Ian had failed Malone, and he didn’t know where she was. If she was safe. Or hurt. Dying or even dead. He dialed Reed, who answered right away.
“Is Malone with you?” Ian snapped.
“No. Why?”
Ian explained, the words rushing out of his mouth like a geyser.
Reed muttered something under his breath. “I can find her. I have a tracker on her phone.”
Ian didn’t ask why Reed was monitoring her, just waited for him to share her location.
“I’ve got the coordinates,” Reed said. “The map doesn’t show her on the road. She’s located in the wilderness area.”
Ian’s gut cramped so hard he thought he might hurl. “Send me the coordinates.”
“Coming your way,” Reed said, fear taking his voice higher.
Ian’s phone dinged and he looked at the text from Reed. “I’m headed there now.”
Ian heard footsteps in the background of his call. “Meet you there.”
Ian hung up and tapped the coordinates, his hand shaking so hard he could hardly accomplish it.
“She’s here.” He showed the screen that revealed the same road Malone’s parents had been killed on to Londyn. “I’m going for her.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You need to stay here and protect the scene.” He dug out his keys, his hands trembling.
She took them from him. “You can’t drive in your state.”
“But Flagg could figure this out like we did and destroy everything in the closet. We can’t let a serial killer get away with what he’s done.”
“We’ve taken pictures. Besides, there’s nothing here we can’t find again.” She headed for the door. “And I can order the guard on duty to stand outside until forensics and a patrol officer arrive.”
Ian raced for the door. Arguing was a waste of time, time that could be the difference between saving Malone’s life and losing her forever.
The passenger side of the car crashed into the tree. Metal bent. Screeched. Rasped. The safety glass cracked and webbed, a large chunk falling into the passenger seat. The side window shattered, and glass peppered Malone’s arm like tiny thumbtacks piercing her skin.
She screamed, a deep wrenching sound from her throat, a sound borne of terror.
Her body catapulted forward, and her head smashed into the steering wheel. Pain radiated through her skull, and stars danced before her eyes.
The steering wheel shifted. Pressing in, close to her chest.
The vehicle reverberated, rocked back and forth, then settled with a thump.
It was over.
She’d survived.
But how well? Was she hurt?
She took stock of her injuries, starting with her head. A large lump ballooned out of her forehead, but no bleeding. Glass had salted tiny cuts on her hand, but they were just minor abrasions.
She moved her arms. Hands. Fingers. Her legs, ankles, and feet. They all worked.
Her heart lifted.
