"I don't know." Everything felt disconnected, unreal. She reached up and gently touched the back of her head. When she looked at her hand, there was a small amount of blood on her fingertips. "The man. The one driving before. He ran."
"We saw him. Units are searching now." The officer helped her sit up. "Ambulance is on its way."
Emery, needing fresh air, inched to the edge of the cargo area and swung her shaky legs over the side. She could still hear Callie spewing lies about Emery. About what had happened. Trying to explain why she had to tie Emery up, because it wasEmery trying to kill her over the fact that Devon loved Callie, not Emery.
It was pure insanity.
Emery almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Sandy appeared, her face tight with concern. "Emery. Jesus, we thought—are you okay?"
"The man," Emery said. Her voice sounded strange, too calm. It was almost as if she’d left her body, and someone else was speaking. Shock, probably. "He's still out there. He was hired to kill me. What if he goes after Devon? After the family?"
"We're already on it. I've got units at the main house. We know who he is—Jim Webb, hired gun with a record. We'll find him." Sandy placed a kind, warm hand over Emery’s. "But right now, you need medical attention."
An ambulance pulled up, EMTs jumping out with a stretcher. Emery wanted to protest, to say she was fine, but she knew that wasn’t true. And when she tried to stand on her own, her legs gave out.
The EMTs caught her, eased her onto the stretcher. One of them shone a light in her eyes, asked her questions she barely heard. Everything felt muffled, distant.
But she was alive.
As they loaded her into the ambulance, she caught sight of Callie being shoved into the back of a patrol car. Their eyes met for one, brief moment.
Callie's expression was pure hatred. But behind it, Emery saw something else.
Fear.
Callie Callaway had lost. And she knew it.
Bryson's truck had barely rolled to a stop in the ER drop off zone when Devon threw open the passenger door and hit the pavement running. His brother shouted something behind him, but Devon didn't stop, didn't slow, just sprinted toward the automatic doors.
They whooshed open, and he was inside, desperately scanning the waiting area.
"Devon."
He spun. Sandy stood near the admissions desk, exhaustion written across her face.
"Where is she?" His voice came out rough. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Banged up, bruised, a possible concussion. She needs stitches but otherwise fine." Sandy moved toward him. "But there's news you need to hear first."
"I don't care about the news. I need to see her."
“Jim Webb was found hiding in a drainage culvert two miles from the truck stop. He's in custody." Sandy's voice was firm, making him listen, even as his heart raced for the woman he loved. "He confessed to everything. Callie hiring him to kidnap and kill Emery. He's got a record—hired muscle, extortion, assault. This was just another job to him."
Devon's hands curled into fists—another job. Emery's life had been another job for this man.
"Winston's in custody too," Sandy continued. "And he wants to make a deal. Full cooperation, testimony against Callie, everything—as long as he gets immunity."
"Immunity?" Devon's voice rose. "He paid Harold to destroy her. He orchestrated?—"
"He claims he never wanted it to go this far. That he only wanted Emery's career destroyed, wanted her driven out of the valley, humiliated, so his family wouldn’t want her as an heir if and when his father decided to find her —or he passed. He says his sister always had something else in mind, and he couldn’t keep her in check.” Sandy held up her hand when he tried to say something. "I'm not saying he's innocent. I'm saying he's willing to testify to put his sister away for a very long time."
Devon wanted to care. Wanted to feel something about Winston's change of heart or Jim Webb's arrest. But all he could think about was Emery. Seeing her. Touching her. Knowing for certain she was alive and safe.
"Where is she?"
