“Jesus! Are you shot?”
“No, no, I think I took my knee out when I fell. Are you ok?”
“I think so.”
“Where is—” Another blast cut me off, had me curling into a smaller target.
“It’s ok, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Tate murmured, tightening his hold. “He can’t reach us here.” When Tate and I fell, we fell to the side, around the corner. We had a wall between Grant and us. “Evan has him trapped in the bathroom. Taylor and Derek are evacuating the restaurant.”
From my perspective, I watched others escaping to the kitchen, and most likely out the rear door. Slowly, one at a time, they rose from the floor and crept away. As one would disappear through the exit, the next would follow, edging along the far wall.
“I want my son!” Grant shouted. “You hear me Cooper, you fucking whore, I want my son!”
My fingers curled, nails digging into the grimy carpet.
“You aren’t getting him, you sick fuck,” Tate muttered. “I hope Evan sticks a couple caps in your ass.”
“Why don’t you put down your gun,” Evan replied, “and we’ll talk.”
“Fuck you!” I guess that was a big fat no. No surprise there. I suppose Evan was stalling, buying time. It wouldn’t do to tell Grant a flat out ‘no.’ He might just rampage and shoot everyone in the place. “Just give me my kid and nobody else gets hurt.”
“Not until you’ve calmed down.”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business.”
“Coop,” Tate said lowly, “it’s almost time.” The restaurant had virtually emptied, except those in the booths along the right wall, like Carter, Levy, Marshall, Jake, Shane, and three or four other patrons. All of which were in the direct line of fire. They hunkered down in the booths, beneath the tables, taking cover.
“I’m not leaving until Levy’s out.”
“Carter has him. He’ll be fine. He won’t let anything happen to him. I swear.”
“No.”
“Cooper.”
“Tate, I’m not leaving without my son!”
“I want my son right fucking now,” Grant demanded, “or this bitch in here is fucking dead!” I would’ve called his bluff, but he extorted a scream from his hostage.
“You asshole!” she cried. “Let go of me!” A small skirmish ensued, distinguishable by the epithets coming from both Grant and his hostage. “He’s bleeding like a stuck pig!” she shouted—to Evan I presumed, since he was negotiating. “I think you hit an artery!”
Grant must’ve coldcocked her, because I heard a dull thud, followed by the sound of her body hitting the floor.
“You see, Cooper? Evan’s a professional. That shot was no fluke. Nothing is going to happen to Levy.”
I shook my head, tears filling my eyes. They quickly brimmed over in a maelstrom of fear and loathing. Levy was still crying. He was scared. Leaving him felt like abandonment.
Damn Grant to hell.
“We’ll just go to the kitchen, then. We can wait for him there, right behind that door, Cooper. We won’t be far.” Brushing the hair from my face, Tate pressed on. “He’s not going to get hurt. Grant will have to go through Evan, Taylor, and Derek. It’s not gonna happen.”
“Tate’s right, Cooper,” Taylor said, crouching beside us. “We need to get you both to a safer location. The sooner you’re out of here, the sooner Derek and I can concentrate on evacuating the others, including your son.”
Tate rose before I could refuse. He and Taylor each grasped an arm, lifted me from the floor and began physically escorting me toward the kitchen and farther away from Levy.
My neck bowed as I watched Levy grow farther away.
They pushed through the kitchen doors to where half a dozen police officers stood along the wall, flanking either side of the entry. Tate pulled me off to the side, where he hoped we could remain inconspicuous to their attention. There, he pulled me into his arms.
Taylor approached the police and began apprising them on the remaining hostages, their locations, Grant’s location, his alleged injuries and anything else that might be of importance. One of the six spoke into his radio and then cautiously slipped through the doors, followed by four of his comrades. The last remained behind, securing the kitchen door.
“We should move,” Taylor suggested, returning to us. “When they escort the others out, they’ll bring them out the front door. It’s closest to their position.”
Backing me to arm’s length, Tate asked, “Stay or go?”
