I gulp and do my best to make my eyes and brain catch up. My vision finally clears and body temperature rises. My breathing becomes fast and uneven when her face finally registers in my mind.
Leila.
The girl from the restaurant.
She doesn’t have anything to do with Cade. All of this time, I thought this was his doing.
But why?
“Leila?” I croak.
“Ahhh.” She snaps her fingers. “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. But, that’s not my real name.”
“What? Why am I here?”
She gives a blood-curdling laugh, holding her belly. It’s high pitched and scratchy. “Oh, sweet, sweet Whitley. This has absolutely nothing to do with you and everything to do with Jennings.”
I hiccup. “Jennings?”
Her tongue flicks out, almost like a nervous tick. “Yes, Jennings. Whitley, I’m not Leila. I’m Amy.”
My mind races.
“Amy? The woman who has stalked Jennings all of these years?”
“One and the same.” She bows with a victorious smile.
How could I be so stupid? Of course it’s Amy. Now that I can see her, I would have put it together eventually. Her long, skinny legs protrude out of her shorts, looking sickly and in need of a few cheeseburgers. Clear as day, I can still see her sprinting through the house back in Mexico, toying with me. I can still see her silhouette, leaning on the door as she watches Jennings and me sleep.
“You see,” she says, taking a knife out from behind her back. “Kidnapping you is the perfect plan. Jennings will find us. I made it so. The call?” She picks her fingernails with end of the knife. “It’s still going. He’s probably listening to the water run in the sink upstairs.” She snickers. “I sat it in the kitchen. But this way, the call is easily traceable. And, if he loves you like I think he does.” She bends down, putting her hands on my legs, meeting me at eye level, giving me a disgusted look. “And he does. I’ve been watching you two all year. I can’t tell you how many times I could have just shot you. Boom, no more Whitley. It could have been so easy. All of the times I walked by you on the street. Hell, Whitley, I’m in your art class.”
My breath hitches.
“What?”
Good God, she’s committed.
“Yep.” She slaps both hands on my thighs and stands up. “Professor Pippen. A dreary little woman. Brown hair, half crescent glasses, reeks of cats.”
I groan, rolling my head back.
“See? I planned all of this out. I just needed you to play your role. And you did, Whitley. Perfectly. Although, Jennings breaking it off with you because of me.” She chuckles, sadistically. “Little ol’ me broke up the famous Jennings Cohen and Whitley Hayes…Sanders. Whatever your name is.” She flicks her fingernail with the knife, again. “Anyway, I found out you were going to be here over Thanksgiving break and followed you. It was only pure luck that Jennings followed you. I mean—I couldn’t have planned that better myself. After that, it was all pretty simple. Approach you at the restaurant, looking meek and feeble to get your guard down.”
I scoff. “If anything, you coming to me only made me more apprehensive.”
“Not enough,” she taunts.
Touché.
“How did you find us in Mexico?” I ask because that has been a constant question on my mind since we returned.
“Oh, that was masterful, if I do say so myself.”
“I broke into the airfield and found Jennings jet. It’s not very difficult when you know exactly what it looks like. I’m a fan, I know everything.”
And on cue, my stomach rolls.
“I stole the itinerary from inside the plane. Can you believe they just leave it unattended?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Well, they do. Stewart saw me, though. Damn him. I need to take care of him, too.”
“So, what are you going to do to me? You’ve got me here.”
“Nothing,” she states, shrugging shoulder, looking smug. “At least until Jennings gets here.”
“He’ll never come alone, you know?” I say firmly.
She tisks. “On the contrary. He’s probably almost here. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out what happened to you. He probably picked up the phone and followed the GPS.”
“Jennings isn’t that stupid.”
Her eyes open wide. “Oh, for you he is. I don’t understand the hype, but he is. And when he gets here, I’ll let him watch me kill you. Then, I’ll keep him for myself.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
She slaps me. Hard across my face. Copper invades my taste buds and I lick my lip.
