Right.This is the part of the movie that always cuts to the credits.The audience doesn’t want to sit around for the fallout once they know the Final Girl escaped.They don’t want to see how the Leading Lady and her man get on with their day after they’ve kissed, and the camera has pulled back to focus on the city skyline.
“I’ll tell you as much as I can,” I say, wincing as the medic finishes off the stitch and the pull of the thread isn’t fully dulled by the anesthetic.When she replaces my silver blanket over my shoulders andexits the tent, I launch into the key plot points that underscore what happened in the club, leading with the spoilers: I stabbed John.I did it because he was one of two killers with an astoundingly misplaced motive.When I point to the folders and say, “John all but admitted that he was responsible for those murders, and earlier in the night Wes and I thought—” Captain Strode’s dark gray eyes flick up from the folders to meet mine.
“Detective Carpenter?”
It’s kind of weird to hear the title, but I’m quick to move on from it when I realize I haven’t seen him yet.I haven’t seen him since I left him in that room with the other survivors.I assumed everything went well on his end, but who’s to say he was actually successful?Who’s to say there wasn’t athirdkiller waiting in the wings?Some kind of murderous triad… Mygod.
The panic in my voice grates against my ears when I ask, “Do you know if he—Is he—”
There’s yelling outside.An angry, desperate voice melds with quieter, pacifying ones before a gravelly statement cuts through the racket.
“Where is she?”
The agitated rasp draws my eyes away from the captain and I look outside just in time to see Wes stride into view.His profile is visible through the opening of the tent, soaked and chest heaving like a Regency-era love interest, like the whole reason he wore that shirt tonight was so it would look as good as it does ripped and wet and stained with blood.
“Jamie!” he bellows, and I don’t think this is the first time he’s yelled it.
Captain Strode winces at the sound, her tone irritated when she yells back, “She’s in here, Carpenter.”
He freezes, turns, and spots the captain, but it isn’t until he looks beyond her and our eyes meet that he walks over, shrugging off thetwo officers determined to stay by his side.When he’s inside the tent he takes in the whole scene, dark eyes darting between the two of us before they land back on Captain Strode, and the look of recognition, the immediate change in his posture, the way she knew his name…
I don’t think she’s just a captain, I think she’shis—
“Captain,” he says faintly, attempting to straighten even more.All he achieves is a pained grunt for his efforts.
“Detective,” she says coolly, one eyebrow arched in exasperation.“While you’re Marlon Brandoing out there”—Ooh, I think I like her—“I’m trying to get to the bottom of the shit show that happened tonight so I can figure out a way to get both of you out of an even bigger shit show.Maybe even get you back to work sooner so you can return to your favorite pastime of annoying the crap out of me.”Her other eyebrow joins the raised one as she adds, “So, can you shut the hell up?”
The directive makes his head dip and… yeah, I might love this woman, actually.
“Yes, ma’am.I’m sorry.I just—”
“What?”
He swallows.His eyes shift away from hers and lock with mine, and I have to fight the urge to shove my chair back and throw myself into his arms.It looks like it’s taking all of his effort not to do the same thing when he swallows again—I swear I can see him counting down from three in his head—and then says evenly, “I had to know she was okay.”
“Why’s that, Carpenter?”
“Because…”
He doesn’t finish, just gestures at me like that’s answer enough, and stares at me with that look.I think if I could step outside of myself and watch the scene, I’d be able to see a mirror image of it on my own face.The “you had me at hello,” “I wrote you 365 letters,” “I wanted it to be you” look.
I drop my gaze to take all of him in.This is the first time I’ve seen him away from the club.Away from the red lighting or heavy fluorescents or the darkness of the hallways, and without all that…
He’s still Wes.
“Huh…” Captain Strode says, and when I hazard a glance at her, I see the puzzled realization cross her face.“Oh… well, that’s… interesting.Certainly explains the performance outside.”
“Ma’am, I—”
She cuts him off.“Ms.Prescott, would you like some coffee?”she says, pushing up from the table and taking the folders with her.“You’re gonna need it and so am I.Even though he’s on leave, I’m sure Detective Carpenter here can hold things down while I’m gone for five minutes.With two officers stationed outside and listening in, of course.”She turns her attention back to Wes.“Then I want you to go see a medic and stop bleeding all over my tent.”
He ducks his head again, but I catch the quirk of his lips as this five-foot-five woman manages to look down her nose at a man who towers over her.
“Yes, ma’am, I will, thank you.”
“And while your instincts have proven to be impeccable, Carpenter, your ability to get into hot water leaves a lot to be desired… something we’ll need to fix when you return to work.”
She goes to move past him but pauses.Even though her voice is low, I still catch her say, “When I saw your name on that door list…” She reaches up, placing her palm on his shoulder.“You had me scared for a second there.I’m glad you’re okay, Wes.”
