Before You Go

by Ella James

  He yanked her up by her hair and tossed her into the limo. She scrambled across the seat to the other door. Locked.

  “Please let me go!”

  He pointed the gun at her. “Shut your god—“

  And then he was gone, tackled to the ground by a blur. Her savior snapped his arms around her kidnapper and lifted him into the air, and Margo’s heart stopped when she saw his face.

  “Logan!”

  Margo scrambled for the door, but the limo lurched forward, throwing her against the seat. She screamed as the momentum slammed her door shut.

  She tumbled forward and beat against the dark glass, but the driver didn’t slow. Of course he didn’t. She was numb with terror because holy shit she was actually kidnapped, she was being driven by a criminal imposter, probably to meet other criminals, to be whisked away in a boat or plane and ransomed.

  “Please don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Please. I don’t even really know her!”

  Oh, God! Logan! Logan would tell someone. She turned toward the rear window and stared out, as the light from the hotel faded behind them. She waited for it, for the flashing lights that would signal pursuit. Waited until the road forked: right to the casa, left to somewhere Margo had never been. The limo turned left, and Margo’s terror tripled.

  The road narrowed, and soon they were driving along a stony beach. Boat. They were going to take her away by boat.

  “Please let me go. You can have whatever you want. I don’t even want the money!”

  Just then two lights swerved into view behind her. Another limo, driving very fast and gaining. Her driver must have noticed, because her limo shot forward, squealing around turns and skidding frighteningly close to the rocky ledge.

  Her kidnapper was obviously a pro, but the other driver kept gaining, somehow, and even in her terror Margo knew the other limo would catch up. She also realized that the driver must be Logan. The confidence, the precision of the driving—somehow she just knew it was him.

  She felt the road level off and pressed her cheek against the left side window, trying to see what was up ahead. She had been right about the boat. It was there, maybe half a mile in front of them, a sparkling vessel in a little bay.

  She turned around, and Logan’s limo was there. Like right there.

  “Oh my God.”

  He slammed into the back of her limo and she tumbled forward. She dove for a seatbelt, and was just able to get it fastened when Logan hit them again, this time on the left, so her limo slid right. The driver was able to straighten, but Logan hit them again, this time up by the back wheel. The limo shuddered, then spun out.

  Logan veered sharply away, then turned back in and rammed the driver’s side door. Margo screamed as the driver lost control and her limo spun off the road.

  It shuddered to a stop, and her shaking hands fumbled with her belt. She tried the doors, but they were still locked. She heard the driver’s door open and held her breath. Then she saw Logan through her window, running at her kidnapper. Logan smacked him hard on the side of the face and he was down.

  “Logan!” she cried, beating against the window. He grabbed the handle but it wouldn’t open. He rushed to the front door, and she heard the locks click. She opened her door and fell out. Logan was there to catch her.

  “Holy shit, Margo! Are you okay?”

  “Am I OKAY?” Even her laugh was shrill. Deep breaths. Deep breath. “Sorry, I—”

  A gunshot ripped through their conversation, the limo door jerked toward them, and Margo felt a sharp sting in her thigh.

  She was dimly aware of strong hands pushing her back into the limo, then BOOM. BOOM. BOOM, and a sound she dimly thought was bullets hitting the limo. When she opened her eyes again she saw Logan’s face, a mask of horror, over her. “Let me see!” He ripped her dress from the hem all the way to where it hurt like holy hell deep in her thigh.

  “Damnit. Here!” He jerked off his jacked and wrapped it around the top of her leg, tying the arms into a knot. Then, to her shock, he eased her into the floorboard of the back seat. She moaned as he propped her leg on the seat. “Stay down and put pressure on it!”

  And then he ducked out, into the line of fire. “Logan!”

  There were two more shots, and Logan hit the ground. Margo wanted to scream his name, but she was dizzy. She tried to sit up, and the pain made it almost impossible. She sobbed as she grabbed the cold leather seat and pulled herself up.

  The horrific pain in her leg made her vision swim, but she forced herself to lean out of the car door. She saw Logan bent over the man he had knocked out.

  Margo gasped. “They shot me!”

  He glanced at her and his face twisted. “Jesus Margo, get back in there!”

  “But you’re—.”

  “You have too! I’m—”

  A bullet ripped through his sentence, and Logan turned toward the boat. Oh. The shots were coming from the boat. Of course.

  Margo looked down at her leg, and, holy crap, there was a lot of blood. She wobbled back, falling on her butt and moaning, watching through tears as Logan pointed a small gun at the boat. He fired, and her head swam. There was a volley of return fire, and then Logan started shooting again.

  “Just get…in…” Margo was woozy, and not even sure if she was saying actual words. Logan didn’t get in, so maybe she wasn’t.

