Page 58 of The Woman in the Hollow
I reached for them, sliding the key to the door between bloody, shaky fingers, so I didn’t need to fumble when I made it to the shop.
I inched around the building.
When I didn’t immediately see my attacker, I freaking flew across the field.
I didn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t feel the pain I knew was in my legs, hands, and face.
I made it to the side door of the shop in what felt like ten seconds flat, jabbing the key in the lock, shoving the door open, then slamming and locking it behind me.
Yes, there were a lot of glass windows. All breakable.
But the shop had one thing the greenhouse didn’t.
A phone.
I ran behind the counter, ducking down low after I yanked the phone off the cradle.
My hands were shaking violently. and my fingers bloodied the button as I pressed it on.
I needed to call the police.
Why, then, did I hit the speed dial?
That I knew called Dante.
My insides were vibrating as I listened to the phone ring in my ear.
Once.
Twice.
I was about to hang up and do what I needed to do—call the cops—when the ring ended.
“Hello?”
“Dante?”
My voice was a raw, panicked half-sob.
“What happened?” he asked, and I swear I could hear the air rushing as he, it seemed, broke into a run.
“I… there was someone… I…”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes.” My lower lip wobbled. I sniffled hard.
“I’m on my way. We’re all on our way.”
That shouldn’t have been comforting. The mafia capo I worked for was coming. And bringing his family members with him.
A bunch of men with guns and a willingness to kill to protect what was theirs? Yeah, that was suddenly comforting.
“Hazel, babe, talk to me. Are you safe? Is there someone still there?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t want to look.”
“Okay. That’s alright. Just stay on the phone with me.” I heard the beep of his open car door, the purr of his engine, then the peeling sound as he pulled out of wherever he was. “Hazel?”
