Page 59 of Devil Inside: Green

“I don’t know. At least as long as I’ve been here. I called 911 as soon as I found her.”

“She’s sustained a lot of trauma,” the second medic says. “I’m worried that she might have fallen and hit her head.” The cops find a hunting knife near her body and those serrated edges match the tears on her skin.

The paramedics carefully move Danni onto the thin board, securing her head, and shoulders—one of which they have to gauze up because the strap goes right through one of her slashes—and then down the rest of her body. They only gauze her there because it’s dark and because they’re worried about her head and spinal cord, so they can’t move her around.

How stupid could I have been? I rolled her over without supporting her head or back.

The two newest cops with flashlights shine a path for the paramedics to run back to the ambulance so they can start really taking care of Danni.

The cop finally takes his knee from my back, helping me up off the ground. He pats me down. I got nothing in my pockets, but he finds my gun in the dirt by where I put it down to see to Danni. They’ve already confiscated Reaper’s.

“You got a permit for this?” he asks. Technically, yes. But I don’t know if it’s a parole violation. My brain is so messed up, they’re lucky I remember my own name right now.

“Yes,” I answer. He confiscates it anyway, leading me back through the woods to where there are at least ten cars and SUVs with flashing lights.

“Putting you in the back while we check things out,” he says and I nod. I’m not stupid enough to struggle.

“You got units at the property?” I ask. “That’s where we found the camper van.”

Several of the cops huddle in a group, then about half get into vehicles, including two with me. “Where’s the property?”

The car Reaper’s in stays behind.

I direct them to the dirt drive that they turn down and when their headlights hit it, I tell them. “That’s my bike. The other belongs to Reaper. I used an app to find the location. I looked inside the van, but I didn’t go in.”

All the cars empty with officers raising flashlights and guns. They make the slow approach. He’s not there. Hopefully, he’s with Vlad right now. I need to get to Danni. She needs a guard because she’s the only one who could identify Jack. He has to know it.

Several minutes pass and then the cop who detained me comes back to the car. “Tell me your story.”

I’ve got nothing to hide. “I’m part of the Bedlam Horde. We’ve been working with the FBI to try and capture the Bible Belt Killer. For the last year and a half, we’ve been working with Special Agent Anna Sandoval. My name is Rob Green. She’ll know me. Before her, we worked with several other agents. We got involved because a few of the women attached to the club were targeted by the Bible Belt Killer. Danni—the woman they’re taking to the hospital—her mother was one of the victims. That’s how we met. Because my girlfriend was one of the victims, too. She and I eventually got together, but I think we were getting too close to finding out his identity, which is why he went after Danni.”

The officer writes down everything I say. He calls in my name to check my story and comes back with my parole. “How’d you get here on a bike when you’ve got a suspended license?”

I shrug. “The woman you love gets kidnapped by a maniac, are you really worried about driving on a suspended license?” He has me take a breathalyzer test to make sure I haven’t been drinking.

“I can’t let you drive back into the city. We’ll have your bike towed.”

“That’s whatever. I don’t give a fuck about the bike right now. I just need to know if Danni’s going to be okay.”

“So you’re officially her partner?”

“Yeah—we live together.” Then I rattle off our address.

“Then let’s get you to the hospital. I’m uncuffing you now but we still have things to talk about. You try to run once we get there, and that’ll be it.”

“Not running. I just need to make sure my woman is okay. Then you can talk to me anywhere you damn well please.”

This guy is being much cooler than I thought he’d be, considering the situation. We make the thirty-five-minute drive into Middlesboro to hit the medical center.

He opens the back door to the cruiser for me. The cruiser with Reaper pulls up next to ours. The officers fall in step next to each other while Reaper never leaves my side.

“We’re here about Daniella Romero,” I tell the desk. She was brought in by ambulance.

“Is that the unconscious they just brought in?” the receptionist asks.

“That would be the one,” the officer replies.

She sends us in the direction we’re supposed to go, letting us into the back by pressing a button to unlock the door.

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