Page 129 of The Savior

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Sirens wailed in the distance. Chelsea choked and gagged on the metallic taste of her blood and fisted the dead man’s switch.

Zee Zee remained unconscious, but there was no telling how long that might last. She could wake up, and if Chelsea had the switch in her hand, she couldn’t fight back. But for the moment, she remained still in the middle of a parking space in the eerily silent farmer’s market.

Chelsea inched closer and pushed Zee Zee’s hair back. The two of them had similarities. The jokes and side comments had always been well-founded. But as she really studied her cheek structure and the point of her chin, her mother’s image became clear.

Zee Zee was almost twenty years older than Chelsea. That would mean that when Zee Zee was born, her mother would have been around…Twelve years old?If Zee Zee was right, they could be sisters.What happened to my mother?

Chelsea never knew her family beyond her mother. She’d never asked. But having a baby when she was still a child—that could explain so much, even how her mother might do anything to make the second chance at a child an unwavering standard of perfection.

The attention and demands had been smothering. But if Zee Zee was a lost daughter looking in, the complete obsession with Chelsea might be enough to drive a person crazy.

Law enforcement appeared, pointing their guns and holding their riot shields and protective barriers up. Now that they were in sight, lightheadedness threatened to pull Chelsea to the dark.

“Federal agent,” she identified herself as loudly as she could. “We need a bomb squad.”

The next few minutes were an intolerable wait as the officers were pulled back, and she sat alongside the brown bag and the unconscious Zee Zee. Sleep called, and after Chelsea realized she had to slow the flow of her neck wounds, she wilted.

Her lashes fluttered. Her fist cramped, and she wrapped her other hand over it, refusing to cry, and both hands began to ache.

“Chelsea?”

Her chin jutted up. Relief surged through her at the sight of two bomb technicians in thick protective suits coming her way. She might make it out of this… And first things first, she needed to hear Liam’s voice.

Then second, Chelsea had to phone her mom for the first time in years. Maybe through the new lens of knowledge. If what Zee Zee had said was true, perhaps she could understand her mother’s harshness and drive. Perhaps Chelsea could find a place deep in her soul to offer forgiveness.

The technicians orchestrated a textbook hand-off and departed with the switch and the bag. As soon as they were clear, a flurry of activity appeared at the far lane of the farmer’s market. Medics and law enforcement rushed forward.

But not before Chelsea crawled to Zee Zee and ripped the burlap garland off the fruit display. “You are under arrest.” She tied the woman’s hands behind her back, and a feeling of satisfaction surged. She’d done it. No matter how it happened, she’d wanted to arrest Zee Zee, and now that was done. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Her head bobbed as an officer swooped in to finish what she’d started. EMTs moved into action, and an ambulance pulled forward. But between the chaos of her physical assessment and the officers arranging for Zee Zee’s transport, Calhoun stepped forward. He had her complete attention.

“Job well done, Kilpatrick.”

Her dry lips parted. “Thank you.”

“I owe you an apology.”

He owed her more than that, and she tried to organize her thoughts.

Calhoun cleared his throat. “Frankly, I owe you more than that.”

He’d read her mind. The medics lifted her onto a stretcher as she tried to understand what she’d just heard. It jostled and shook as it rolled across the asphalt then lurched and clicked into the ambulance. Her boss climbed in also.

Chelsea tried to sit up, but the EMT pushed her down.

Calhoun positioned next to her shoulder. As the driver took off, her head spun, and she closed her eyes.

“I got a lot of things wrong lately.” He grumbled. “That shit’s not easy for me to say.”

Laughter tickled in her, and Chelsea tried to hide her smile.

“Laugh it up,” Calhoun said. “I deserve it.”

Chelsea sat up and, as politely as she could, waved the medic away, asking for just a moment. “I don’t have a drinking—”

He held up his hand and grimaced. “I know. Took me too long to figure out the power play there, and that’s on me.” His lips flattened. “I hope you’ll come back. You won’t have to worry about Mac.”

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