by Meli Raine
Forty miles per hour.
Drew turns the SUV to the right and oh, God, it feels like he’s driving us right off the road, but then I see we’re on an incline, heading up, spraying gravel everywhere, the sound of brakes like metal shrieking, like the machines are screaming. How can we head up? I see blue sky. Nothing but blue. How can this—
BANG! POP!
White balloons smother me and that’s all I remember as I lurch forward, the seat belt cutting into my breasts, my neck snapping back and then I am on the pillows and the white fades, the sound fades—it all fades.
I fade.
Chapter 34
Someone is throwing rocks around against my skull. They need to stop. The pain is so bad I’m going to throw up. I start to gag, then take in a big breath. I can’t. Something’s covering my mouth. My throat spasms and I claw at the space in front of me, finding wetness and plastic and pain.
Drew.
Where’s Drew?
“MMMMMMMmmmmmmuuuhhhh,” I say, the sound like a Doppler effect, like the sound of my body dying as it’s flung across hundreds of yards. I push on the plastic and the wetness peels away, air filling my mouth like ice turned into open space. Cold needles poke my lungs.
I breathe.
“Lindsay!” Hot breath against my ear. A warm, strong hand on my shoulder. Fingers on my brow. I inhale again and still see nothing but white.
“Dooo?” I can’t say his name right.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He paws at the white plastic and my eyes start to focus. It’s not all white. Smears of dark liquid cover the plastic as he peels it off my neck and chest. The scent of copper fills the air.
It’s blood.
My blood.
I breathe through my mouth. My nose won’t accept air. Blue and red lights flash in a pattern and suddenly, the air is full of noise. My mouth tastes like metal. The tip of my tongue runs along my top teeth. The end of one canine tooth feels jagged, like I chipped it.
Drew’s face spins, white splotches covering my vision and then black spots filling in. He shakes me. The spots fade and I see blue and red lights again.
And then it’s all just...gone.
For the next few minutes, I wake up and pass out, wake up and pass out. My body rumbles like it’s on a cart, then I’m in the air, doors closing, the distant sound of a siren filling my ears. Someone’s holding my hand. Then they’re not. The babble of voices and crackle of intercoms makes it hard for me to breathe. To sleep.
To make it all stop.
I feel a pinch in my arm and open my eyes. Everything is white. White curtains behind a doctor wearing white. The lights in the ceiling are bright white. My vision blurs to cotton. Warmth floods through my arm and I look down to find a tube feeding medicine in me.
Not again.
The heat in my arm creeps up to my chest, until my heart relaxes, my chest releasing, and I give in to the white and black.
I just give in.
Chapter 35
The next thing I remember are bodies, standing, so many voices in quiet, worried tones. They’re not worried about me. I can tell. They’re worried about other people and how they relate to me. It’s like sitting in on a meeting at Daddy’s office.
As I crack my eyelids, I see that’s exactly what this is.
A meeting in my hospital. About me.
Spin control with IVs.
A smooth, soft hand holds mine, and I turn my face toward the source of the support. Mom. She’s chattering animatedly with Anya, who is scribbling on a clipboard while juggling a smartphone.
“Mom?” I croak out. My hand gets squeezed in response, and I groan. It hurts. She drops it.
“I’m sorry, Lindsay. Did I hurt you? You’re so delicate right now.”
“Hospital?” I whisper.
“Yes. Yes, you’re in the hospital. You gave us quite the scare!” She squeezes my hand again. I want to tell her that it hurts, but I can’t. She smells like sweat and coconut. I’ll bet I interrupted her tennis lesson.
“I’ve got the major networks under control. We’re feeding them all the easy information,” someone says from behind Mom. “We can’t do anything about the smaller websites and social media, though.” Marshall. That’s his name, right? Tall, older blonde guy who doesn’t even look at me.
“Any pictures or video from the scene?” That’s Daddy’s voice.
“So far, no. Thankfully, the accident happened on a quiet stretch of highway. Drew thinks there weren’t more than two or three cars that drove past before Lindsay was transported and the tow truck took her car away.”
“Thank God.”
Accident? Accident? That wasn’t an accident. I want to scream the truth at them. My mouth won’t open. My blood starts to pump so hard it feels like I’ll explode. My head is going to pop like a zit. Didn’t Drew tell them the brakes stopped working? Didn’t he—
“Let’s keep the brake malfunction out of the hands of the media for as long as we can,” Daddy says softly behind Mom. My eyes are closed, but I can tell he’s off to the side, right by the door. “Is someone checking out the car?”
“Local police tried to claim jurisdiction, but we’ve got this.”
That’s Drew.
I make a sound, a groan—anything to get their attention.
It works.
Mom turns to me with a look of consternation, her eyebrows down. This is notable because Botox has made a genuine frown impossible for her. My condition must be serious.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I groan, needing for them to understand. If they think I crashed the car on purpose, it just feeds the frenzy inside me. I’m in a hospital bed, and every part of me hurts. But it would be worse if they thought this was my fault.
I can’t let them think this was my fault.
“I know it wasn’t an accident, Lindsay,” says Drew. His voice is fierce. Protective. There is a steel inside the tone he uses that says, I’ve got your back.
