Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I could die here today. I could die, and what do I have to show for my life other than my career? What important connections have I made?
I’m stuck between a stalker and attempted murderers, not sure what the first wants, but clearly the second wants to kill him.
I should run. While they’re distracted, trying to kill each other, I should get the hell out of here.
Just as I move into position, ready to get lost among the sea of vehicles, I hear the pop, pop, pop of gunfire.
My first instinct is to curl up and cover my head. The shots are coming from behind the vehicle, a literal gunfight going on behind me.
I hear a curse, what I think is a body hitting the side of a vehicle, then another squeal of tires as the vehicle screeches away.
My body is frozen, heart punching heavily against my chest. I need to move, need to get up, need to get the hell out of here, but it’s not every day a guy holds a gun on you before other guys try to kill your stalker.
When I hear stumbling footsteps move toward me, I don’t have any choice but to prepare for whoever or whatever is about to happen. I sit up just as my stalker comes around the corner, leaning against my vehicle, gun in his right hand, but also pressing that right hand to his left shoulder. “Get up,” he orders. “We’re leaving.”
“Fuck you,” I say, but push to my feet, just as he points the gun at me.
“Come with me.”
“I’m not.” The gun is shoved under my chin, and bile rises in my throat, heart running so fast I’m sure I’m going to drop dead right here. I have no choice but to follow him.
I trail behind my stalker as he pulls on the passenger door handle. The damn thing opens, probably because my keys are in my pocket and I’m standing close. “Get in.”
“You’ve been shot,” comes out of my mouth first, though.
“No shit. You must be really good at your job. I have no idea how you figured that out. Get in the fucking SUV.”
It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, but with a gun pointed at me, I don’t have a choice.
“Climb over to the driver’s seat.” I take a quick glance around, looking for something—someone—but the lot is quiet. Did he shoot one of the men? If so, where is he?
I shake my head. “We don’t need to go anywhere right now other than in the hospital to get you checked out by a doctor…and to call the cops.”
“No cops, and why do I need a doctor when I have one right here?”
I clench my jaw. “You can’t…you don’t…I’m not.”
“Get in the fucking SUV with me, Doc. Now.” He grabs me by the shirt and pushes me inside.
I do as he says, moving to the driver’s side. My stalker is right behind me.
“Did you kill any of those guys?” I have no idea why I need to know, but he has a gun, and there was shooting happening.
“I hope so. I shot him, but the coward got pulled back into the car before they took off. If he doesn’t die now, he will soon.”
I gulp at that, not doubting for a moment that what he says is true.
“You hope so?” And if they’re not dead, they will be. “You’re a murderer.”
“Just drive and get us the fuck out of here,” he says, ignoring what I said.
I open my mouth to reply, but then he points the gun, so with a sigh, I start the vehicle and then back out.
Jesus…this man just possibly killed someone—someone who was trying to kill him, but still. I’m in the car with a murderer going God-knows-where, and I don’t even hear any sirens. Didn’t anyone hear the gunshots? Shouldn’t the police be coming?
“Go right,” he says when I pull out of the hospital lot.
Clearly, that conversation is over. “Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Don’t think about doing something stupid.” He reaches into my center console, where I have a second work badge. “Doctor Abbott.”
“Do you know who my father is?” It’s the last thing I want to use, the last thing I want to say, but really, what choice do I have? If using my asshole father to get me out of this situation is the only card I have, I’ll play it.
“No, but I assume you’re going to tell me, and you think it will change something.” He takes off his suit jacket, trying to tie it around the bullet wound in his arm.
“You’re not going to be able to do that by yourself.”
“Shut up and drive,” he counters.
Okay, so he doesn’t care, so I go back to my previous discussion. “My name is Preston Abbott.” I’m sure my first name will add some context.