Page 94 of Bad For A Weekend

“Tell me. Who did this to my daughter?” he asks through gritted teeth, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Her birth mother.”

He has no time to react before the paramedics have Baylor loaded on a stretcher and ask who her family is.

“I’m her dad.” Corey steps up.

“You can ride with us.” They rush to the ambulance and load up, pulling away with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

“Owen,” Brandy cries, throwing her arms around me. I hold her as she sobs until I’m approached by a police officer.

“I’m told you returned fire?” she asks, and I nod. “We have some questions.”

“Here.” Hudson takes Brandy from me. “I’ll get her to the hospital. Come by after you’re done.”

“Okay. Text me with any updates.”

“Will do.” He wraps an arm around an overwhelmed Brandy. “Come on.”

For the next five hours, I’m questioned about the situation, though I don’t remember my answers. Whatever they were, they must’ve been sufficient because they released me. I had to hand over my gun as evidence, and they told me to be available when they called, but from what they could tell, I acted appropriately. And since I had a concealed carry permit, they don’t foresee any charges being filed.

The lead detective in Baylor’s case, Sanders, offers to bring me to UCLA Medical Center, where Baylor was taken. The car ride is like the hours I spent at the police station. I’m there, but I’m not really there. My body feels numb, and my head not attached.

My every thought is of Baylor. The image of her bloody and lifeless body is burned into my retinas. No matter how many times I blink or rub at my eyes, it’s there, haunting me.

Sanders and I find Corey, Hudson, and Brandy in a private waiting room. They’re obviously taking precautions since the event that brought Corey here is being blasted all over the news. The room is silent when we enter. The kind of quiet that makes the hair on my arms stand and my panic rise.

“What do we know?” I ask, taking a seat next to Hudson.

“Not a lot. She’s in surgery. The bullet nicked an artery, which is why there was so much blood. They’re fixing the artery and seeing if they can remove the bullet. Depending on where it’s sitting, they might have to leave it in.”

“Will she make it?” I whisper but might as well shout it by how silent it is. Corey may be across the room, but there’s no doubt he heard the question.

“Mortality rate is between twenty to sixty percent.”

I bend in half, covering my face. That’s too high. Too fucking high.

“But bro, she’s young and strong. The fact that she made it to the hospital is a good sign. She’s a fighter.” He slaps my back twice, which is more comfort than I expected from him.

“Mr. Giles,” Sanders says, sitting next to Corey.

“What do we know?” he asks, jumping right into it.

“We wouldn’t know much without Mr. Rollins.” Sanders nods in my direction, and I join them.

“How did you know that was her mom?” Corey’s tone isn’t accusatory; it’s more curious.

I wipe the moisture building in my eyes. “I know I was taken off her protection, but I couldn’t let it go, so I spent every night reading over everything, trying to make the pieces fit. I remembered a story Baylor told me about how you ended up adopting her. That your family was from Yellow Springs, Ohio. So when I was reading about the Story brothers, it stood out that they were from Ohio too. Yellow Springs.”

“Baylor told you about that?” he asks.

I pause, unsure if that’s a weird thing for her to tell her bodyguard, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve already told the detectives how I figured it all out.

“Yeah. The pieces were all there; we just hadn’t connected the dots. I flew out to Ohio a couple days ago on a hunch. As you know, it’s a small town, so I asked around about Lisa and her brothers. The brothers were well known for being local con artists and thieves. But what really put it together was that Lisa spent a lot of time bragging about the man who adopted her baby.”

“Me,” he says, resigned.

“Yeah. I don’t know what kind of adoption you had, but somehow she knew who you were.”

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