Page 48 of Halfway to Hell

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Kennedy smiled. “I bought a pair in a second-hand store in South Dakota that are divine.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” She pointed to the boots she was wearing. “Still rocking these puppies.”

“Oh, those are nice,” Sunday said, genuinely impressed.

“They feel like butter,” Kennedy said, nodding toward the rows of shirts. “You go look for tops while I hit the shoe aisle. What size do you wear?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Me too.”

“It’s the most common size,” Sunday said with a small sigh. Which probably meant they wouldn’t have anything that actually fit her.

As Sunday headed toward the rows of shirts, her eyes caught movement near the front windows and she froze. Her mouth went dry, the spit vanished. Heart pounding, she took a few steps back, then ducked low and slipped quickly through the store.

She needed to find Kennedy. Spotting her near the back, Sunday crouched down, almost crawling between the racks to reach her friend.

Kennedy’s eyes widened as she saw the terror etched on Sunday’s face. She recognized that look; the same one she’d worn when running for her life. “Who? Where?” she asked, her voice low but urgent.

“Someone who attacked me. They just walked past the store window,” Sunday whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

Kennedy studied her. “Would they recognize you?”

“My hair,” Sunday’s voice dropped to a hush, “It’s unnaturally white—like a beacon in the dark.”

Kennedy glanced toward the front of the store, her mind racing. “Go back to the dressing room and stay there until I come get you.”

“Okay.” Sunday kept her back to the front as she hurried back, silently praying the door would still be unlocked.

Kennedy’s voice followed her, low but steady. “Besides your hair. What about you,would they recognize you?”

Kennedy quickly texted Cree a “911” along with their location—no explanations, knowing he wouldn’t ask questions.

Moving swiftly down a row of accessories, she spotted a dark-colored scarf and grabbed it. On her way to the dressing rooms, she also picked up a dark jacket that should fit Sunday.

The bell over the door rang, pulling Kennedy’s attention to the front of the store. Cree and Texas were stepping inside, their expressions set and determined to find them. Kennedy raised her hand in a quick signal, motioning them over.

“Wow, you must have been close by,” Kennedy said, her eyes scanning the entrance.

“We were already heading here,” Cree replied, his tone sharp. “What’s going on? And where’s Sunday?”

“She recognized someone who attacked her,” Kennedy explained, her eyes shifting between Cree and Texas. When neither man said a word, she added, “I had her go into the dressing room.”

Without hesitation, Cree and Kennedy followed Texas toward the fitting rooms.

“Sunday.” Texas waited patiently as she unlocked the door. When it opened, he stepped inside and pulled her into a gentle hug.

Texas rubbed a comforting hand over her back. “Tell me what happened.”

He hated the fear still lingering in her eyes. “Are you okay now? What startled you?” he whispered softly to Sunday, but his gaze flicked to Kennedy and Cree who were both just as worried.

“I saw a friend of Dalton’s,” she said quietly.