“Eliza!”
I must be hallucinating from the lack of air. Hearing his voice for the last time is not a bad way to go. Then I hear my name again. It’s distorted through the white noise in my ears.
“Damn it, Rawlings, the room might be rigged. Stand back!”
Big firm hands cup my face and my favorite mirage holds my head up, looking beautiful in a haunted sort of way, eyes filled with fear.
“I got you.” Carter’s voice is muffled, like I’m hearing him through water.
He’s here for me.
The zip ties pull for a moment before my wrists are released and I cry out from pain as a million needles prick my skin.
He slides his palms up and down my arms. “You’re going to be OK.” I’m a rag doll in his arms, my head falling on his chest when my eyes roll back into my head, and it all goes black.
Chapter Fifty
CARTER
Eliza sits through the doctor’s check-up and police interviews in the back of the ambulance with unfocused eyes, her shoulders slumped. Her steady hold on my hand is the only sign she’s anchored to the present. I don’t leave her side through the overwhelming hours, guilt and pain churning in my stomach when I glance at her wounds.
Sheriff Walker asks again if Hall said where he was going to take her, but she looks like she’s going to collapse at the slightest breeze.
“Enough.” I tighten the blanket around her and face Walker. “Eliza needs to rest. She’s given you enough details for now.”
“He’s one of the biggest gun movers in the state,” he says through his teeth.
“Then do your job and catch him,” I spit out, sheltering Eliza behind me completely. I step closer to him and drop my voice. “My men will send you the intel they find.”
He’s about to argue when a fleet of government cars pulls up around the scene and Walker slides a hand over his mouth. “The FBI and the ATF are here.” He rolls his shoulders, preparing for a confrontation. “You owe me, Rawlings. They should have been notified the moment Hall’s name popped up. I’ll probably get my ass chewed.”
This man has been as crucial to finding Eliza as Logan and Derrick. My hand clasps his shoulder. “I won’t let you take the fall. We’ll sort this out and find the motherfucker.”
The sheriff raises a skeptical brow but has no idea of the influence our business has within law enforcement. He’ll find out what it means to be under Rawlings Enterprise protection. Walker turns on his heel to face some angry-looking suits while I text Adam to work his magic.
Eliza is cradling her bandaged wrists, peering out the window the entire ride to our home. She might not realize it yet, but there’s no chance in hell I’ll let her spend another second alone in her unsafe house. I want to comfort her and get her to talk incessantly again, but she needs some time. She’s too rattled.
The guards are already at their posts when we reach the gates. If she’s confused by their presence she doesn’t say anything, just silently takes my hand and follows me inside.
“You have some clothes upstairs,” I tell her when I notice she’s fidgeting, unsure of what to do next. My heart constricts and I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to tear those two limb from limb for what they did to her.
Without a second thought, I slide my arm under her knees, and I’m rewarded with a squeak before I climb the stairs to the master bedroom.
“You carried me enough today,” she says faintly, and I tighten my hold on her.
“I’ll never get tired of it. Plus, I don’t want to take any chances. What if you trip and sue me for damages? Can’t have that.”
My arms refuse to let her go when I reach the softly lit room. Feeling her weight against my chest is the only thing keeping my heart rate down. The prospect of losing Eliza forever still looms over me like a dark-winged creature. She’s looking for the same comfort, pushing her nose under my chin. My girl takes a deep breath and her muscles loosen. The thought that my scent relaxes her fills me with booming happiness.
Eliza presses her lips to the juncture of my jaw, sending a wave of peace and comfort through my veins, and pushes herself back gingerly, but I don’t let go.
“You can put me down,” she says, amused.
“I’m not ready yet,” I confess into her hair. “Let me hold you a little longer.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She cups my face, giving me a reassuring smile. “But my clothes smell like I spent my day burning tires in the junkyard.”
She eyes the small bag at the foot of the bed.
