“I’m fine. Just shaken up.” I peer down at Chase, his chest inflating with thin, feeble breaths beneath the gray-blue quilt. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“He’s a dead man.”
“He might already be a dead man, with or without your help. He’s in bad shape.”
“Good. He’s a fucking criminal, and if he did anything to hurt you—”
“He didn’t,” I interrupt. “I promise I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m…at his house.”
“What?”
“Listen, this is going to sound borderline certifiable, but I need you to trust me. I don’t think he’s a bad guy. He was desperate. He’d just been shot.” My stomach twists with indecision, but I go with my instincts. “Tell the cops I drove him willingly. Don’t press charges.”
“Hell. Fucking. No. Annalise, come on,” he shoots back. “I watched him steal my car with my little sister sleeping in the back seat. I’ve been worried sick. There’s a literal search party out there looking for you.”
“Call them off.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Maybe. Probably.” I take a seat on the couch beside Chase, tugging the quilt up to his chin. “You trust me, right?”
He falters. “You know I do.”
“Remember when you wrecked Dad’s truck?”
Tag exhales sharply. “Not the same thing.”
“It’s close enough.” I press the phone tighter to my ear. “You were nineteen, scared shitless, and you made a bad call. You left the scene, hoping you could fix it before anyone found out.”
Silence.
“But someone did find out,” I continue. “And you were lucky it was me. Because I covered for you. I told Dad I borrowed the truck, even though I didn’t even know how to drive, and that I lost control. And you let me lie for you, because you knew if it came from you, he’d never forgive you for it.” I glance at Chase, unconscious and barely breathing. “This is the same thing, Tag. He made a bad choice. But he’s not a bad guy.”
“How do you even know that?”
“I just do.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Dammit,” he mutters. “I hate when you do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me go against my better judgment.” His voice is gruff, but there’s a thread of reluctant understanding woven through it. “Do not make me regret this. If this guy touches a hair on your multicolored head, I’m burying him.”
My eyes squeeze shut. “Deal.”
“I’ll come pick you up as soon as they let me go. Send me your location.”
“I have a ride. Alex is on the way.”
“That’s comforting,” he grumbles. “Call me from his phone as soon as you get home.”
“Yeah.” My lips purse, throat stinging. “I will.”
The call disconnects, and I toss the phone on the skewed table across from me. An eerie silence drapes over the room. My eyes gradually shift from the messy space to the lanky, doe-eyed dog, then to the unconscious man barely breathing on my left. I take a moment to study him now that the adrenaline has tapered off and my safety is no longer in question.
