This is Love, Baby(63)

I haven’t said much, and have let War’s whispers soothe me. He’s been counting and muttering since we sat down. I know he’s still with me because every so often he presses a kiss to the top of my head. But he doesn’t stop. It’s as if he’s found a way to cope with the blood and the insanity. I don’t dare disrupt that. I don’t need to ask him if he’s okay, I know he’s weak and exhausted. Aside from his muttering, he’s not moved much.

When a black Crown Vic comes bouncing down the drive, red and blue lights flashing, I let out a sigh. It’s almost over.

A pretty brunette climbs out of the car and stalks over to us. Her scowl hardens her features but when she sees me, her face softens. The clomp of her boots on the wood porch indicate her arrival and she squats down in front of me.

“Miss Winston?”

I lift my head and regard her. Dark brows furrow together as her eyes quickly asses the blood all over me.

“Are you hurt?”

Shaking my head, I glance over as two uniformed cops and another detective in a suit walk inside the house. “I’m okay. It’s not my blood. War needs to get back to the hospital, though.” He stiffens beside me at the mention of his name but then quickly relaxes.

“Of course, hon. We’re going to secure the crime scene and then I need to ask you a few questions before you leave to get medical attention. Wait here and I’ll be back in five,” she instructs as she stands.

When she doesn’t move, I lift my gaze to hers and she frowns.

“Miss Winston,” she says softly, almost motherly in nature, “I’m sorry this happened to you. We’re going to continue to bring down every other perp who had any dealing with the White Collar Trade group. Together, with you and Mr. McPherson’s help, we’re going to catch these guys. Every last one of them.”

My mind flits back to that day I met War. Before I climbed into his car. When the monsters lurked around in their five thousand dollar suits, expensive haircuts, and dashing grins. A time when they bought and sold women as if they were nothing more than a simple business transaction. Trading in a used vehicle for a sexy, sleeker model. Their wolfish smiles were terrorizing to all the lost sheep in the flock. If I could help save even the sixteen other girls I saw walk across that stage, it would be more than I could have ever expected. Men like Edgar Finn will go to prison and rot for their crimes against those women. Women like me. Detective Stark can prevent that man from carving up women for sport.

I’ll do whatever the hell she needs as long as she makes that happen.

“Thank you,” I tell her, meeting her gaze with a firm stare of my own.

“Stark, we have a problem,” the other detective says through the doorway. “I think you need to come see this.”

She stalks off and my veins freeze. What sort of problem do they have? Will I somehow be in trouble for defending myself?

Not even thirty seconds later, Stark bursts through the door with her radio in hand. “I want a chopper in the air casing a five-mile radius of the crime scene. We need the coast guard on alert. We’re looking for a Caucasian male, forty-one years of age, and severely injured. Suspect is on foot and his blood loss trail indicates he went into the ocean. The prick is most likely dead, but I won’t sleep until I zip him up in the body bag myself.”

I stiffen.

This was supposed to be over.

“Bay,” War murmurs into my ear, “it’s going to be okay. Calm down.”

But I can’t calm down. Jerking from his grasp, I run the length of the porch and make it to the railing just in time to puke over the side. I try to ignore Stark’s voice, which only seems to make things worse, but her words still find their way inside my head.

“Contact the local news and have them make an emergency police bulletin. We’re looking for a man named Gabriel Sharpe. Suspect is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous despite his life-threatening injuries.”

Hearing his name—confirmation that it isn’t over—sends me over the edge. Black crushes in around me and I go down, submerging into the darkness.





FOCUS. FOCUS. FOCUS.

Baylee. Baylee. Baylee.

Shit!

I’m naturally predetermined to freak the fuck out about the things I can’t control—blood, microbes, disease, toxins, her pain. My mind threatens to crack down the middle and split in half so the terrors can wreak their havoc on me. It seems imminent.

But I can control it.

I have to.

I will.

My fingers thread through her blood-caked hair as Dad drives us to the hospital and I find my calm. Baylee needs me and I won’t let her down now. I’ve been getting better, because of her, and I will be the one to help her through this. My precious Bay has been to hell and back. She’s had to be strong for so fucking long and now it’s time to reverse the roles. I will be the one to carry her to the end. The road won’t be an easy one and she’ll need a lot of counseling, but I’ll be there for her every step of the way. The demons in my own head are dead to me. They can go fuck with someone else because I’m over it. Fucking over it. I’m done fighting those bastards because I am fighting for her.