Page 68 of Guarded from Sabotage

I need to go faster. “How far away is Sarah now?”

Rhiannon studies the laptop. “Thirty miles. But we’re catching up. She’s not traveling at the same speed as us.”

My foot presses on the accelerator a little more.

Could this woman have been behind all of it?

Is Sarah in the clutches of the woman who tried to kill her?

Shit.

I’ve never been more afraid.

“We have to get there.” My voice is tight with fear. “I need to get to Sarah.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SARAH

Do I have the flu?

Is that why I feel so horrible?

My head is throbbing, each pulse sending a wave of nausea through me.

I ache all over.

All the energy’s been sapped from my body. Even opening my eyes feels like too much effort.

The last time I had the flu, Tanner wouldn’t come over. He said he couldn’t afford to get sick when finals were only a few weeks away. So he called a delivery service to bring over medicine and food instead.

I should have realized then.

Dante would never leave me alone if I’m sick. He would be right by my side, bringing me home cooked soup and saltines spread with butter and plenty of liquids. He’d get me settled on the couch and watch movies with me. My wonderful Dante would shift into caretaker mode, taking my temperature every hour and asking if I’mreallysure I don’t want to see a doctor.

Is he on the way home? Did one of his teammates call him, letting him know I’m sick? While I hate that he would leave his job to come take care of me, I selfishly want him here.

Am I home? It doesn’t smell like Dante’s apartment—no, our apartment now—filled with the softly floral scent from the flowers he buys for me every few days and the faintest hint of savory garlic and chili powder.

Why can’t I open my eyes? Why do they feel so heavy?

I don’t remember getting home from the interview. Everything is a blur. The last I remember, I was texting Dante outside the building, and he wished me luck, and I went inside to wait…

How did I get home? Did I drive? Please tell me I didn’t drive in this condition, risking other people on the road. Did I call Niall or Xavier to come get me?

Why can’t I remember?

And why do my wrists hurt?

There’s a little voice in my head whispering,something isn’t right.

I need to figure this out. Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m helpless.

Breathing through the pounding headache and swells of nausea, I take stock.

I feel awful, but it’s not getting worse. In fact, I think it might be getting a little better. My head isn’t throbbing quite so much. The lethargy is fading.

The tiny voice whispers again,something isn’t right.

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