“Maybe, but I also get what I want,” she promises, getting close to my face, watching as the blood trickles down my chin.
My head rolls back and I pull at my restraints.
“Psychotic bitch,” I mock.
This time, she doesn’t give me a chance. There’s no slap, it’s a punch. Swift, like a cobra strike and my world goes black.
“Wake up.” Someone splashes me with water.
When I come to, my head is pounding and I rotate my jaw. Christ, that’s painful. Don’t move jaw. Got it.
The bulky man from earlier is standing in front of me, cracking his knuckles. Each crack sounds louder in my injured head.
“What?” I snap.
The light outside lets me know I’ve been out for a long while.
“It’s showtime.” He’s giddy? Good Lord in a hand basket.
“Jennings is here?” My voice echoes sadness. It’s all about to be over. I didn’t tell him I loved him. I didn’t get to let him know everything I’ve so desperately wanted to say all of these months. There’s still so much left to say, so much to do. So much to live. But, right now, I don’t see an out. Jennings is here and he’s going to be forced to watch me die at the hands of a person who has brought constant worry in his life. I should have listened. If I had, neither of us would be here. Jennings could be off with someone, happy and I could have at least kept him out of danger.
“He is. We had word he was driving this way…alone.”
“Damn,” I groan, feeling sleepy still. That last knock to the head rattled something bad in me.
Come on Jenns, do not come alone. You have to know this is Amy. Please.
Please.
Please.
A shadow rushes past the thin window to my right and the bulky man follows my eyes. He crouches, ready to pounce.
Another shadow. Like a blur, it moves past.
Then another.
And another.
“Hmm.” I give the man a side look.
“Shut up,” he snaps, running up the stairs, shouting, “Amy!”
Then, it’s quiet. My heartbeat thumps in my chest, and it sounds decimals louder in my ears. Not even a creak of floor could be heard and I strain to hear something.
Rocking my body in my chair with force, I try to tip it over. The heavy wood holds for minutes as I wait for something to happen. I rock. And rock. Heaving my body over and over, the chair finally goes crashing to the floor and the armrest breaks, freeing my left hand. I’m sure Amy heard me, so I scramble to untie the binds around my right arm and feet. Thankfully, they didn’t tie my feet and hands together, because during the fall, the left leg broke as well and I’m able to wiggle the rope off.
Loud banging sounds from upstairs, immediately followed by vulgar yelling. Voices upon voices shout and scream commands. I can’t make out a word, though. The door to the basement opens and I move to a dark corner, hiding behind a table that’s fallen over. Crouching down, I watch as Amy and bulky man race down the stairs.
“Where is she?!” Amy screeches, stomping her foot.
The bulky man looks around, baffled. “I—I don’t know. I left her right here.” He bends down to pick up the broken pieces of the chair.
“Dammit!” Amy cries.
“Come out, with your hands up!” Someone commands behind the closed door upst
airs.
Amy crosses her arms. “This isn’t how I thought this was going to go. But, Whitley has to be in here somewhere.” She walks around the room. “Whitley,” she singsongs. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
I duck further behind the table.
She bypasses me and I take a breath of relief.
“Nope.” Her face pops up from behind the table. I throw my body back against the wall. “I knew you were still in here. I can smell your perfume.”
Jesus, bloodhound.
“Now, let’s make a show of it, why don’t we?” She bends over the table, pulling me up by my hair.
I let her take me.
When I’m out from my corner, I bend my hand back and thrust my hand up into her nose. Amy’s face shoots back, her grip on my hair loosening.
“I’m in here!” I shout.
But, Amy bounces back, taking the knife out of her jeans, waving it in front of my face. Blood spurts out of her nose, staining the front of her shirt, but she doesn’t blink.
My instincts kick in and I run. My hand is inches from the door handles when someone catches my ankles, causing me to pummel, face first. My chin hits a stair, rattling my teeth.
