Page 9 of One Cry Too Loud
I moved cautiously, slinking to the driver’s side with my gun pointed forward. My muscles were tense and my eyes were planted on the car, on the airbag obscuring my view.
As I rounded the car, as the airbag became inconsequential thanks to my evolving vantage point, I heard a scream from inside. My muscles tensed,and for an instant, I thought about shooting. I didn’t, of course. I had trained too well and been too good to allow my first instinct to rule my motions in a moment like this.
The scream returned.
“Help me!”
I blinked, looking into the car. It was a woman. No. It was a girl. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. She had abloody nose. It was probably broken, thanks to the airbag, and she was panicking. “Help!”
“Calm down,” I said loudly, over the alarm. “Other than your nose, are you hurt?”
“I didn’t do this!” She yelled. As she took me in, she saw the gun in my hand, and the panic ratcheted up about a hundred notches. “No! Please don’t! I didn’t do this! The car did it! I swear! I tried to stop! I tried to turn the wheel, but it didn’t matter! Please! You have to believe me!”
“I’m not going to shoot you,” I said, stuffing my gun back into the holster. I pulled at the door and opened it. The girl spilled out, panting and jerking.
“I didn’t mean to do this!” She screamed. “I don’t know how it even happened! I wasn’t supposed to have this car. It’s my dad’s. He’s going to kill me. Oh my God. He’s going to-”
“Are you hurt?” I asked, steadying her. “You can worry about your father after we deal with making sure you’re okay. I promise you, as a father, it’ll be his first priority too.”
“It shouldn’t be your first priority, Jack Harrington,” a voice said from inside the car. No. It was more than just inside the car. It was from inside the speakers. “You have bigger things to worry about.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes growing wider. “How are you-”
“These cars are all computer boards,” the voice said from inside the car speakers. “This one just happened to be driving by.”
“Who the hell are-”
“Fifteen seconds,” the voice cut me off. “That’s how long it took for me to take control of this car, this deadly weapon, and throw it at you. Imagine what I could do in thirty seconds. Imagine what I could do in thirty minutes.” There was a beat of silence, and then this followed. “Stay away from me. Stay out ofmy business. You tell that English bitch I said so. If you don’t, next time, it won’t be just you who is in harm’s way.”
I heard Nate’ voice shout from the other side of the room. Looking forward, I saw his head peeking out from the other room. “What’s going on?” He asked.
“Something bad,” I said, taking a deep breath and taking all of this in. “Something very bad.”
CHAPTER 7
“I’m fine,” I said, taking a deep breath and keeping my voice steady. It had been a few hours since that poor girl’s car had slammed through the pottery shop, and in that time, I had said that phrase at least a dozen times. “I promise, Kat.”
The woman on the other end of the line was someone I’d known since I was a teenager. She was someone I knew almost as well as I knew myself. It was because of that familiarity that I could tell that her voice was coated, not only with worry, but with an anger she was trying desperately (and mostly succeeding) to keep at bay.
“I know. You said that three times the first time I called. If that would have been enough for me, I wouldn’t have called back,” she answered. “I just don’t know why you won’t let me just come to the hospital and check on you guys.”
“We’re all fine,” I repeated. “Nate hit his face against the wall when the car came through. He’s got some scratches along his cheek and forehead. Holly was in shock a bit when she first came in, but she’s alright now. And you know me, Kat. It’ll take more than a speeding car to take me out.”
“I feel like that’s probably similar to what everyone says before they’re taken out, Jackson,” she huffed. “What about Sarah Jane?”
“She’s at home with the baby and Kyle,” I said. “Not that keeping her there was any easier than it’s turning out to be with you.”
“I can’t imagine that surprises you,” she replied. “We just got you back. I know it’s been a month and a half or so and I know you’re still recovering from that, but-”
“Ihaverecovered from that,” I corrected, cutting her off. “I was kidnapped. I was held against my will. It wasn’t fi=un, but I’m not going to let it define the rest of my life.”
“Good. I’m proud of you, but I wasn’t talking about you. You’re not the only one still recovering, Jackson. We all are, especially your daughter. Especially me.”
Her voice wavered just a touch as she finished the sentence, and a pang of guilt ran through me. I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. Not really. Not in the way I should have.
“I’m sorry,” I said honestly.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be okay,” she answered.
