Page 61 of Dying to Meet You

Staringatmytremblinghands, I try to answer the questions the investigator has, but I’m grappling with what’s occurred. Matt claimed he didn’t do it. But why was he covered in blood as if he did?

We met when he was lying to me. He could be lying now…How the hell would I know? I’ve been fooled by people’s manipulations so many times in the past.

“You work with Greg Wallen?” He offers me a cup of water, but it will come right back up if I try to drink it. “Has he been having issues with anyone lately?”

Our whole mission statement is a problem for some people. Lately, we’ve worked to vet any incoming patients to avoid danger. I can’t think of a difficult patient he’s had recently, other than Zinnea. I shrug mumbling, “No.”

“What is the nature of your relationship with Special Agent and Assistant Bureau Chief Matt Scholl?” He grimaces at me, and I can’t pick one spot in this room to focus on, tapping my foot as I try to organize my scattered thoughts.

Tears spill over as I answer, “He’s one of my husbands.”

The investigator fumbles his pen before saying incredulously, “One of? Umm, do you mean he’s an ex-husband or current husband? What does that mean?”

The wellness center is far enough away from where we live that not all law enforcement around here know our family. At home, no one batted an eye at that statement; we’re well known to our neighbors and community. Here, it’s still shocking. “We’re polyamorous.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Was Dr. Wallen part of that?” Why is that an assumption made so often- thinking anyone close to us is part of our relationship?

My emphatic “no” catches him off guard. “Not at all. He was my mentor, my friend. I didn’t have a father figure growing up, but he became like a father to me.”

He’s gone…the man who helped Keir regain his memories, helped Hutton find out about his family, and who could put me at ease with a well-timed word or two of wisdom.

Greg is gone. The person we chose to run the wellness center. This place is nothing without him.

“Do you know anything about my son?” The investigator already knew about Weston missing. He is surprised as I tell him about The Realists, the threats, and the hellish last couple days we’ve had waiting for another note or any word from the kidnapper.

“You think it’s all connected?

“It has to be. Doesn’t it?”

Steve stops me after I finish speaking to the investigator. “I’m supposed to bring you to Keir and Weston. Come on.”

My heart thunders in my throat, and more tears press at my eyes. “He’s not hurt, is he?” We leave out the side door to avoid all the traffic near Dr. Wallen’s office. I’ll never forget that sight for the rest of my life. I’ll add it to all the other images that plague my nightmares. Worry about what’s happening with Matt nags at me, but first Weston. I need to have him in my arms before I can process anything else.

Harrison holds the passenger door open for me. “It’s close.”

My eyes blur from looking at the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. I try to take steady breaths, but my life has been torn up…the people I love targeted.

“Steve, you were with Matt, right? What happened?” I look back at the wellness center as we take a dirt access road leading to the abandoned area of Camp Carroll.

“Matt’s not who you think he is,” Steve says in a measured tone.

I’ve never known Steve to talk poorly about Matt. It feels like a sudden change, but I’m emotionally overwrought; I’ll dig more later. Following Steve from his unmarked FBI SUV parked in the lot outside the old lab, I notice there isn’t any other vehicle around.

“Keir came here?” He’s a couple steps in front of me walking into the stairwell on the first floor.

“Yes, he came on foot.”

I’m rounding the corner landing from the second floor when something dark is placed over my head, tightening around my neck. My hands scrape at the material around my neck, my screams muffled. I’m lifted off my feet. I can’t tell how many people there are or where Harrison is, but I don’t stop fighting, kicking, thrashing, and swinging my arms until I’m pinned against someone solid.

Disoriented, I’m dropped onto a tile floor. My hands feel around for anything I can use as a weapon. Strong hands grab one of my arms, then a handcuff is tightened around my wrist. I’m forced to stand as I continue to struggle, shrieking and screaming.

It was a trap…it was all just a trap.

Suddenly, a heavy object strikes the back of my head. My eyelids become heavy, my vision dims, my body falling…a second strike.

Before it all goes…

Black.

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