Page 78 of Love on the Line

Chapter 27

Wyatt hungup the phone and closed his eyes. Thank God Anne was okay. He sighed, and pain ripped a route from under his cracked rib to his fractured sternum. Holy shit, he’d forgotten from his football days how much injuries hurt.

Last night had been nothing short of a living hell, not knowing Anne’s condition. He’d never been so scared in his life. When that bastard dragged her into the alley, Wyatt’s world exploded. He’d been crazed to get to her, but couldn’t overpower three men. Worst of all, he’d failed to protect her. His stomach sank, defeat dragging it down. Not a feeling he had much. Then again, nothing but saving her had ever mattered more.

All morning his phone had been blowing up from people who’d seen the breaking news. Poor Anne, for the second time, thrown into the spotlight.

“I’ve seen red-assed baboon butts that looked better than you,” John’s voice rang out as he entered the room.

“Guess you spend a lot of time looking in the mirror, huh?”

John snorted. “Not enough pain meds if you can still make wise cracks.”

“Nah, I just have super powers when it comes to insulting you.” Wyatt hit the button to raise the back of the bed. He grimaced and caught his breath.

“Seriously, bro, are you okay? Cuz you look like hell.”

“I’ll be fine. The Steelers have done worse damage.” Well, maybe not. The image of Anne, leaning over him, her face bloody, singed his insides. He met John’s eyes, all kidding aside. “Tell me you’re gonna find the fuckers.”

John nodded and approached. “Damn straight. Let’s get to it.” He pulled out an iPad and tapped the screen. “I read over the statements taken last night from Anne and Devon Blackwood. They matched.”

Wyatt blinked and shook his head. “Blackwood? What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s the Good Samaritan who came to the rescue and called nine-one-one.”

A vague image of a man entering the alley and kicking a guy flashed in Wyatt’s mind.

“They questioned him at the police station. According to the report, he fought three of them, and then they all fled the scene.”

Wyatt’s lungs collapsed. “Are you kidding me? Those assholes were big. I couldn’t take them, and believe me, I was motivated.”

John shrugged. “Just reading the report, which Anne corroborated. I checked out Blackwood, and his record is clean as a whistle. He had a valid reason to be in the area at the time. Do you have any cause to suspect him?”

Other than he irritated the jealous hell out of Wyatt, no. He’d never even met the guy and clearly owed him a debt of gratitude. “No.”

“Try again.” John arched a brow. “Know that look.”

Wyatt set his jaw.

“Come on, this is important. Spit it out.” John straightened, all cop-mode.

“It pisses me off I wasn’t able to handle the situation. And knowing he did, well—”

“Cut yourself a break. He’s a fifth-degree black belt. Different skills. Put him on the field and see how well he blocks and catches.”

“Yeah, whatever.” That hadn’t been too helpful in the alley.

John waved a hand. “Moving on. Can you describe any of the attackers?”

“It was dark, but I did get a look at a couple of them,” Wyatt said. “The guy punching me was about six foot, muscular, and had an acne-scarred face. He wore a bandana.” Wyatt angled his head and squinted. “I really didn’t see the two holding me.”

“What about Anne’s assailant?”

“Bigger dude. Not fat, but large.”

“Her statement said he had a lot of tattoos on his arms. Anything else distinguishing? Scars, jewelry?”

“There was something.” Wyatt nodded slowly. “Yeah, he had some sort of earring. I can’t tell you what it was, though. I saw it flash really quick, and then we were in the alley.”

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