No one has had my back. No one. Tears tingle behind my eyelids. Breathing becomes difficult. Not because I’m injured, but because emotion takes over. Drew believes me.
Someone believes me. Do you know how rare that is?
“We know from Drew what happened,” Daddy says to me. His voice is a mixture of assurance and shrewdness. If I open my eyes, I’ll find him watching me very carefully. Daddy knows how to tease out the information he needs to assess a situation.
And then act appropriately on that information.
All I am right now is a source. A source first.
Daughter second.
“The brakes stopped working,” I hiss. The words don’t want to come out of my mouth. They feel like tiny pieces of rock, rolling down a steep cliff over my tongue and teeth and through my lips. “I tried. I kept pushing the pedal, but it wouldn’t stop. The car wouldn’t stop.”
The effort to push air out of my lungs and into my throat to say the words is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It reminds me of waking up, tied up, on that horrible night four years ago. I know if I open my eyes, I’ll see myself bruised and bloodied in this hospital bed. My joints pulse. My skin feels like rock. And my head—oh, my head. Someone is banging a steel drum with my teeth, and it echoes off of my bones.
I inhale and smell Drew. He must have moved closer to me. The rustle of his jacket against his shirt releases a cloud of sweat and cologne that hovers over me. I should open my eyes. I’m sure everyone is looking at me. They are all waiting for me to tell them what happened. What really happened.
I wish I knew more.
I breathe in and out, savoring the scent of Drew. It’s hypnotic. Comforting. And all I want to do is make everyone else leave the room and have Drew take me into his arms.
Instead, I get interrogated.
“What do you mean you pushed the pedal, Lindsay?” Daddy’s voice is neutral. Too neutral. I know he’s trying to figure out what happened underneath the surface.
But here’s the thing. There is noth
ing going on underneath the surface. As far as I know, my brakes failed. Did someone make them fail? I don’t know.
It turns out I just said that aloud, because Daddy’s eyebrows go up. “What do you mean someone made your brakes fail?”
“Exactly what she said, sir.” The clipped way that Drew snaps the sentence makes all the tiny hairs on my exposed skin stand up at attention. I can feel Mom straighten her spine even though my eyes are closed. She must be turning, looking at Drew, who moves in a way that rustles his clothing again.
Now I hear him take one step closer to me.
I feel his warmth. And then I feel his hand resting against the blanket that covers my leg. His touch is fleeting, but it’s there. Drew is sending me a message.
And he’s about to send one to Daddy and Mom to.
“When we left the shopping area, Lindsay’s brake lights were on and fine. I did not observe any problems, sir. As we accelerated, she began to drive erratically. I called her and she told me her brakes didn’t work. We were on a stretch of highway that made it impossible for me to call emergency services and get aid before she would’ve crashed. I did call 911 to request assistance. I made a judgment call to pull my vehicle in front of hers and use it as a tool to slow her down. If the crash is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
“You didn’t cause anything.” Daddy waves his hand toward Drew. It’s a dismissive gesture. “Someone obviously tampered with Lindsay’s vehicle. We need to spend our time and resources on figuring out who it was.”
I open my eyes. Daddy is giving Drew a hard look. “Get your men on it now.”
“Yes, sir.” Drew is saying as few words as possible.
“Who would tamper with Lindsay’s car?” Mom asks. She’s frowning again. Her eyes dart to me. “Do you know, Lindsay?”
If I look at Drew, I’ll betray myself. What happened back at the dock has nothing to do with my brakes failing. There’s no way any of those ex-friends of mine tampered with my car. They wouldn’t know which piece to break. Tara barely knows the difference between an Audi and a Honda. She wouldn’t know how to make a set of brakes fail.
I let out a huge sigh. “I have no idea.” I swallow my mouth dry and then open my lips again to speak. I close them.
I was about to say that I haven’t been home long enough to piss anybody off, but that’s not true, is it?
A doctor enters the room and cranes her neck around. I can see her through my barely open eyelids. She’s short, and young, but she has a don’t mess with me look on her face.
“We need to give Lindsay a chance to rest.” The doctor’s imperial nature makes Daddy cock an eyebrow at her. She doesn’t cower. I smile. She reminds me of Stacia, back at the Island.
“Just a few more questions, doctor.” He makes it clear that he’s the one in charge in this room. The doctor ignores him, walks over to my bed, and picks up my chart. I wish they would all leave.
Everyone except Drew.
“Based on what I’m observing, Senator, you all need to go. I realize that you’re her father, but patient care takes precedence over these questions.”
Okay, she can stay, too.
“I’m sure that Lindsay’s medical care needs have been adequately met at this point,” Mom says, glaring at the doctor. “You do understand that her father is running for president. The car crash may very well not have been an accident.”
My eyes fly open and I look at Mom. Is she defending me? Or is she defending Daddy, and his right to continue questioning me?
“This can wait.” Drew jumps into the argument, taking the doctor’s side. Taking my side. Now I have two people who are for me, and two people who want to continue questioning me.
The irony that the two people who want to continue questioning me are my parents does not escape anyone.
