“Van, how far away are those ambulances?” I ask, running my fingers over Beau’s torso until I find one wound under his armpit, a dangerous spot to get shot in.
Except the entry point on his side is puckered and dark, and the edges are pulling inward, the skin already knitting back together.
That's not possible. Is this an old injury?
He moves, and blood oozes from a hole in his thigh.
"Beau." I press both hands against the wound, unsure where to concentrate on, where to stem the flow first. "Beau, look at me. Please."
His eyes flutter but don't open fully. His breathing is shallow, and his normally tanned skin looks grey. The fear clawing at my throat is so violent, I can barely keep it together.
“I’ve got her.” Tripp’s calm voice over the radio is a stark contrast to mine. “Fuck, I’ve actually got her.”
There’s silence on the line while we all try to wrap our heads around what Tripp is saying. His voice fades as he whispers quietly to someone close by, and a feminine voice replies, faint, but definitely a woman.
As he explains that we’re friends of Zara’s, that we’ve been looking for her, I stare down at Beau, my eyes burning. “She’s here.”
I’ve been trying to make sure Dimitri didn’t bolt, get away before we could find out where he’d stashed Amber. I never dreamed he’d have been bold enough to bring her here. But I guess he was desperate, and she was his only bargaining chip.
“Is she okay?” Beau’s eyes open, just halfway, and lock onto mine, praying just as I am that she’s relatively unhurt after her ordeal. His fingers find mine, and he squeezes them.
“Physically, she appears to be okay,” Tripp says quietly, and for a second, something inside me cheers. We got her back.
But what about Beau? I want to scream. Why the fuck aren’t his so-called friends more worried about him?
Tires screech as Van’s skids to a halt close by. He hops down and hurries over, his bad leg obviously hurting as he runs with a medical bag in hand. With his leg straight out to one side, he sits and scans Beau’s abdomen, poking and prodding at the wound there, before giving his thigh and shoulder a mere glance.
“He’s healing,” he says with relief, acting like this is a completely normal thing that’s happened.
I sit back on my heels, staring at him.
“Get Amber into the van, Tripp. We need to go.”
There are sirens wailing in the distance. While I’m thrilled to hear them approaching fast, Van and Tripp are getting anxious.
“What do you mean, go? Go where?”
Tripp moves past me, shepherding a tiny woman toward the side of the surveillance van, extending a hand to offer her help inside, if she wants it, but careful not to touch her without permission.
Van hastily wraps some bandages around Beau’s wounds and clambers back to his feet.
“Those aren’t going to do anything apart from get in the way…” I argue, about to pull them free, when Tripp pulls my hands away. I sit back, frowning up at him. “What’s going on?”
None of this makes sense. We have Amber. The police are coming to arrest Dimitri. Top priority now is getting Beau the help he needs. Why do they look like they’re leaving?
"Lisa." Tripp is back, crouching in front of me now, his hands on my shoulders. His face is calm, but his grip is firm. "We need to move him. Can you help me get him up?"
My hands are still pressed against Beau's side over the pathetic bandages Van put on, the blood sticky between my fingers.
"No ambulance. No hospital." Tripp's voice is steady, not unkind, but there's also no room for negotiation. "Trust me, Lisa. I know you’re scared, but I promise, Beau's going to be okay. But we need to get him into the truck and back to the motel fast. Before anyone sees him like this. Can you do that?"
Beau's hand pulls on my wrist. His eyes are fully open now, brown and glazed with pain, but he nods once and brings my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
“Fuck, I…”
Beau nods again, imploring me to do what they say. His eyes slide to the road that’s stretching out in the distance, where blue and red lights are coming in hot, a line of vehicles about to converge on this location.
This is madness. Logically, I know that, but I trust him. So, I choke back the sob that's been building in my chest and agree. “Fine.”