  “Logan…”

  “Hang on Margo! Security’s almost here”

  Like magic, Margo could hear them. Three or four engines roaring closer.

  “…My leg…” doesn’t hurt as much.

  She was sleepy, too, and she decided that, with the good guys arriving, it was okay if she nodded off, just for a moment.

  22

  The sensation was like drifting. Drifting, drifting, drifting, and then like a buoy bobbing up out of the ocean. When she opened her eyes, it was dark, and she saw a bunch of flashing lights. Faint light come from the window with the drawn curtain. No lights from the low ceiling.

  She inhaled and realized: hospital.

  She was in the hospital, in a railed bed, because she had been shot.

  Without trying, she made a little moaning sound, and her bleary eyes spotted something big and shadowy moving over her. She knew that it was Logan.

  She said his name—it came out a squeak—and he came closer, his face bathed in the light from her monitors.

  “Margo.” He reached for her hand, finding it under several layers of blankets. His hand around hers seemed bigger and warmer than ever, and she realized she was shivering.

  “Margo, Margo…” He said it like a prayer, leaned down so his lips brushed her knuckles. His eyes were wide for a long time, like they’d stuck that way, and then he blinked. That seemed to settle him.

  “Margo.” He squeezed her hand. “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know.” She felt dazed.

  Logan’s eyes on her were earnest. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  She blinked, not sure she was hearing right. “You’re sorry…? Why? You saved me.”

  She hadn’t thought before she’d spoken. As soon as the phrase left her mouth she felt stupid. Vulnerable. His tightened mouth and lifted brows were confirmation.

  “You saved me from being kidnapped. You shouldn’t be sorry.” She smiled sadly. “I bet Cindy will want to make you the captain now. Of the space shuttle.”

  He rocked back, and she realized he was sitting in a plastic chair. He looked down at his lap and wiped his hands on his knees, nervous gestures—obviously—because he didn’t feel like she did. Tears pooled in Margo’s eyes. She swallowed forcefully.

  It was happening again—like at dinner that night on the porch. Logan was awkward and somewhere else, but even so, it startled her when he said nothing.

  Beep beep beep beep beep beep: her heartbeat—racing. She recognized the awful sound from her dad’s days in the cancer ward. If it kept beeping that fast, someone would come.

  She reached for the monitor, and after ha
lf a second found the silence button. She settled back onto the pillows and looked down at her body—numb and half forgotten. She felt tired, she realized. Her eyelids and her head felt heavy. “What happened?” she murmured.

  “You got shot. Do you remember that?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “When we got you here, you had surgery. The bullet was wedged… well, the point is, they got it out and you’re going to be fine.”

  She shut her eyes and tried to feel her lower body. She sensed a heaviness near her thigh.

  “Big bandage.” She sighed. “I bet that’s not too hot.”

  Logan leaned down, surprised her by wiping her hair off her head with gentle fingers. “You look beautiful.”

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  “I know.”

  A beat of silence passed, just long enough for her shallow breath. And she knew, somehow. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He sat back, not as far away as before, but no longer touching her or the bed. He rubbed his head, like he’d been wearing a sweatband and was overheated. “Margo, I’ve got…some things at home. I’m from Georgia, you remember. I’ve got a little sister there. My mom. Being here…with you. I kind of realized there are some things back home I need to do. It’ll be better that way. That way…” He swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  The heart monitor picked that second to turn itself off “mute.” The beats peeled through the room, loud and way too fast. Exposing. Humiliating. She slapped the button, let her chest fill up with cooling anger.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. You have things to do. I have…well, I have a broken leg. It’s broken, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m a pro at solitaire.”

  “Margo, wait, hang on.” His face had lit up with concern. “There’s some stuff I want to tell you, too.”

  “That’s good. Thanks, Logan. But you said you’re leaving.” Inhale. Exhale. She thanked God for painkillers.

  “Yeah.”

  Margo looked at him, and she made her voice steady and just a little condescending, the way she’d heard her father do for work, when he was talking to someone he didn’t like. “I had a great time with you. I’m glad we met. I’m really glad—” she laughed, distant— “because you saved the day, big time. I understand where you’re coming from. With your goals and…the whole thing with Cindy. There’s nothing wrong with that. I understand. Good luck with things. I won’t forget about you, and when you go to space, I’ll watch and tell my friends how much you meant to me this summer.”

  Logan’s mouth had opened. She stared at him, willing it back shut. Whatever he said would be wrapped in barbed wire.

  “Margo—”

  “It’s okay. It is. I promise. Thanks for staying with me. Thank you.”

  Logan’s mouth pressed flat. He nodded. Squeezed her hand.

  “You can go now. I’m okay.”

  “So you don’t need…”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head. “I don’t need anything from you.”