I was late, but I wasn’t dense. They managed to evacuate me by doing it in degrees. I might as well have been miles away from Levy. My heart and soul was in that room with the demon from my worst nightmares, and I had no power to protect him. I could still hear him crying for me.
“He’s going to be fine, Coop,” Tate said when he saw the shift in my expression. Whirling, I headed for the dining room, driven by my rising panic. “Coope—aw fuck!”
While Tate struggled with his knee, Taylor lifted me by the waist, toting me—kicking and screaming—toward the exit. Outside, the sun was high in the sky, beaming down on us, an antithesis to what I was feeling inside. No, Grant had once again managed to eclipse any light in my life, stealing it and corrupting it with his dark and twisted soul.
Once a safe distance away, Taylor placed me on my feet. “He’s dying. If that woman is right, he’s bleeding out. It’s only a matter of time. We just have to wait him out.”
“Then let me go back inside,” I demanded, trying to step around him and failing as he mirrored my moves. I dodged right; he went left. I dodged left; he moved right.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“You’d be his first target, Cooper. Do you want to leave your son alone, or risk the one you’re carrying? You’re pregnant. You can’t put yourself in danger.”
Turning away, I stifled a sob, falling into tears again. An immediate surge of guilt ensued as I found Tate hobbling across the parking lot toward us. Rushing to his side, I meant to help him walk, but he pulled me into his arms and hugged me instead.
“He’s ok. Levy will be ok.”
My head shook on its own accord. “He was so scared. I heard him crying.”
“He’s not anymore. Look.” Holding up his phone, he showed me a picture sent from Carter’s phone. It was a selfie. Levy was sitting on Carter’s lap beneath the table of the booth. He was smiling that all teeth, squinty eye smile. Beneath the picture read, “Bet you like my camera now, Coop.”
“I love his camera,” I agreed. “I’ll never complain again.”
“Come on. Let’s head up to the front. See if anyone else made it out.” Taylor took the duty of helping Tate walk, assuming I wouldn’t take off. I couldn’t say myself. I just might.
When we rounded the corner, I spotted Jake and Shane crisscrossing through the crowd, making their way to us. “Holy shit!” Jake exclaimed. He approached Tate and Taylor, giving them each a shoulder hug and a fist bump. “Am I glad to see you guys. I saw you go down. I thought you got hit.”
“We’re good,” Tate replied, “but Levy is still inside.”
“I’m sorry, Coop,” Jake apologized, his expression grim. “As soon as we made a run for the door, that fucker started firing at us. Carter didn’t make it out.”
“Here Coop,” Shane said softly, passing me his table napkin. My face must’ve been a mess. Most of my makeup was staining Tate’s shirt. Not that I cared what I looked like. It was just odd, the observations you made while under stress. It was as if you became hypersensitive to the environment. Along with Grant’s sneer, I would probably remember at least seven random details about the day. Like the dirty, red carpet as Tate crushed me to the floor, the pair of converse that ran past my face as the wearer ran for their life, the upturned goblet teetering on the edge of the table, the dark, red stain beneath it, and the impeccable weather.
“He’ll be ok. Carter has him, and your friend Marsh
all is there too.” In a rare gesture of consolation, Shane squeezed my shoulder. I can’t say why, but it brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
“Mr. Watkins,” someone said behind us. I lifted my head from Tate’s chest. He was an older man in a pair of jeans, a white button down and a black sport coat. His hair was brown and would’ve been horrendously curly if it wasn’t cropped so short. Offering his hand, he introduced himself. “Matt Copeland. TDC Records. We spoke on the phone.”
“Right.” Tate took his hand in a firm grip. “Tate. This is Cooper.”
“Nice to meet you ma’am,” he said, though made no move to take my hand. His eyes remained on Tate. “I hope no one of yours in inside.”
“Our little boy. He’s two. And Carter, as well as a few of our crew.”
“Damn.” Scrubbing his jaw, he appeared genuinely upset. “Do you know what happened? I was just arriving when everyone started bailing out. I thought I heard gunfire.”
