This is Love, Baby(52)

“Stark,” she barks out.

I launch into a crazy man’s babble. “He took her. I think Brandon took her. She was here last night—said she got away from him. But her shoes are still here. Stark, she wouldn’t leave without her shoes. Not to mention, she wouldn’t leave me. Goddammit she’s pregnant with my baby! You have to fucking find her!”

She lets out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. “We’re on it. I already issued an APB on Brandon’s truck after I spoke with Miss Winston last night. We’d pinpointed the location of the hotel she called from and his credit card activity matched, but when we arrived, they were both gone. I have no doubts Brandon is looking for her. Unfortunately, Baylee isn’t my only concern right now.”

I brutally grip the phone and clench my teeth. “What the fuck is your concern besides finding my goddamned fiancée?”

She huffs, clearly frustrated with my tone. “The cabin was empty. There was no body. No sign of Mr. Sharpe.”

The room spins again and I lie back against the pillows for a minute. “What do you mean there was no body? You mean to tell me that bastard could be the one who took her?”

Jesus Christ.

This can’t be fucking happening.

Again.

There’s only so much that girl can bear. And why the fuck did I not hear her leave last night? We’d both fallen asleep and I didn’t wake to her struggling or screaming. No way would she have left willingly.

Not my girl.

“His car was gone too. We’ve put out an APB on his vehicle as well. Stay put, Mr. McPherson,” she commands. “We’re on it. Find out what you can on Edgar Finn, will you? That’ll keep your mind occupied while we locate Miss Winston.”

She hangs up on me and I scrub my face in frustration.

Like fuck I will.

I am stuck here until Dad shows up with clothes. I can’t exactly take to the streets barefoot. I feel like a prisoner in this fucking room. Crawling back out of the bed, I pull up the app on my phone that I’d installed awhile back. The green flashing ping gives me a false sense of security—I know it doesn’t tell me if she’s hurt—but it at least tells me where she is. I keep it open and under my watchful eye while I take a quick piss. By the time I’ve splashed water on my face, Cathy shows up with my dad and a security officer.

Everyone has somber looks on their faces and I think I might snap. “Someone please talk to me.”

“This is really against hospital protocol, but since MPE is such a generous benefactor—” the security guard stammers but is interrupted by my father.

“And we appreciate that. Can you please just tell us what was on the footage?”

“Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “About an hour ago, a man in scrubs was seen entering this room pushing a wheelchair,” the security officer tells me, his breath heaving. “Several minutes later, he came back out with a young woman in the chair. She appeared to be awake. Didn’t look to be injured on the footage. The man’s face was covered. They’re still sorting through the parking lot footage.”

“Shit,” I hiss out and then run my fingers through my messy hair. “I’m leaving. I have to find her.”

She shakes her head. “Sir! You’ve just had surgery to repair a pneumothorax. You can barely walk without getting winded. I strongly advise against that.”

I toss my phone onto the bed so Dad can see and he nods, passing me a bag of clothes. “Cathy, will he be okay if he stays put in the car? Once we get Baylee, we’ll come back. Just tell me he’ll be okay to leave for a short while.”

She frowns and waves her head in a disproving way. “Sir, he has a chest tube in place and a wound vac. Even if he wants to leave against medical advice, I need a doctor here to D/C the tube, get prescriptions for antibiotics—because he will probably get an infection if the chest tube is discontinued early—and provide me with discharge orders. These things will take me some time.”

The mention of antibiotics makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. I try to fight the black that threatens to consume me at the mention of the risks involved with leaving the hospital early. The fact that my lung, according to Cathy, will likely fill with infectious pathogens.

My breathing grows shallow. It’s an involuntary response.

But I remember the look in Baylee’s eyes last night—the one that she was trying so desperately to keep from me that spoke of pain, and humiliation, and sadness.

I remember that she needs me.

And I remember that it’s my turn to fight for her, like she fought for me. To bring my queen into the light.