Page 54 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“Affirmative.”

“Copy that. Ambulance en route.”

Putting my foot down to gas my vehicle, I rub the blood spray from my face as best I can and try not to think about leaving the hit-and-run victim in the middle of the road.

He deserved it.

The truck is too far ahead and fading from view. Then it’s gone. Like it grew wings and flew away. I slow down when I come to the point where I lost him and search the wooded area for a dirt road, but there are only trees—one broken and fallen over. Son of a bitch.

“Dispatch.”

“Go ahead.”

“I lost the vehicle,” I grumble. “Returning to the victim.”

“Copy that.”

My car slows and my head spins. There’s no one here. No truck. No guy.

Oh my God, am I losing my mind?

Sirens blast in the distance, getting closer and closer to my insanity.

My head is fuzzy as I seek answers in the asphalt, my heart pumping twice as fast as it should be.

“Phillips, what do we have?” Jefferson questions as he and Michaels trot over to stand beside me with their hands on their pistols still holstered on their hips. I didn’t call for back up, but it’s not unusual for other officers to respond. The ambulance arrives a few seconds later and I’m still standing there, dumbfounded. “Phillips?”

“I’m not crazy,” I defend.

They glance at each other and then back to me.

“I swear, the truck hit him and he …” My feet stomp the asphalt as my arms gesture to where he hit the ground. “Look,” I bark.There’s blood. I’m not crazy.

“Maybe he got up and took off.”

“No…no. He was…”Dead.A hand comes down on my shoulder and I jump, spinning around and swinging my fist out in front of me.

“Calm your shit, Phillips. It’s adrenaline. I’ve seen a man hit a pillar, get out of the car with a bone hanging out his leg, and sprint up the road. Shock does crazy things to a person.”

They’re walking back to their vehicle.

“We can put out an APB,” Jefferson says. “You get a good look at the vic or suspect?”

“Victim is a white male and bleeding to death,” I deadpan.

I climb back in my car and pull away. They’re both waving their hands in the air and mouthing, “What the fuck?”

They must have passed him if he did get up and drive away. He won’t get far. There’s no way he’s not badly damaged from that hit. Hell, I’m wearing half his blood.

“No, Detective. Nobody of that description.”

I disconnect from the fifth hospital I’ve called. No one has come in or been taken in with the asshole’s description. Maybe he was okay. Maybe he has a high pain tolerance.

He screeched at a little arm scrape.

There’s no way. He’s dead. I just have to find the body.

Grabbing a bite of cold pizza left over from last night, I chew and swallow before gulping down a bottle of water.

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