Page 69 of Love Bound
Another call beeps through. I don’t recognize it and let it go.
Bryce continues. "Miller works on a boat Friday through Monday or Tuesday and then reports to his parole officer on Thursday."
My blood pounds. "I don’t understand."
Nic, ever the curator of details, explains, "Miller has a special dispensation. He petitioned to work on boats as a cook." Then his voice drops as he says, "He's been going up the coast for months. The boat he works on departs every other week or so. It's unclear where they go."
I start to say something, but the number beeps again. And, again, I ignore it.
Nic's, "I'm sorry we didn’t catch this," echoes in my ear.
"It's not your fault." Somehow, I'm outside now on the back porch and I grab the pair of birding binoculars for guests in one hand. "What's the name of the—"
Bryce cuts in with, "The Savvy-T."
But I don’t need the binoculars. It's the biggest fucking yacht in the bay. It's that big white sixty-five-footer and I can see The Savvy-T painted in black, from here.
The phone rings one more time. Same fucking number.
"I gotta get this. Call you back," I say, but my heart is slamming against my ribs so hard I think they might break.
"Is this Mr. Finn Colton?"
The beat in the back of my throat suddenly moves high and I swallow. I've only felt that high point of pain one other time. "Yes."
"This is officer Trent Bryan."
Chapter Nineteen
Claire
Finn's patchy, gold, half-ton pickup does a wide C in the gravel as he pulls up and launches himself from the truck. I'm sitting on the back end of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket. Jade Falcon, our new paramedic, is applying pressure to a cut on my calf.
Finn's face is undiscernible. But his jaw and eyes are hard. Steely. I've never seen him like this.
Officer Trent, a dishwater blond, green-eyed kid who went to school with Travis, tries to slow Finn down but I watch as Finn brushes him off and barks at him from the side of his mouth.
In seconds, Finn wraps his arms around me and Jade takes a step back.
Then, after sliding his hands to my arms, Finn pulls away, almost as if he's afraid he's hurting me. "Are you okay?" he asks me and then turns to Jade. "Is she okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, but I'm not. My face feels like it's bashed in. There's blood in my hair from a scalp wound. My legs are nicked up, and my left hand is bruised and swollen already where I hit it on the window. My jaw hurts too.
"She doesn't want to go in, but she may have a mild concussion," says Jade's EMT partner, an older man I don’t know.
Officer Trent walks over and says something to Finn that I can’t hear. There are four other squad cars and men and women milling in the background. Someone takes pictures down the ravine with a tablet.
Finn leans close and whispers, "I'll be right back," and then sees something in my face. "I’ll be right over there. I'm not going anywhere."
He steps away, and the older guy shines another penlight in my eyes.
I stare numbly ahead for a moment. When he's done, I look around for my cell phone. I had reception up here on the mountain and I feel cut off now without it. It's how they all got here so fast, thank God. Because that asshole who ran me off the road just took off.
I try not to think about what happened, but I know I’ll have to tell it all over again to Officer Trent. How I left the Rolmes's and their sick cat, Huggins after turning a kid goat. How I came down off the mountain to the intersection of Cross Sticks and State. How this car—a huge, dark green SUV—came out of nowhere and kept trying to get around me on the narrow road. He'd come up alongside me and then pulled back, so I finally put on my flashers to slow down and then I had to pull way to the right so he could pass when it was clear.
I get irritated with tourists.
When I had come around a curve to the right, where there was just a low metal railing, he made his move. I watched as he got closer and closer in my side mirror. On the curve, he slammed into the side of my car. Twice. I caught only a glimpse of the driver—enough to know it was a guy.
