyes filled with fear that said, “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, baby. I’m right here.”
*
The ride in the ambulance had been a quick one and then Liz was whisked away down a hall. Alan trailed at the rear, not willing to lose sight of her but knowing the doctors needed some space to do their job.
They rounded the corner to a room and carefully lifted her onto a hospital bed. She hadn’t spoken since he’d first hauled her out of the trunk. She was conscious, but her head was rolling back and forth in obvious pain, her eyes closed. Alan tried to squeeze into the room as the gurney from the ambulance was removed, but a hand stopped him.
“Sir, we need you to wait out here for a few minutes. Let us get her stabilized.” The doctor waited for eye contact and when Alan looked from his palm resting on Alan’s arm to the man’s stern gaze, he took a deep breath. “I promise we’ll let you in as soon as possible.”
Alan nodded. He couldn’t see what they were doing, but several doctors and nurses leaned over Liz’s bruised body. Alan laid his head a little too hard against the wall and winced at the contact. He closed his eyes and placed his hands on his calves to catch his breath. When was the last time he’d breathed easily? Yesterday?
She’s here. She’s going to be okay
.
“Sir?” Someone had silently stepped out. “You can go in now. But let the nurses still do their job.”
Alan pushed through the door. Liz was already in a hospital gown lying on the bed. One nurse carefully rinsed her right wrist with some sort of baster over a plastic tub while another arranged an IV on the far side. Her face was splotchy and red, a distinct raised red rectangle all around her mouth from duct tape.
The first word he heard was “ouch” which made him cringe, but then he smiled. Her small cry meant she was reacting appropriately to the pain.
He tiptoed closer and gently laid a hand on her thigh to draw her attention from the wound on her arm. He hadn’t expected her to be awake, or nearly as lucid yet. She jerked her hand from the nurse’s grip and opened her eyes, seeming far more coherent than before.
When she turned to look at him, her face was almost blank for a long moment before a slight smile curved the corners of her mouth.
He tightened his grip on her thigh.
“Ouch,” she said again. She flinched and pulled her other arm from the grip of the IV nurse. “That really hurts.” Her voice was extremely hoarse.
“Sorry, ma’am. I need to get this IV in. It’s hard to find a vein. You’re so dehydrated.” The nurse leaned over for another attempt. Alan watched the blood drain from Liz’s face. Her whole body grew tight.
“Look at me,” he soothed while placing his hand on her cheek. “Relax for just a moment so she can get the IV in. You need the fluids.”
Liz grit her teeth while the nurse performed tortuous acupuncture on her bruised and battered forearm. Alan wished he could take the pain for her. He’d endure anything if it meant she never had to suffer again.
“Done,” the nurse finally proclaimed and quietly left the room.
Thank God. Alan had been holding his breath and stared into Liz’s pain-filled eyes.
Apparently, Liz had been also, because she exhaled for several seconds and relaxed into the pillow while her face loosened to a more natural state.
Alan continued to grip her leg and hold her gaze while they waited for the remaining nurse to address first one wrist and then the other.
“I’m going to leave these wounds open for now, until the doctor can check them to see if you need any stitches. Try to hang tight for just a little while and then I’ll be able to put some ointment on them.” The nurse grabbed her things and left.
Alan couldn’t have described a single detail about her because he’d never lost eye contact with Liz.
“I’m so sorry,” he said as he moved in closer and then kissed her gently on the cheek.
When he pulled away a few scant inches, tears were slowly creating a little stream down her cheeks. “Did they get him? Matthew?”
“Yes. He’s in custody.”
Liz shook her head back and forth. “You don’t know him, Alan. He gets away with everything.”
“Not this time, babe.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Not this time. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“I’ll be in trouble, won’t I? For leaving New York like that.” Her voice was raspy, faint.
“I know a good lawyer. You’ll be fine.” Alan smiled.
He wanted more contact with her, needed to know she was really here in his arms. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was. He settled for a hand on her upper arm, shaking with emotion.
The tears increased and he pulled back to wipe them gently off her tender cheeks, reddened from hours of crying and her skin’s reaction to the tape. “Liz?”
“Yeah?” She searched his eyes.
“I know we barely just met, but I think I’m in love with you.”
The tears increased. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
As long as it involves you staying in my life.
“Please don’t jog at six o’clock in the morning anymore.” Her coy grin lit up her face.
“Done.” Alan leaned in to lay a tender kiss on her lips.
The End
About the Author:
Becca Jameson lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and two kids. When she isn't writing, she can be found reading, editing, scrapbooking, running, swimming, biking, or taxiing kids all over creation. She doesn't sleep much…or sit down often…but she loves to be busy! To learn more about Becca Jameson, visit her blog at www.beccajameson.com or email her at [email protected]