Page 94 of Unbelonging
I didn't need to look inside the trunk to have a pretty good idea who it was. I'd have bet almost anything it was the second guy who'd been with Brittney and Amber that night.
"He's not going anywhere," Lawton said.
"Neither is this one," Bishop said, walking past, carrying the other guy over his shoulder, fireman style.
"Oh my God," I stammered. "You sure he's not –"
"He'll be fine," Bishop said. He kept moving, heading toward the car.
I looked at the guy. He didn't look fine to me. His face was dripping trickles of blood that left a dark trail along the concrete.
"You sure?" I said.
"Trust me," Bishop said.
I glanced at Lawton.
He seemed to read the worry in my eyes. "If he says he's fine, he's fine."
In the driveway, Bishop popped the trunk and dumped the guy into it. I heard muffled thumping from somewhere inside. If nothing else, at least the other guy was okay. Sort of.
When Bishop returned, I said, "Shouldn't we be calling the police?"
Bishop and Lawton shared a long look. Neither one spoke until Lawton said in a low, quiet voice, "Is that what you want?"
It seemed an incredibly odd question. Of course, that's what I wanted. It's what any sane person would want.
And then something hit me. Whatever had happened here, no one but Lawton and Bishop knew about it. If the police were called, this would become a full-blown spectacle. It would be worse due to Lawton's involvement, because he was practically a household name.
This had tabloid fodder written all over it. And before then, there'd be police cars and flashing lights. Then there'd be interviews and lots of reasons for the neighbors to come outside and see what was going on.
The Parkers would surely hear about this, probably a lot sooner than later. This whole thing had nothing to do with them, other than the fact it had happened on their front lawn. I'd be fired for sure, and then, where would I go?
And then, there was the other thing. Somewhere deep inside, I knew who'd put those guys up to this. Brittney. She knew where I was staying, and she'd promised some sort of revenge. I could only guess that this was her idea of a sick, twisted joke.
I could practically see the headlines now, and none of them were good.
Next to us, Bishop leaned down to scoop up something from the grass. The knife. It had a short metal blade and a dark commando-style handle. His gaze narrowed as he ran a hand along its blade.
"What is it?" Lawton said.
Bishop shook his head. "It's fake."
On reflex, my hand returned to my throat. "What do you mean fake?"
"It's metal alright," Bishop said, "but I wouldn't call it a knife. Feels more like a movie prop." He turned to me. "Here. Hold out your hand."
"What the hell are you doing?" Lawton said.
"Humor me," Bishop said.
When I did, Bishop ran the blade along my palm. I felt the familiar sensation of metal against my skin, but no pain, no cut, no nothing. I felt my face grow warm. That explained why my neck had no marks, especially considering how hard the guy had pressed. How had I fallen for something so stupid?
"It's not even a knife," I murmured.
"Chloe," Lawton said. "What's going on?"
I shook my head. "I have no idea."
