Page 90 of Hidden Truths

It’s the black SUV Cal rented. I recognize the rental company’s plates on the front and the mermaid magnets I let Cora put on the driver’s side.

No, no. This can’t be happening.

The SUV flies in and screeches to a stop, sending dirt and rocks flying. I squint, trying to see what’s happening. All I hear is yelling.

Then I hear the crack of a gunshot and run.

thirty-seven

CAL

“Stayin the car and stay down!” Harrison yells, pulling a gun from the back of his jeans. I don’t respond. I don’t bother knowing it would be a lie.

I am not staying in this fucking car while my wife is out there somewhere, potentially hurt.

Harrison opens his door and immediately ducks behind it. I do the same with mine.

“Cal!” Harrison yells, but nothing he can say will stop me. I can see the door for the storm shelter and it’s open. Maybe she got out. Maybe she ran and is at the police station as we speak.

Or maybe she’s still in there and can’t get out. I need to make sure.

I know it’s potentially stupid. I know how much danger I’m putting myself in. I know I could be taking both of Cora’s parents from her.

But what choice do I have? Belle and Kai will care for Cora like she’s theirs and hopefully when she’s older, she’ll understand. Understand that her dad loved her mom so much that he was willing to give his last breath to get her back for her. To get her back for both of them.

I duck down, using all the dust the car kicked up to stay hidden. I make my way as quickly as I can, around the two men aiming their guns and shouting at Harrison, and to the open shelter door. It’s pitch black down there.

I look back. They haven’t noticed me. I grab my phone out of my pocket and carefully make my way down the stairs, only turning the flashlight on when I get down there. It’s empty. Turning the flashlight off quickly, I run back up the stairs. She’s not down there, but there wasn’t any blood either. I was right about the photoshop. I didn’t actually look at the picture long enough to know one way or another. My brain just wouldn’t accept it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I spin on my heel to see the guy in the blue shirt pointing his gun at my chest. I slowly lift my hands, ready to negotiate. They’re probably doing this for money. I’ll give them every cent. But before I can hand over the details of my bank account, blood splatters from the man’s shoulder, causing him to drop the gun.

The noise from the gun and the blood causes my vision to blur around the edges. Images from that night in the prison flicker in front of the endless cornfields in front of me. I gasp and clutch my chest, trying to force enough air into my lungs to scream.

A brown animal darts out of the corn and heads straight for me. My eyes widen, and I start to back up, trying to get away from the bear or whatever animal lives out here.

“Stop!”

I look to see the other man holding a gun up to me, with Harrison gripping a bleeding leg at his feet. My eyes flicker back to the animal charging me, but it’s closer. I would know those green eyes anywhere, glowing with white hot anger and icy fear in the light from the SUV’s headlights.

“Harlow,” I breathe, forgetting my father-in-law bleeding on the ground and the man holding a gun, and run to her. I need to get to her. I need to protect her from these men and beg her forgiveness for failing her.

Harlow is inches from me as she throws her entire body into my arms. I wrap her in my arms just as the crack of another gunshot disturbs the night air, followed quickly by a second shot. I swing my head to Harrison, thinking he was shot again.

But Harrison is standing, holding a gun over the man with the white, now red, shirt. I let out a sigh of relief. It’s over.

“Cal,” Harlow whispers in my arms before she slumps.

“Harlow!” I say in alarm. I put her on the ground gently. Maybe she just passed out from an adrenaline dump.

She’s covered from head to toe in mud. Harrison is by my side a moment later, helping me look over his daughter. It takes us a minute to find it, the mud and darkness making it difficult. The pool of blood on the ground underneath her is hard to miss.

“She’s been shot,” Harrison says. I see what he sees, a weeping wound in her back. I rip my shirt off and press it to the wound, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding.

Harrison is on the phone with 9-1-1 detailing what he needs and Harlow’s condition.

“Please, baby,” I beg. “Cora needs you.” I’m crying, letting the tears fall onto the side of her face. “I need you.”

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