“Not so fast,” the bulky man chastises, pulling me back, each stair hitting my chest with a bang.
I lift my head to look at Amy. She wipes her mouth, standing tall and confident in front of me.
I felt the crack of her nose. I broke it. How is she not on the ground?
“Alright, now that you got that out of the way.” She takes hold of my upper arm, pulling me to my feet. The second I get a good stance, I kick her legs with as much force as possible, making her fall backward to the ground with a sickening thud.
I bound up the stairs again, but bulky man stands in my way, blocking my exit. His hands grab for my shoulders, but I take his waist in my hands and bring my knee to his groin, hoping to push them up to his throat.
He falls to his knees grabbing at his pants.
Hopping over him, I sprint to the door. My hand connects with the doorknob and I turn it, flinging it open. A man in all black. Black headgear, black shirt, black pants, black bulletproof vest and black shoes.
Jennings brought a firing squad.
I smile and look to the man’s eyes. His widen and I feel something warm enter my stomach. Turning my head, Amy stands just below me with a knife hand. I grab at my side, falling forward. Shots ring, over and over, and the last thing I’m able to see is Jennings pushing through the door, shouting my name.
Four Days Later
“I DON’T KNOW HOW someone got to her,” I tirade as Finn questions me in the hospital room at the Mercy General Hospital. Whitley’s still in a coma, she’s still fighting for her life. She’s still waiting to wake up. She’s still not here. And watching Whitley be here but not really be here is maddening.
“You did all you could, Jennings,” Finn says softly. “Amy is gone.”
“Dead,” I correct. “She’s dead, Finn.”
“Yeah, she’s dead. It’s time to stop worrying about the why’s and think about what’s happening now. Whitley will wake up. The doc told her mom that it’s all up to Whitley at this point.”
“I know,” I agree, steepling my fingers under my chin.
Whitley’s mom, dad and step-dad have been here for three days straight, and I told them to go home to get some sleep. We were all zombies, waiting for her to wake, but there is no way in hell I’m leaving. She’s here because of me. And, I’ll never leave her side. I’ll be here when she wakes. I’ll never leave her after that. I’m going to spend every day trying to make this up to her. Loving her will only be the beginning. As I watched her fall to the ground, our entire life together flashed in front of my eyes. I had to do everything in my power to make it happen.
After Finn shot Amy, Whitley was immediately taken to the hospital in Charlestown. Amy and her goon somehow traveled five hours away to a city just outside of Oklahoma state line. The only reason why I found her is because Finn was able to track the cellphone’s GPS. He lives right outside of Charlestown and had a swat team here within an hour after I called. They staked out the house all night, waiting for something to happen. But, nothing did until I stepped foot into the town.
I had Stewart fly me to a field just outside of the city limits and drove here in a car that was left for me.
When we got Whitley to the hospital, we found out Amy had punctured her stomach and spleen. She immediately went into surgery. They removed the spleen and were able to stitch up her stomach before she bled too much. She was so lucky. A couple of inches deeper and she would have bled out before we got her to safety.
“She’s going to wake up,” Finn drills into my head, holding my shoulder.
I nod my head and watch as her chest rises and falls. Her eyes move back and forth behind her lids and I can’t make myself look away.
“I’ll stop back later. If she wakes, call me.”
Taking Whit’s hand in mine, I bring it to my mouth and kiss her knuckle. “I will. Thanks, brother.”
“Hell of a reunion, huh?” Finn laughs.
I pry my eyes away, and let go of Whit’s hand, grabbing onto Finn’s forearm, pulling him to me. I hug him. I hug him for all of the years I missed. For all of the years I let slip by, for every hug I should have given him.
“Really, thank you,” I breathe, clutching to him. Because without him, Whitley wouldn’t be here.
“You got it, big brother. I’ll see you later.”
