I’m still going too fast as the grassy shoulder comes into view, my car jerking and bouncing over the uneven ground.
Make it stop.
Please, God, just make it stop.
31
TOM
“Find her!” I bark, the speaker crackling as Royce does whatever the fuck he can to give us an exact location.
Kat sobs my name, her screams and the scraping and crunching of metal filling the car.
This is why I don’t get involved.
This is fucking why.
Because my heart is in my god damn throat as I press the pedal down as far as it will go.
“Intersection of Spruce and Highland!” Royce’s voice is confident.
Grounding.
Hell, it’s the only thing holding me together right now as I fight back the panic.
And I don’t panic.
Muscle memory and adrenaline are running the show right now, my ability to function in high-stress situations like breathing.
I just do it.
Thank fuck for that, because otherwise I’d be losing my shit more than I already am.
“I’m coming. Just hang in there,” I say out loud both for her and for me.
She has to be allright, not just because she’s my client and I’ve never lost a case but because I care about her.
Want her.
Need her like I need my next breath.
And I should have fucking told her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”
“Breathe, Kat. I need you to stay focused.”
I do my best to talk her through it, the steady stream of comforting bullshit like a song you hear every day on the radio. You don’t even have to think about it; you just know all the words.
“Turn right here,” Grimm says from the passenger seat, his hand wrapped around the handle above the door, the tires squealing as I take the turn faster than reasonably safe for most people.
But I’m not most people.
I’m Tom Fucking Oakden.
“Her tag isn’t moving,” Royce updates as my gaze swings to Grimm before landing on the road.
“Three blocks.”
