He was over her, holding her down, his filmy eyes staring at nothing and orange blood crusted on his coat.
“El!”
George! That was George’s voice. Wilson had gotten to George, ambushed him in the pine trees, shot him in the head like his brother had, but this time Wilson had managed to move over the few inches required to send the bullet into his brain. Now George was the one with the milky eyes and faraway, empty gaze. Grief rose in her chest but couldn’t escape, building and building until her misery erupted in a scream.
“El. El, wake up.”
Reality returned like the snap of a rubber band, and George’s face—complete with no bullet hole or dead eyes—came into focus. The lamp next to her bed was on, casting a warm, golden light over his features and highlighting the worried creases between his brows. He was leaning over her, his hands gripping her upper arms.
“George?” Her voice sounded rusty, and her throat hurt.
He released her slowly, as if he wasn’t sure if she was really awake yet. As soon as her arms were free, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her face under his chin, reveling in each sign of life—the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the strength in his arms as he hugged her back. Ellie wasn’t sure how much time passed before her terror faded and self-consciousness began to creep in.
“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to put some space between them, but George seemed reluctant to loosen his grip. After a few halfhearted attempts at pulling away from him, she allowed herself to sink back against his chest. Once she relaxed, his hands started stroking her back.
“You were screaming.” His voice was so deep that the words vibrated through her. It was oddly comforting to feel him talk.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping yet.”
Turning her head to see the clock on the nightstand, Ellie was surprised to see it was just after one.
“Do you get nightmares a lot?” he asked, shifting so he could sit on her bed and pull her into his lap.
Despite her embarrassment at acting like a scared little kid, she couldn’t bring herself to turn down the comfort he was offering. “Not really.” She could almost feel the disbelieving glare he gave the top of her head. “Most of the time, I can’t fall asleep, so…no bad dreams.”
“That’s not better,” he grumbled.
The last terrifying seconds of her nightmare replayed in her head, and she shivered. “It kind of is.”
“What was your dream about?”
“Wilson.”
His hand stilled on her back. “Wilson King?” he asked, and she realized that she’d never told him the whole story of what had happened after George had left to get help.
“Yeah.” It was a sigh more than a word. “They threw in the bomb they’d made out of the stove fuel, and we had to get out before it exploded. I came out shooting and killed Wilson.”
“You saved yourself and your dad.”
She knew that when she was awake. Her sleeping self didn’t quite understand it, though. “His blood was orange the next morning.”
“You did what needed to be done, El. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” His praise didn’t give her the usual inner glow. Instead, she just felt tired.
“Ready to go back to sleep?”
“Can you stay?” The words escaped without her permission, and a blush immediately followed. “Sorry. Forget I asked.”
Instead of answering, he just pulled back the covers and maneuvered both of them until they were tucked into her bed. It was their usual cold-weather position, facing each other so she could hide her face in the crook between his jaw and collarbone. Although her apartment was heated to seventy toasty degrees, she still sighed with appreciation as she pressed her chilled body against his warm one.
“Good night again, George.” Her words were slurred a little bit from exhaustion, and her lips were close enough that they brushed his skin as she spoke. Ellie felt him shiver and tuck her a little tighter against him. Her face found that perfect spot against his neck, and she relaxed for the first time in weeks. In just the short time she’d known him, George had become her safe place. With a contented sigh, she allowed herself to sleep, knowing that he’d keep the monsters at bay.
* * *
She didn’t know who looked worse the next morning during their video chat—Ellie or her dad. She’d slept dreamlessly, but she’d woken late and had to rush to get ready. There’d been no time to put concealer over the dark circles under her eyes, and she’d roughly dragged her hair into a messy ponytail. Baxter’s gaze was dull, and the skin on his face was loose, like putty.
“Hi, Dad.” She blew him a kiss and then settled back in her chair at her kitchen table. George offered Baxter a nod of greeting from his spot beside her. “New meds?”
Her dad met her eyes slowly before nodding. Everything he did appeared to be in slow motion. “Don’t like them. They make everything…wrong.”
“I’ll talk to your doctor, if you like,” she offered. “See if she can adjust the dosage or try something else.”
His shrug was slow and halfhearted, making Ellie decide to definitely talk to her dad’s doctor about changing his meds. He was barely recognizable as himself.
“Is everything else okay?” she asked. “Do you need anything?”
He shook his head after a pause, his expression heartbreakingly flat. “I’m okay. You’re a good girl, Eleanor.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You still have that compass I gave you?”
“Yes.” She touched it where it rested low on her sternum. When she’d found it in her coat pocket a few days after her return to Chicago, she’d hung it on a chain and wore it around her neck. It was too big and plain to be a decorative piece of jewelry, but she liked to feel the solid weight of it against her chest.
“Good. Keep it close. Don’t want you getting lost in the mountains.”
“I will.” Annoyingly, her eyes started to burn with approaching tears. She forced them back, blinking until the threat of uncontrollable bawling was reduced to manageable levels. Although he couldn’t see her face from where he was standing, George must have heard something in her voice, because he squeezed her shoulder. That gesture of comfort made her eyes well up again.