I nod my head. Mom wasn’t able to have any more children after me, you know the story, but they did adopt Finn shortly after I turned two. He was a sad little thing. Given up at birth, he came into our lives and left just as quickly. On his fifteenth birthday, he asked to move to my uncle’s house and didn’t come back. I held it against him. He left us. But, I had no idea that his birth mother had come into town, looking for him. So, he ran. And now I understand.
In many ways, Whitley and Finn are much the same.
When we break apart, I watch Finn slip out of the door, closing it with a soft click.
Taking a deep breath, I sit back down and take a hold of Whitley’s hand. Letting my head fall to the bed, I sleep.
There’s slight pressure on my hand as I begin to wake. Lifting my head up, the sun peeks through the curtains and Scott sits in the corner, watching us.
“Oh, hi, sir.” I straighten up, rubbing my eyes.
“Hey, kid,” he smiles.
“Any change?”
He shakes his head, sullen. “Some. They say she should be up soon.”
“Yeah?” I get excited. “That’s great.” I turn to look at Whitley. Her color is slowly coming back. The flush in her cheeks is finally back. Her fingers twitch in my hand and I grip it tighter.
“Son,” Scott starts. “Are you okay? After everything you’ve been through, I don’t know how you’re not in a state of shock.”
I look to him, so similar to Whitley. His gray hair matches his eyes. The wrinkles around his eyes show his age, but it’s easy to see he’s still fairly young. From what Whitley told me, they got pregnant at a young age.
I look at Whitley, her hand now holding firmly onto mine. “It’s her.”
He breaks out into a smile that could beacon ships. It’s bright and proud. “I know the feeling. It’s pretty easy to live when you have someone like her loving you.”
“It is,” I concur. “I love her, sir. Very much. I’m sorry this happened. She’s here because I couldn’t control Amy.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “You didn’t do this. The only thing you’re guilty of, is loving a woman. You couldn’t have controlled this situation if you wanted to. From what I understand, that woman was deranged.”
I nod.
“You did right by her.”
“Yes, he did,” Whitley speaks, low and raspy.
“Pretty Girl,” I say, stunned.
“Hi.” She looks to me, then looking over my shoulder.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Scott gets up from his seat and moves to the other side of her bed. “Hi Jules. It’s good to see those eyes. Welcome back.”
She gives a weak smile. “Thank you. Can I have some water?”
Scott turns around, and then back to us, and around again. “Oh, of course. I’m going to go get the nurse and call your mom. They’ll want to know you’re awake.”
“Okay,” she exhales.
“I love you, Buttercup.” Scott winks.
“You too, dad.”
When Scott leaves, I get on my feet and kiss Whitley’s forehead. “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened to you.”
She shakes her head. “Stop it. I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” I say, giving a sad laugh, a tear falling from my eye. “You’re in the hospital because someone…my problem…my fan, wounded you. None of this is okay.”
She closes her eyes, licking her lips. “Listen to me, Jennings Cohen. You can sit here and feel guilty. You can blame yourself. But, I don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You saved me.” She smiles at me, her lips exposing her beautiful teeth. “My hero. I love you. Thank you.”
I choke out a sob. A very manly sob. “I love you, Pretty Girl. So much. Don’t ever do that, again.”
Whitley takes her hand, still attached to a bag of fluids, and wipes her eyes. “I don’t plan on it.”
I bring my mouth to her forehead again and let my lips touch.
“Mom, I can’t eat all of this!” Whitley blanches, pushing the plate away.
“Whitley Jules Hayes, you will eat everything on that plate and you will be happy about it.”
Whitley rolls her eyes, her hand landing on my thigh, squeezing it under the table. I try to hide my laugh, but fail miserably. Monica walks by me only to hit me on the head with a dishtowel.
“Fine,” Whitley gives in, popping a piece of turkey into her mouth.
Monica looks on.
“Mmm.” Whitley chews, rubbing her belly.
“You are lucky you’re still sore, or I would thump you a good one, too, missy,” Monica scolds, pointing her finger at Whitley, a smile playing on her mouth.
Anyone but Him Page 31