Tate hesitated, reluctant to spread the trash my life had become. “An ex of Coop’s that’s been stalking her.”
“Jesus,” Jake murmured. This time, his hand squeezed my shoulder. He and Shane had gotten out before Grant made his demands. This was the first he heard of who was to blame.
“Well, the police are involved,” Matt observed. “I’m sure they’ll get everyone out safely.”
Regardless of the outcome, I could only hope Grant ended up behind bars, if not dead. Honestly, I preferred he were dead. Though, bleeding out was too easy of a way to go. I wanted it to be drawn out and painful. He deserved no less. At this point, however, I couldn’t be choosy. Dead would suffice. As long as he was permanently out of my life, I didn’t care.
I just wanted my son safe in my arms.
Time seemed to pass in infinitesimal stretches. It clung to my consciousness like a barrier that made it hard to breathe. I found myself pacing, unable to stand still. This distressed Taylor to no end, afraid that I would run pell mell into the restaurant to retrieve my son.
It crossed my mind several times.
“Something’s happening,” Tate observed, limping to my side. Indeed, the front door swung open. An officer stepped to the side, ushering several people out the door. Hunched over, they ran out the door, then straightened and darted across the parking lot where they melded into the crowd of spectators. Carter and Levy were not among them.
“There,” Jake said, pointing at the last two individuals, “they were in the table next to ours. Carter’s gotta be coming next.”
Suddenly, a commotion erupted inside. The officer holding the door flattened himself against the face of the building, his gun drawn. The sound of gunshot rang out, several loud pops that sounded like snappers, those little paper noisemakers one threw on the ground.
A second later, silence fell. Marshall bounded out the door, carrying Levy cradled against his chest. Carter shambled out behind them, clutching his right thigh just below his ass. Derek had his weight, helping him across the parking lot. They were secondary to the health of my son. I struggled against Tate’s grip as Marshall loped our way.
“He’s fine, Coop,” Marshall said as he drew closer. “He’s ok.”
“Firecwackers, Momma!” Levy crowed. “I heard da firecwackers!” Levy bounced in Marshall’s arms as if he just came off an amusement park ride. His eyes were alight with excitement, youthfully oblivious to the whole event.
Taking him from Marshall, I held him tight to me, seeing for myself that he was indeed healthy and unharmed. Everyone crowded around, patting Levy’s back and ruffling his hair, relieved and overjoyed that he was safe. He’d become a pet of sorts to the band.
To Tate and me, he was much more.
“I’m ok,” Carter carped loudly to no one in particular. “Don’t fret over me, even though I’ve been shot in the ass. Really. I can drive myself to the hospital. It’s just a flesh wound. Nothing big. Just a bullet hole.”
“Let me take a look,” Derek said, turning Carter by the shoulder. Indignant and demure, Carter declined the precursory examination by swiping Derek’s hand away.
“I’m not dropping my drawers here.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Strickland. I’ve been in the service. There isn’t much I haven’t seen in the way of asses or injuries.”
“Fine, just…be gentle.” Snickers resounded across the group of us, and again when Carter made a noise of discomfort. “It’s not funny, a-holes, it really hurts.”
Little did Carter know that we were laughing because he hadn’t been shot after all. Well, he had, but his phone took the slug, saving him from injury. Looking over his shoulder, he took in the device Derek extracted from his rear pocket, and the spider web crawling across the glass. A grimace wormed up his face, cheeks flushing.
“My phone! My brand new phone!”
Chapter 19
The concert ended up delayed due to police questioning. Tate had wanted to cancel the show altogether, but I insisted they perform. It had been a harrowing day. I needed some time alone to wind down and get my bearings. My life had taken another unexpected turn. One for the better, but no less traumatizing.
Grant had gone out in a blaze of glory. He had wanted me dead, and when he failed at that, he set his sights on Levy. It was the ultimate revenge. He wanted me to suffer, and what better way? Any mother could attest that there was nothing worse than losing a child. Thus, he bided his time until he had Levy in his sights.
