Page 42 of 3rd Tango
Then I’m moving, my feet pounding the gravel, heading toward that damned office. “I just talked to her.”
“I’m on my way to the scene. I don’t have details yet. They’re alive. I’ll text the address.”
My relief comes hard and fast. A literal gut punch that halts me midway. I bend over, suck hot, stagnant air in and force myself to breathe.
They need me. I’m not allowed to freak out right now.
“Meg?” JJ asks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just…get to them. We’re right behind you.”
I punch off and start hollering. “Matt! Matt!”
The office door opens and he sticks his head out. “Where’s the fire?”
“No fire. Charlie and Mom were in an accident.”
He angles away, speaking to someone inside then bolts to the Buick, firing it up just as I reach him.
Before we clear the gate, JJ’s text comes in and we race to Charlie’s location.
We barrel around the corner and Matt slams on the brakes before he plows into the stopped vehicles trying to merge into the left lane.
My gaze zooms in on the swirling red lights of an ambulance and, to the right of that, the front end of my sister’s car mashed against a telephone pole.
“Oh, my God.”
A jackhammer unleashes itself in my chest sending stabs of pain in all directions.
I jerk on the handle and shove the door open.
“Meg, wait.”
No. Charlie and my mother were in there. I charge toward a cop, standing guard. He holds his hands up. “Sorry. Restricted area.”
My ass.
“That’s my sister’s car.”
I keep my pace and the cop, a beefy guy who looks near retirement, shifts to his right to intercept me, but—whoopsie—I juke the other way, hopping just out of reach and blow by him.
“Hey!” He yells.
Ahead of me two more uniformed cops and a tall man in a navy suit—JJ—angles back.
“Stop her!” The cop shouts.
JJ rushes forward, his mouth moving fast and they stand down. JJ walks toward me, arms extended. “Stop. Before you get your butt tased.”
My breath comes in short bursts, a product of my panic upon seeing the mess that’s Charlie’s vehicle.
I halt and wave a hand to the cops while buckets of sweat roll down my back. “How…are…they?”
Dammit. I can’t get any air.
“Whoa,” JJ says. “Slow down. Concentrate on breathing.”
No doubt Charlie has shared my history of panic attacks with him.
