Page 64 of A Fine Line

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands and looking back at her questioningly as she says, “Declan’s not out of the woods, but he did come around long enough to tell them we can find Carolina on that.”

My confusion must be evident because she scoots forward and yanks the device from my hands, flipping it around so the screen lights up, and I see it’s not an actual phone but a tracking device.

“He put a fucking tracker in her?”

Nettie shrugs her shoulders, shaking her head as she says, “Apparently. They didn’t have a lot of answers other than we gotta follow up on that dot.”

I snatch the device from her hands, take a closer look at it, and then frown. “The dot’s not moving. Why isn’t the fucking dot moving?”

“They said it wasn’t moving when they found it. They were going to send some people out to check, but we were so close they waited.”

“She’s not moving on the side of the fucking highway, Nettie. What the fucking fuck?”

I don’t waste any more time talking; instead, I exit the parking lot on two wheels, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.

“He’s got a crew meeting us out there,” Nettie says as she leans back in her seat and fastens her seatbelt. “They may even beat us there.”

I don’t say anything else, gritting my teeth as I press my foot down on the accelerator and honking the horn harder at the assholes in front of me. The sickness in my gut is overwhelming, and I’m sweating and incredibly fucking pissed off.

I pull up alongside where the dot is blinking at the same time the crew Mickey sent. Matt’s on the phone, handling the local and state police because, apparently, the fine, upstanding citizen has connections everywhere.

We all exit the vehicle, looking around for anything that may indicate where she is in this general vicinity. Darius points out what appears to be fresh tire tracks that begin on the pavement and have left intermittent scars in the turf, so we pick up that trail and follow it down the short embankment to a thicket of short trees and shrubbery.

I’m a few feet from the wooded area when I make out the tires and undercarriage of a vehicle, and my fucking heart stops in my chest as I yell, “Over here! She’s over here!”

Footsteps pound on the dirt behind me as I pull myself up onto the side of the SUV and peer into the side window that somehow didn’t get smashed when the rig rolled over. I yank on the door, but it’s locked or stuck, so I press my face against the glass and peer inside.

Carolina is in the back, behind the driver, held suspended by her seatbelt. Three bodies are sprawled haphazardly—two in the front and one in the rear beside her. I try to open the door again, but it doesn’t budge. I turn around, ready to smash my foot through the driver’s side window, but then Dare is there, handing me a window breaker. I waste no time busting through the window and unlocking the doors.

I move over to the back door where Carolina is, and Darius pulls himself up, helping me open the door, and then I lower myself inside. I press two fingers against her carotid, a wave of relief rolling over me when I feel her pulse beating strongly beneath my fingertips.

Dare hands me a cervical collar, which I secure gently around her neck, then I position myself beneath her as Dare cuts her seatbelt and, she falls into me. A backboard is lowered down, and I ease her over so she’s leaning back against it so I can secure her to the board.

They pull her up and away, and I pull myself out of the vehicle, then follow behind them to the waiting van. Standing outside the open rear doors, I’m at a loss of what I should do next when Nettie squeezes my arm and says, “Go with her, Tony.”

I shake my head, opening my mouth to argue, but then Dare interrupts, “She’s right, Tony. You go with her. We got this.”

I look to Matt, who also nods, and then, after a final nod to Nettie and Dare, I turn and climb into the van.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tony

Weendupata private medical facility east of the city.

It doesn’t take long for the medical staff to assess her injuries, which end up being non-life-threatening. The amount of relief this brings me is insurmountable, and I feel like I can finally take a deep breath now that the weight of her safety has been lifted from my chest.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I can get out of asking other questions that may come off as uncomfortable.

“Did you do a rape kit?”

The doctor doesn’t flinch at my question as he responds, “Yes, there doesn’t appear to be any obvious trauma, but we completed it anyway. It will help if we know anyone to rule out as a possible suspect, though.”

“I can provide that,” I reply. “Also, you may as well do an STD screening. She’s mentioned previously wanting one.”

“We run all of that as a standard in these cases,” he replies blandly. Then he clears his throat and adds, “We did have an issue when we first did her pelvic exam, though.”

“What kind of issue?”

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