“Hey!”
“That’s enough from you, Dolly Parton.”
She pouts behind the wheel. “I saw you talking to those girls.”
I grimace. “Tate fans.”
A sudden drumming on the roof of the truck makes us jump. The wipers work overtime to clear the heavy downpour, and Parker slows as we trundle along the pitch black back road. The rain has been on and off all evening, leaving the tarmac slick.
“I’ve begged Jimmy to remove Tate’s bio from our website.” Shetsks.
“It’s good for business. I’m just worried one day, Talia is going to overhear one of them. Do you know she refuses to listen to the radio?”
Parker gasps, but not from my question. A flash of brown darts in front of the truck, lit up by the headlights.
It happens in less than two seconds.
FORTY-FOUR
Warren: I should’ve never let you go to work. I miss you.
Harriet: It’s been twenty minutes.
Warren: Your point?
Harriet: Tomorrow. Come over tomorrow and spend the day with me.
Warren: Sold.
Harriet: I’m going on stage in ten. I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.
Warren: Good luck :)
Warren: Hey, I’ve been asked to cover the desk at the firehouse for a few hours.
Warren: Guessing you’re still on stage.
Warren: How did it go? Big crowd?
Warren: Is everything okay?
Warren: Sweetheart, I’m worried.
Warren: Please pick up.
FORTY-FIVE
WARREN
Crash.Rain. Hospital.
The hinges of the door shriek in protest as it smacks against the wall. I stumble into the corridor, frantic, with only one boot on, when Gregson, our lieutenant, pokes his head around the corner.
“You good, O’Connor? What’s all the racket?” He eyes me gingerly.
“I’ve got to go.” My keys fall from my pocket as I hop on the spot to shove my foot in my other boot. “Shit. I need to go!”
“Hey, hey. Calm down. What’s going on?” He raises his palms. “Do you need me to call the captain?”
