Page 127 of Valor

“And if He doesn’t?” I turn toward the pastor, tears in my eyes. “If she dies?” I choke on the words as my throat constricts at the mere thought of a world without Lani in it. “If she’s already dead?”

Pastor Ford takes a deep breath. “Then we pray for understanding,” he says. “Because in moments like that, it’s all we can do.”

* * *

I tried to sleep.To find rest so I could be renewed in the morning. However, it didn’t come to me. Not when I first laid my head down, and not three hours later when I was still staring up at the ceiling.

So after making myself a thermos full of coffee and drinking my first cup as I made notes on Lani’s case, I climbed into my truck and started driving with no real destination in mind.

I justknewI needed to be out here doing something. Even if all I could do was drive roads I’ve driven dozens of times since Lani went missing. I started at Lani’s apartment, tracing the steps her abductor must have taken to avoid being seen by the security cameras.

I’ve driven in two different directions that seemed logical and gotten nowhere.

It’s nearing five in the morning now, and I’m running out of hope. How can we possibly know which path to take when there are no threads to tug?

Pray for understanding.Pastor Ford’s words come back to me, so even though I’m angry and struggling to see how there could be a bigger plan in something happening to Lani, I start talking to God.

“God, I don’t know what else to do. Can You point me in the direction? Please, God, I can’t live without her.” I slam my hands against the steering wheel, frustration chipping away at me. “Lord, please. I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost. There’s nothing. No lead. No clue. Everyone is counting on me—Lani is counting on me—and I’m failing her. I’m failing them all.” My throat constricts, a lump of emotion forming as I try not to completely lose my mind in the quiet cab of my truck.

I come around a corner, and my headlights catch something white in the ditch. Unease climbs up my spine, so I pull my truck off to the shoulder and climb out, flashlight in hand. It’s likely an animal or something that blew out of the back of a truck, but I head over anyway.

And when the beam of my flashlight illuminates what’s in the ditch, I lose all rational thought. “Lani!” I yell, sprinting the distance between myself and the woman curled in a ball, wearing a tattered hospital gown. The white of it is stained in dirt and blood. Her dark hair has been chopped off at the shoulders and is a muddy mess. Her face is bruised and a bit bloody near her lip and forehead. “Please, God, still be breathing.” Tears burn my throat, and fear eats me alive.

I reach out and touch her neck, a bit of that fear ebbing when I feel a faint pulse.

It’s slow. Too slow. But it’s there.

“Thank You, God. Thank You.” I shrug out of my jacket and lay it over her, hoping to alleviate at least some of the chill. “I’ve got you, baby,” I tell her. “Thank God I’ve got you,” I say again, then lift her slight frame into my arms and rush toward my truck. Balancing her in one arm, I pull open the passenger door and carefully place her inside, my jacket still over her. I lay the seat back so she doesn’t fall over, then seatbelt her before rushing around to the driver’s side, my heart hammering against my ribs.

After cranking up the heater to combat the ice-cold chill of her skin, and flipping my lights and siren on, I throw my truck in drive and spit gravel as I flip a U-turn to head back toward town.

“Call Bradyn Hunt,” I say aloud after pushing the Bluetooth button on my steering wheel. “Come on, Lani. Stay with me.” I keep my right hand on hers, unwilling to let her go now that I’ve got her.

Seconds later, he answers. “Hunt.”

“I found her.”

“Where?” he asks, tone sharpening.

“She was on the side of the highway leading out of town. Just off the road.”

He pauses a moment. “Is she alive?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” He lets out a breath.

“She’s unconscious and injured. I’m headed to the hospital now.”

“I’ll make some calls and be there to meet you. Thank you, Gibson. Thank you for finding her.”

“She’s not out of the woods yet.” I end the call as I barrel toward town. Every second feels like a year before I’m screeching to a stop outside the emergency room.

Not even bothering to turn off my truck, I rush around the back and pull her out, taking her into my arms and sprinting toward the door. “I need help!” I yell as I rush into the ER waiting room.

It’s empty, but the nurse working intake rushes into the back when she sees me. I don’t wait for her to return before pushing into the back. She and Dr. Pierce come rushing down the hall.

“Bring her in here.” He gestures toward a bed off to the side, a curtain around it.

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