“Ash!” Tag yells as it all fades to black.
Chapter Thirteen
No Name to the Stalker
Tag
“It’s fortunate she had the driver detour. The suspect apparently knew when she left, and he expected her home sooner or he wouldn’t have called you to gloat so early on,” the detective sighs.
“Why did they detour?”
“They were going to have to drive past a noisy factory, and she said it scared your son on the way there.”
I smile as I look down at my little boy squirming in my arms, while his mother lies in the hospital bed, still unconscious after her surgery.
“The doctor says she’ll make a speedy recovery. It looks like we’re after a guy between five-four and five-six, based on the attack mark, depth, and angle. It’s a good thing you got there when you did. He left behind a car-seat. He was planning on taking your son with him.”
I shiver as the thought of losing either of them almost overwhelms me. I walk over and sit on Ash’s bedside while taking her hand in mine.
“That’s twice he’s tried to kill her. Any idea what he did to my guys’ phones?”
“An electronic pulse he sent out killed them all. He cut the wires to your land line. Ash and Troy’s phones were still working, but his was left in the car, and apparently she didn’t answer hers.”
“Yeah, I figured that out. We’re going to go stay at one of my other homes for a while. I don’t want Ash to be afraid, and I’m sure she will be if she’s there.”
“Mr. Masters, I don’t want to upset you, but I think she was planning on moving out. She had a suitcase open when we arrived on the scene, and some of her things were strewn across her bed.”
I have barely been in the house for long enough to gauge the surroundings. I was just worried about getting to her. I could have chased the guy I barely caught a glimpse of, but I couldn’t leave her there, bleeding out.
“She might think she’s moving, but she’s not going anywhere until this guy is behind bars or dead. Personally, I prefer the latter of the two.”
“Honestly, I prefer the latter of the two as well. I hope you can convince her to stay. She doesn’t need to be alone.”
“She won’t be alone.”
I won’t let her leave.
***
Ashiara
Waking up in a hospital with a damn aching side is never fun, but I feel fine, considering I was stabbed. Now I’ve been stabbed and shot. Either this guy is the worst criminal of all time, or he’s not as capable of killing as he wants to be.
Either way, I’m grateful to still be breathing. I’m even happier my son is okay, and the psycho focused solely on me.
“You still look incredible, and you’re in a hospital bed,” Shannon playfully gripes. “I hate you.”
I laugh lightly until I realize how badly that hurts to do, and then I shake my head.
“You’re excellent for my self esteem.”
She smiles affectionately, and the doctor walks in to check on me.
“Ms. Branderwood, you are one fortunate young lady.”
“I’ve got a good guardian angel.”
“Well, your guardian angel kept the knife away from all your major organs and arteries. We were able to stop the bleeding and get you stitched up with minimal problem. You should be able to get out of here in a couple of days.”
“Who do I need to give my insurance information to?” I ask while staring at the younger guy who doesn’t look old enough to be a doctor.
“Actually, it looks like your husband has already handled all the financial stuff.”
My husband? Wrong patient, Doc.
“Well that would be a little hard since I’m not married.”
His lady-killing smile flashes, but apparently I’m numb to all other men.
“Well, someone by the name of Tagland Masters handled the financial stuff. I assumed he was your husband, since your son’s name is Trip Masters.”
I should have let him assume he was my husband. Now I just look like a slut.
“Oh. I didn’t know Tag had been here.”
“He hasn’t left,” Wren says as he walks in carrying a gallant bouquet with Billy on his heels bringing one of his own. “He’s downstairs with your parents right now, explaining what happened.”
I didn’t want them to meet him. Damn it.
“Oh,” I mumble uncomfortably.
He hasn’t left?
“Well, I’ll see you in a while, Ms. Branderwood. Until then, you need to eat.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I grumble. “I got stabbed the last time I tried to eat.”
My morbid joke doesn’t make anyone laugh. They all cringe instead.