“I wish I had the answer to that question. But it can’t be good. He had to get something out of it. If he wasn’t sexually abusing Eleanor, maybe Belinda?”
“Where are the remaining Drakes?” Troy’s voice turned cold.
“You don’t know. Am I right?” Wes asked.
“No. The last location was for her brother, Shaw, who was living as Sheriff Luther Jeffries,” Hayes said.
Troy grabbed Wes’s belt from behind, yanking him back in his seat. “Sit,” he said between gritted teeth. “You knew he was near. You’re guilty of letting him shoot her.”
Hayes blew out a breath. “I didn’t think he’d risk exposure.”
Wes’s head turned on a swivel. “What would you do if he killed her? Would you have made that disappear on a computer too?”
Hayes dropped his chin to his chest. “I don’t know. I revealed my identity to Ellie. At first, she wanted nothing to do with me. Hearing the truth about Starr devastated her. She made a decision. She made it official and signed the paperwork to leave the protection program.
“She’d met you, Crockett. The day Starr showed up here, she called me into her office. She told me she was in and to end this. Whatever needed to be done. She wanted to find Lindy and her son, but more importantly, she met someone who offered her a chance, and she wanted to keep him safe.”
“Let me get this straight. For the five years after the Wests’ deaths, Starr played her, telling her she and her sister were in the program and had permission to stay and keep their current identities. Then, they disappear, and when she escapes and reappears, you enroll her and play her to catch Starr?” Wes growled.
Hayes shook his head and held up his palms. “Yes.”
* * *
Eleanor moaned. “Wes,” she called out.
“He’ll be here soon,” Tuck said.
“Save…me… Lindy… Save Wes,” she huffed.
Tuck applied an oxygen mask. “Ellie, slow breaths.”
“Birdie…my Birdie. Wes save.” As Eleanor grew frantic, the monitors alarmed. Her oxygen levels plummeted.
Tuck opened his phone and texted:Urgent, get here.
Wes:On my way.
* * *
Wes ran into the clinic and into Eleanor’s room. Tuck and Sam Baker were cocooning her in cooling blankets. Eleanor was pawing at them. “Save… Reed… Birdie…Wes.”
“Curly, it’s Wes; I’m here.” He sat on the mattress beside her. “I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him. His eyes went wide sensing the heat radiating from her body.
“Wes…puppies…corn…die…all…die,” she panted.
“Shh, Ellie. We will get a puppy. You’re not going to die.” Wes helped wrap her in the cold blankets.
Her hand reached for Wes. It stiffened, and her head and upper body arched. Her body alternated between stiffening and shaking.
“She’s seizing. Breathe for her. Two milligrams lorazepam per minute times four minutes,” Sam Baker called out.
Wes reacted by ingrained skill. He tossed off her oxygen mask and grabbed the bag valve mask to fill Eleanor’s lungs with air. “Breathe, Curly.”
Tuck drew up the medication and pressed it slowly into her IV.
They waited. After three long minutes, six milligrams of lorazepam later, the seizure quelled for the moment. As Wes continued to breathe for her, Tuck listened to her lungs and shook his head. “Her lungs are congested. It sounds like pneumonia. We need to secure her airway.”
“How bad?” Wes swallowed hard.
Sam Baker answered, “The pneumonia is the least of it. The seizure makes me believe it’s proceeded to encephalitis. About one quarter die. The other three quarters recover anywhere from disabled to okay. We need to do a spinal tap, and we will aggressively treat her.”
With every breath, he filled her lungs, his fingers running through her curls as he leaned down to her ear. “Fight, Curly.”
The sun was rising by the time they stabilized Eleanor.