Fortunately, Evan and the police were quicker to the draw. They covered Marshall while he took Levy from Carter and ran for the door. Derek covered Carter, though Carter caught a bullet in the ass when he was climbing out from under the booth. Well, his phone took a bullet.
Furthermore, I learned that Grant wasn’t my only stalker. Evan was right. Andrew Lee Walker had also formed a compulsive fixation. The man had deemed himself my guardian angel. Though the police had confirmed Grant was responsible for keying my car, the attempted break in at my apartment and loosening the lug nuts on my tires, the blood found under my nails after the road rage incident came back inconclusive. It belonged to neither Grant nor Andrew. Andrew, from what the police learned, was trying to protect me from Grant. They had discovered this from several acquaintances during interviews while trying to uncover his whereabouts, as well as his own statements from the night they had arrested him back at the Loft.
Unfortunately, Andrew Lee Walker paid for his good deeds with his life. He was found dead approximately one and a half miles from Garrison’s farm. From the condition of his body, they estimated that he had been dead a good two weeks. I was told the late summer sun hadn’t been kind, nor had the stone used to bludgeon him until unrecognizable. He was so badly beaten that they had to identify him through DNA evidence. The police believed that Andrew had tried to stop Grant and ended up a victim himself.
Evan, nevertheless, warned me that this, in no way, meant that Andrew Lee Walker hadn’t been a dangerous individual. I didn’t argue, but the point was moot since he was dead.
I sighed, watched Levy’s eyes roll languidly beneath his closed lids. I could’ve watched him sleep all night, but the concert was over. Tate would be returning any minute. Carefully, I lifted him from the bed and carried him to his bunk.
The rest of the band would straggle in one at a time as they finished ‘mingling.’ We had a three AM departure for Cleveland to make Hautboy’s next show. We would sleep through most of the drive there. I hoped. As of yet, sleep remained elusive to me.
Marshall stirred from where he was sitting on the sofa. He rose and cleared his throat, looking at the door in a far away gaze. “I’ll be outside until Tate gets back.”
“Marshall.” Marshall stopped, but he wouldn’t look at me. His gaze remained rooted to the floor at his feet. He’d been this way all night. I didn’t know if I should thank him or shout at him, but I went with the former because I owed him terribly. “Thank you.”
“What the hell for?” he asked. His gaze flic
kered in my direction, harried, haunted. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You got Levy out safely.”
“Got Levy out safely?” he repeated, incredulous. His mouth opened and closed several times, his face growing progressively redder. “Grant shouldn’t have gotten that close in the first place! If I had done a better job, Levy wouldn’t have been in any danger!”
“Oh, get off your high damn horse, you stupid moron.” Marshall’s head jerked back at my response. “Nobody’s omnipotent. You couldn’t have known what lengths he’d go to in order to hurt me. He was a psychopath. So suck it up and quit playing the martyr.”
“Martyr? Damn, Coop, that’s harsh.”
“Well, it’s true! I never asked you to take a bullet for me!”
“You don’t have to! It’s part of my job!”
“You don’t have to place yourself in the line of fire to deem your job a success. The outcome is what’s important. Everybody’s safe. Grant’s dead. You’re alive. Consider that a victory and call it a day.”
“I know. I know. I just felt so…powerless and incompetent, like a rookie, you know?”
“You are a rookie. What—did you expect to fly in there like Superman and save the day?”
Marshall smiled, but it quavered. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Thank you for caring, Marshall, but if you ever think about sacrificing yourself on my behalf, you better think twice. I won’t be a pawn in some misguided urge to pacify your guilt. Saving me isn’t going to bring your sister back. It’s only going to get you killed. Do you know what that would do to me? Do you know what that would do to your parents? They already lost one child. Do they need to lose you as well?”
Taking a deep breath, he blew it out, his expression pained. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just…I love you Coop. If anything ever happened to you or yours, I don’t know if I could forgive myself. You’re like family to me.”
Pulling me into his arms, he squeezed me in a bear-like hug, hoping to close the conversation. I wasn’t falling for it. “I mean it, Marshall; I’ll have Evan fire you.”
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