“Are you all right?”
“I am.”
Again, he waited. “Britt.”
“I’m all right, and I need for you to believe that I’m all right so that I can go on being all right.” Her voice betrayed her by trembling a bit.
Understanding tinged his face. “You can tell me whatever you need to.”
“I know. But I don’t need to tell you anything more at this particular moment.”
“Okay.” He lifted first one of her wrists, then the other. His jaw turned brutally grim—
“Excuse me,” Kurt called. “If you’re ready, Ms. Bradford, the paramedics can check you out.”
She and Zander walked to the ambulance. Britt sat on the vehicle’s open bumper while the paramedics checked her vitals and tended to her wrists. She asked Zander question after question about the things that had happened to him after she’d left The Residences, until she understood how the SWAT team had found her.
Minutes later, they sat in the back seat of Kurt’s SUV on their way to the Merryweather Police Station to give their statements.
“Do you want to call your parents or do you want me to do it?” Zander asked.
She didn’t want to do anything. She only wanted to sit, allowing this car to carry her along, watching the scenery blur by. Her limbs had become as heavy as lead.
However, if Zander called her parents on her behalf, then her family would be even more upset than they were already going to be. “I’ll call. Do you have your phone?”
“No, they took it from me.”
“They took mine, too.”
“You can use mine.” Kurt passed his cell phone back.
She dialed her dad, the more even-keeled of her parents. Using a this-is-no-big-deal tone, she recounted everything that had happened.
Her dad informed her that he and Mom would meet her at the station and that she’d spend the night with them. She attempted to protest, but he quickly overruled her, and she didn’t have the energy to argue.
She returned the phone to Kurt.
Zander interlaced his fingers with hers and placed their joined hands on his thigh. The back of his head rested against the seat. His attention slid to her, and he squeezed her fingers.
Once again, her thin defenses began to splinter—
Stop it, Britt. Keep it together.
Tipping her temple against the cool window, she returned her gaze to the world beyond.
Britt glanced at the clock positioned on the bedside table of her room at Bradfordwood. 5:14 a.m. Dawn.
She flicked her focus to the night-light plugged into her bathroom counter’s backsplash. When she’d been small, a night-light that depicted a cow jumping over the moon had occupied that spot. After that, a dog night-light. After that, a chocolate cake night-light. After that, this simple and classy adult model.
She’d outgrown the need of a night-light long ago. She didn’t sleep with one at home. Yet during all the awake hours sandwiched in between the lousy three and half hours of sleep she’d managed during the night, she’d focused on the night-light while her mind rampaged.
The illumination it gaveshouldhave been reassuring. It was steady and warm and it saved her from coal black darkness. She kept waiting to experience its reassurance. But so far, she hadn’t.
After her parents had brought her here from the police station last night, they’d offered to make her a big dinner. She hadn’t been up for it. Instead, she’d parked herself in front of the TV. Eventually, her dad had delivered a dinner of her childhood comfort foods on a TV tray—peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carrots, Cheetos.
After that, her sisters had stopped by and everyone had clucked over her and given her fretful looks, which she’d loathed. Claiming tiredness, she’d excused herself as early as possible and retreated here, to her old bedroom, to hide. She’d talked on the phone with Zander, who hadn’t pressured her to spill her guts, which she’d appreciated. Even so, the sound of his voice had caused tears to rush to her eyes, so she’d kept it brief.
Sleep had seemed like the antidote for the exhaustion weightingher body, so she’d showered, changed into the pair of pajamas her mom had loaned her, and crawled beneath the covers. The more she’d strained for relaxation, however, the less her muscles had wanted to loosen. The more she’d tried to fill her mind with peaceful thoughts, the more it had fixated on the moments when Tom’s men had wrestled her into their car.