“Patient care before investigations.” The doctor snaps my chart shut and turns, speaking to Drew. “You’re the security detail?”
“Yes.”
“Then as far as I’m concerned, you make the decisions about who stays in this room.”
“But we’re her next of kin!” Mom shouts.
The doctor’s eyebrow raises. “According to her chart, Lindsay is twenty-two years old.”
“And your point is?” Mom has a way of using condescension as if it were a scent. A weapon. Something tangible that you can taste. If condescension had a flavor, it would be my mother’s pheromones.
“My point is that Lindsay is an adult. She can assign power of attorney to whomever she pleases.” The doctor gives me a look that manages to be both compassionate and challenging, yet also remaining firm. “Do you want this room emptied?”
“Yes.” Both Drew and I say the word at the same time.
“That’s all I needed to hear.” The doctor looks to Daddy and says, “I’m sure you want to avoid media attention.”
“Are you threatening to kick me out of my own daughter’s hospital room and then go to the media about it?”
“I wouldn’t have to go to the media about anything. They’re five feet away, clogging my hallway and compromising my other patients.”
“Sir.” Drew leans over and whispers something to Daddy, who frowns, then nods.
“Good point.” He walks across the room, kisses me on the cheek, and leaves without another word.
“Sweetie,” Mom says, playing it up for the crowd. “If it’s best to let you rest, then we need to go. I know you wish we could stay, but you need to follow doctor’s orders.”
She has this way of turning someone else’s “no” into my problem, as if I were an errant child disobeying the doctor. But if it means she’ll leave, then I’ll play along.
She air kisses my cheek and leaves.
My shoulders sag with relief.
“That bad?” Drew asks.
“You know the answer already.” I look at the doctor. “Thank you.”
“I’ve dealt with lots of celebrities. Politicians aren’t that different, other than having the power to pass laws.”
“Tell that to my dad.”
“I think she just did, Lindsay.” Drew walks out of the room, says a few sentences to someone in the hall as the doctor checks my pupils, and returns.
“I’ve got Silas outside.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. “And here’s your phone.”
I remember that my phone buzzed with a text, right after the crash. I take it from him and check my texts. One from Mom, one from Stacia, and—
“Drew.”
He’s assuring the doctor that he’ll watch over me. She leaves.
“Drew!”
“What’s wrong?”
Shaking so badly I drop the phone on my knee, I try to answer.
But I can’t.
“Just look,” I finally whisper.
He picks up the phone, reads, and steel pours into his face.
His eyes meet mine.
“Everything just changed, Lindsay. I’m not leaving this room. Not for one second until you’re home.”
Chapter 36
Welcome back, Lindsay. Ready to play with us again? the text reads.
I don’t recognize the number, but then again, how would I? I don’t recognize any numbers. I’ve been gone for four years. I don’t think I know my own mother and father’s cell numbers by heart.
“Gentian!” Drew snaps. Silas appears instantly. The two huddle, Silas’s expression hardening, eyes glancing at me. A toughness takes over in him, a visual change that is stunning.
“Got it,” Silas says, answering whatever instructions Drew just gave.
“I have two more men on their way, Lindsay, and we’re covering your car now.”
“Covering?”
“In case the evidence is tampered with. We need to protect whatever the investigators need in order to find these guys.”
“So you think it’s...” I don’t have to say the words.
Drew goes to my window and pulls the curtains shut. I know he’s not doing it to help me sleep. Closing curt
ains covers the windows and makes me less of a sniper target. Then he grabs a chair and stands on it, checking the sprinkler system, the fire alarm, the duct work, and anything on the ceiling or wall that might conceal a camera.
“Clean,” he says into his earpiece.
“Considering I came in through the ER, I can’t imagine that someone would—”
“You don’t have to imagine. That’s my job.”
He is so upset. I’m too tired to be upset. Adrenaline can’t run through me anymore. It’s all gone. If I had any left to give, my body would inject every cell with a flood of emotion and fear. Instead, all I can do is close my eyes and feel everything all at once.
“What are we going to do?” My words echo through the room like a machine with an alert or the whoosh of an electronic gadget designed to monitor me. Not the kind my father has used for years as part of his overall strategy, but a medical device. One designed to make sure that I stay as healthy and alive as possible.
Whoever sent me that text is determined. They did the opposite. They want me hurt. They want me unhealthy. They want me unstable.
I’ve been home for two days.
So far, they’re winning.
Drew sits on the edge of my bed, his hand reaching for mine. I open my eyes so slowly. It takes energy. It takes so much energy to open my eyes, but when I do it’s worth it. Drew leans forward, his eyes piercing my soul. I want to trust him. I want to think that he can do the job my father hired him to do. Having Drew protect me from them—from my attackers—feels like a fantasy.
He studies me, his head tilted to the side. He is so serious. I take the luxury of looking back at him. My eyes dart back and forth, capturing his eyes, studying the fine lines that intelligence has etched into his face. Drew has always been smart, but there’s something more now. Experience has sharpened him. That’s what life does.
You scrape yourself, over and over, against all the hard edges of life so that you become so sharp that people can be wounded by the wrong touch.
What happens when the right touch comes along?
