Page 62 of Fatal Attraction

Of course, I fucking felt the same. The prospect had been eating me alive ever since Carter failed to answer the phone. We would’ve heard something by now if that weren’t the case. But we also wouldn’t be any use to anybody if Phoenix fucked around and got us killed before we could ever get there.

“I agree with—” The rest of my retort was silenced by his phone ringing. It was Captain Burgess again.

“How far?” he asked, panting hard like he was in the middle of running a marathon.

“Less than ten minutes,” Phoenix replied.

“Chief is on the way, so is Harley and Kendall. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Officer Brown and Stewart still aren’t answering their phones.”

Phoenix flashed me a look, and as much as I didn’t approve for the sake of our lives, I nodded, knowing exactly what was at stake if he didn’t do it.

“Fucking stomp on it.”

“CHARLOTTE,” I screamed, stumbling back when I found every inch of her living room obliterated. “Oh GOD!”

Phoenix and I found Officer Brown and Stewart minutes ago. They were parked across the street, both suffering gunshot wounds. Stewart was dead, but thankfully Officer Brown had survived, for now, anyway. The paramedics were on their way and Phoenix had stayed behind to help keep pressure against Officer Brown’s wound.

I raced inside the house and ran through the mess until I reached the kitchen where I’d spotted Charlotte’s purse on the island. Her phone was beside it and on the display were all of my missed calls, plus three more from Harley.

Fuck.

“Charlotte!”

I bolted, kicking shit out of my way until I was racing up the staircase, tripping over my feet and landing hard on my forehead once I’d reached the top, the impact knocking the wind out of me.

“Fuck,” I wheezed as I struggled to get up, the pain so intense it was all I could do to suck in a decent breath. I eventually picked my feet up and got my arms level, pushing myself until I was standing. It still hurt like fucking hell to breathe, but I had to keep going. I had to get to Charlotte.

Her bedroom was a few feet away, and I tried calling her name again, falling to my knees when I crossed the threshold and found Carter instead, unconscious and in the middle of the carpet, saturated in blood. More of it stained the carpet in a thick puddle, and tears burned my eyes as I forced my limbs to move. A moment later I was hovering over him, checking his pulse.

My eyes widened as I felt faint littlethumpsbeating weakly against my fingertips.

“Carter!”I frantically shook him and wiped away the blood from his face, gently slapping his cheeks. “Wake up. Come on, man,please wake up.”

It was no use though. No matter how hard I shook him or wailed his name, he wouldn’t open his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare die on me!” I pressed my forehead against his, chest heaving as I rushed to fish my phone from my pocket, dialing 911. “This is Detective Spike Hutcheson.” I fired off my badge number and location. “I need additional paramedics and all available units ASAP. We have a civilian in critical condition and a potential…” My voice cracked as I fumbled getting the last words out.

“Sir? Are you still there?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “We have a potential kidnapping on our hands. Charlotte Greene. Age 33. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, and approximately five-foot-four. She works for Harley Ford. Her information and picture should already be in the system.”

I didn’t want to leave Carter’s side, but my job wasn’t done yet. I still had to clear the rest of the house, and the dread of knowing we’d gotten here far too late imbedded itself deep in my gut as I checked room after room, a frightened sob slipping past my lips.

Twenty Five

Phoenix

One week later

“Phoenix! Come on, man, wake the fuck up!”

Something sharp and painful like a bee-sting burned against my cheek, and I opened my eyes with a groan, my head throbbing from how much I drank last night. As I blinked through the dizziness, understanding I was in bed and trying to comprehend how in the hell I managed to end up here, I found two excruciatingly enraged versions of my best friend hovering over me, shaking out his hand.

“Did you just slap me?”

“You’re goddamn right I did,” he snapped, snorting as he made to help me sit up. I hissed in pain and brought up a hand to tenderly rub my aching temples. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Spike,” I whined, wincing as I threw my hands up in a plea for him to please stop yelling at me. “Tone it down a notch, man. What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

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