Page 75 of Colton's Secret Weapon
Not a bad thing. Just a fact of life.
She’d made it all so clear the night before. They were night and day. And both were equally necessary and valuable.
They made it through the winding drive and out to the thoroughfare that would lead them to Main Street without issue. Mitchell was on complete alert. Calculating turns, counting down streets, until they got to Whaler’s place, where his security detail was already in place.
A few more minutes, five to seven at most and…
Mitchell heard the loud crash before his eyes had even registered what had happened. Heart pounding, he slammed on his brakes in time to see Whaler’s truck, with Dove and Whaler belted inside, rolling over an embankment. They’d been hit broadside. By a truck that had come out of a parking lot, plowing through a median and straight into them.
Adrenaline and fear pumping through him, Mitchell was out of his car and running full speed down the embankment before he heard sirens coming from above.
Dove. He had to get to Dove.
The truck lay at an angle, passenger side down. The bed was half-separated from the cab.
“Help!” Dove’s scream, unrecognizable to him, but for the fact that it was feminine not masculine, propelling him through the weeds and fallen trees between him and the vehicle. Two feet away, he could see her head clearly enough to know that she was conscious. Rocking forward and backward.
He was there almost instantly, finding the roof so smashed there was no way Mitchell could get the one door accessible to him open. But the window had broken out, and he could reach in to cup Dove’s face. “I’m here,” he told her. “Help’s on the way, and I’m going to stay right here with you until it gets here.”
“Daddy,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Get to Daddy, first.”
Mitchell had already taken the only glance he needed to toward what had once been the passenger side of Whaler’s old truck. Thankfully, the seat was pushed back so far that Dove, trapped by her seat belt, couldn’t see. The man’s injuries were something that would have haunted her for the rest of her life. Whaler was clearly dead, but Mitchell didn’t say so.
Holding her head with one hand, just supporting it, not moving it, he positioned himself so that she could look him in the eye. “Stay with me, baby,” he said. “Help is on the way.”
“Mitchell? I’m okay, get to my dad.”
“It’s best that I don’t move either one of you,” he said, finding words out of nowhere. “Just until the paramedics get here and make sure you’re okay.”
She nodded. Started to cry but didn’t take her eyes away from him. “I can’t get my door to open.” She hadn’t tried since he’d been there. Wasn’t sure if she’d already discovered that the door was jammed shut, or was just talking off the top of her head. Heart thrumming through his body, his ears, he focused on her. Her face. Making sure that she got from him whatever she needed most.
Smiling he said, “That’s because I’m leaning against it.” He was hardly touching the vehicle for fear of dislodging it.
Her eyes seemed well focused. Her words were slow and shaky but clear.
And where in the hell were the…
“I’m glad you’re here.” Her eyes were still holding his gaze. And he smiled, blinking back tears. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” he said.
And heard voices calling just before multiple sets of boots trampled in the dirt behind him.
“The paramedics are here,” he told her, pulling his hand gently away from her head.
A hand splattered with blood came up to grip his arm as panic filled her eyes. “Don’t leave me,” she cried.
“I’m not going anywhere, Dove. I promise. I’ll be right here.”
The last was said as first responders, equipped with metal cutters, pushed him aside.
And two minutes later he heard Dove scream his name.
The little room was cold. Dove didn’t much care. Cold was real.
And all she had left.
As soon as she had the all clear from the trauma doctor, she’d be free to go home. Or…just go. No place felt like home to her.
Not one that existed anymore.