“I’m not sure…” The words trailed away as Baxter stared in front of him, his focus not quite on the laptop screen. She wondered what horrific images were replaying in his brain. When he started talking again, she jumped, startled. He’d been quiet for so long, she’d thought he was done speaking. “I don’t know what part of it was real and what I just imagined.”
“Want me to tell you what I know is true?” Ellie offered, but he shook his head.
“I want…” His words came out so slowly that it was almost painful to listen. Ellie caught herself leaning toward the computer with her throat and jaw tight, as if she could help her dad shove the words out of his head. “I want to tell you, in case it’s real.”
“Sure, Dad.” She wished she could reach through the screen and grab his hand, somehow help him through this fog that had him trapped. “What is it?”
“You need to know, but it might put you in danger.” His head slowly turned until his cloudy gaze met hers from the screen. “If he thinks you know but you don’t…that might be worse.”
“Whatever it is, I want to hear it.” Even if it involved dragons and flying werewolves, Ellie wanted to know. It might make Baxter feel better to warn her about whatever danger it was, whether his brain had conjured it or if it were a true risk to her safety. The half-heard conversation between her dad and Anderson King flashed in her mind, and her heart rate picked up. Maybe he was finally going to tell her who killed Willard Gray.
“It was the fires, Eleanor.”
She frowned, confused. “The explosion at the cabin?”
“No.” His head wagged from side to side. “No. Not that fire. The others.”
“Dad, I don’t understand.”
Before he could explain, he jerked his head to the side, his attention caught by something Ellie couldn’t see. “You’re having a busy day already, Mr. Price,” an off-screen voice chirped. “There’s a visitor to see you. It’s Sheriff Coughlin.”
Ellie slumped in her chair. Even though Rob couldn’t have known he was interrupting, she wanted to kick him for his bad timing. What her dad had shared so far wasn’t sounding like a real threat, but she still wanted to clarify what he was talking about—if clarification was even possible.
“Hi, Sheriff,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Rob leaned over next to Baxter so his face could be seen on Ellie’s computer screen.
“Ellie. George.”
George silently returned his nod of greeting.
“I was hoping to talk to you about what happened at the cabin,” he said to Baxter, who didn’t respond. He just stared into space again. The sheriff, looking puzzled, turned toward the screen, lifting his eyebrows in question.
Making a rueful face, Ellie shrugged. “His meds have him talking and moving at half speed, but you can give it a shot, if it’s okay with you, Dad?” When her father didn’t respond, she sighed and blew him another kiss. Baxter must have used all his words for the day on her. “I have to go now so I’m not late for work, but I’ll call again tomorrow. You can tell me the rest then.”
“Was he talking about that night at the cabin?” the sheriff asked.
“Not about that.” She didn’t want to tell anyone else what her dad had been saying. It seemed like a betrayal. If Baxter wanted to share that with the sheriff, then he could tell Rob himself. “See you tomorrow, Dad. Bye, Sheriff.”
She hurried to disconnect before he could press her for more details. With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat before catching a glimpse of the clock on the microwave display.
“Shoot,” she yelped, jumping out of her chair and rushing for the door. “I was hoping to clean up a little”—she gestured at the sad mess that was her hair and makeupless face—“but I’ll be lucky to make it to the shop on time. I’ll have to take the car instead of the L. Did you want to drive?” At his nod, she grabbed her keys out of her purse and tossed them to him. “I’ll call Dr. Choudhry on the way. I didn’t like seeing Dad like that.”
His face grim, George nodded in agreement.
* * *
“Nice driving,” Ellie said a little breathlessly. He was pulling the Prius into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare before the shop opened.
George grinned. “This car is fun. I can fit it into really small spaces.”
“I noticed.” Especially when he’d squeezed her car into the tiny spot between two semitrucks on the interstate. Her heart had almost stopped.
As she slipped around to the shop’s side door, she saw there were a few people milling around the front, waiting for her to open.
“Want to stay for a little while?” she asked, unlocking the door and holding it so George could follow her into the shop. She quickly pressed the alarm code into the keypad next to the doorway, and the warning beep stopped with a satisfied chirp.
Although she’d expected it, her stomach went hollow when he shook his head. “You need to work.”
“Okay.” Aware that the few minutes she had before she had to let the waiting customers in were ticking away quickly, she grabbed his hand, turned it palm up, and dropped her apartment keys into it. “Have fun. After you pick up your truck, explore the city until all the people drive you crazy, and then go to the condo and make yourself at home. If Chelsea’s still there, don’t let her annoy you too much.”
He smiled. “Okay.” Leaning closer, he kissed her. It started light, his lips exploring hers tentatively, and then things got intense very fast. Apparently, he was a quick learner, judging by the way he took over the kiss. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her close as his lips and tongue and teeth did magical, mind-stealing things to her. A lack of oxygen finally made her pull away so she could breathe. Ellie went in for another kiss, but he held her off, flicking his gaze toward the front of the store.
“Right,” she groaned, not able to look away from his mouth. “Work.”
His smile reappeared, broader this time, and he gave her a final, short kiss. He squeezed her hand and then slipped out of the side door, leaving her leaning against the wall.
“Bye,” she said to the closed door. With a sigh, she pushed herself upright and headed to the front of the shop, flicking on lights as she went. Bracing herself for another busy sale day, she turned the lock on the front door.