  He stood slowly, nodding a few seconds too long while staring at her dully. He was probably already ‘somewhere else.’

  Margo told herself it didn’t matter, willed the wobble out of her voice. “Thank you again, Logan.”

  “Uh…well. You’re welcome.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and stared down at her. He looked lost.

  “You helped me. I appreciate it. No hard feelings.”

  He nodded again, and she memorized his face. Memorized his shoulders, ass, his legs, his gait. Memorized the moment as he walked away.

  A few minutes later, a nurse came in with a syringe.

  “Miss Ford. How are you, dear?” When she didn’t speak, the woman patted her hand gently. “Your heart rate is a little high. I think you need some more Demerol.”

  Margo nodded. Shut her eyes.

  Epilogue

  The Kerrigan School for Young Ladies spared nothing at Christmas time. For the Jewish students, it was Hanukah, of course, and Kerrigan observed that as well—with all students welcome to participate in celebrations for each holiday—so by the middle of December, they were exhausted from festivities and glad to migrate home for the annual Intermission.

  The last weekend before Christmas, there was always a ballroom dance. This one was Margo’s first. She’d never been at Kerrigan for the holidays. As she sat at her dressing table, peering into a magnifying mirror and smoothing blusher on her cheeks, she couldn’t help remembering the previous December. Dressing with Molly, Hannah, and Lakelyn for the Great Grapescapade—a vineyard scavenger hunt followed by a midnight dance at her old school. She’d worn a soft green Prada gown and danced all night with her then-crush, Peter Calman.

  “Do you know what color tie Alton is wearing?” Elizabeth’s question made Margo jump. She’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the dorm room. She turned to face her roommate, who was perched at her own mirrored dressing table gluing on fake eyelashes Elizabeth called “beauty enhancements.”

  “No. I don’t. I haven’t really talked to him since Sunday.”

  Alton St. James was one of the most well-regarded guys at Kerrigan’s brother school, Maloney Prep. Margo had met him at an equitation several weeks after she’d rejoined the equestrian team.

  “Sunday?” Elizabeth’s blue eyes narrowed. “Why so long?”

  “He’s had the flu, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Damn, my glue is drying.” Elizabeth turned back to her mirror, and Margo watched her in her own. Her bestie hadn’t been the same since she’d started dating Michael. It wasn’t a bad thing—in fact, Margo was glad for her—but it did make Liz forgetful. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, since she was so absentminded already.

  For the next two hours, the pair chatted about classes, teachers, friends, and holiday plans while they filled the room with hairspray and perfume. They debated earrings and bracelets, speculated on who would be doing what with whom (and why), and, finally, zipped each other into gowns.

  “Eeeee! I’m so excited, it’s just stupid.” Liz gave a silly little hop, unable to keep a big grin off her face. “Mar, do you think I should invite him to come to the chalet? Just for a couple days? He’ll be in Zürs anyway. It’s his dad’s Christmas, and Mike said it’s where they always go to ski.”

  Margo forced her own face into a smile. “Definitely. You should.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Without any holiday plans of her own, Margo was tagging along for the Timberdimes’ Christmas in the Austrian alps. Every time they talked about it, she couldn’t help remembering her kidnappers, a group of scuzbags tied to a terrorist group in Munich. Their leader, Mr. Teeth, had been killed in the shoot-out the night of the party. She’d been asleep, but Jana had filled her in. Logan had mortally wounded another man; he’d died in a hospital in San Juan.

  “Margo. Earth to Margo.” Elizabeth’s heart-shaped face bobbed a few inches from Margo’s. Her brows drew together. “You okay?”

  “Yep. Most def.”

  “How’s the leg?” The question was asked with hesitation. Even Elizabeth felt uncomfortable mentioning Margo’s ordeal. Margo understood; she didn’t like to think about it, and it showed.

  “It’s good. Still needs a few trips to the tanning bed,” she joked. She was doing physical therapy to strengthen her left leg, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to the wheel chair and leg-immobilizer she’d used after being discharged from the hospital.

  Before Elizabeth could ask anything else about the Summer That Should Not Be Mentioned, Margo grabbed her clutch, slid her iPhone in, and turned toward the full-length mirror.

  Elizabeth gave a cat call, and Margo mustered a smile. This year, her dress was Marc Jacobs; royal blue, light blue, and white, it was fun and flouncy, with a dramatically high collar. She’d paired it with flats since she didn’t trust herself enough in heels yet
. Margo touched her wavy, air-dried hair and Elizabeth grabbed her elbow.

  “C’mon girl. Vite, vite!”

  They were walking out the door when Margo’s phone rang. No, it beeped. She fished it out and saw a text—from Alton.

  Mar- i need a rain chk. so sorry. wanted to go but still feeling shit. h. laurel is my proxy. –al