Page 112 of Stolen Dreams
Brianna rolls off the man and falls to the ground beside him, the butt of his knife protruding from her stomach. My gaze darts to him and narrows as I scan his paralyzed expression.
Boots thunder over foliage, earth, and gravel as I step closer. Shouts and clicks echo through the trees as my gaze shifts to the man’s neck, where a dull piece of metal sticks out. Goose bumps erupt on my skin as a chill coils around my spine when I glimpse the man’s lifeless eyes staring skyward. With a fork jabbed into the side of his neck, a dark-red puddle encircles him on the ground. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.
Is he… dead?
I am not the type to wish death upon anyone, but I will make an exception for him.
Pain shoots down my shins as my knees crack the hard earth, but I ignore the throb.
Tucker is safe.
This man will never hurt him again.
And neither will Brianna.
THIRTY-FIVE
KAYA
Redand blue lights strobe off the trees, the buildings, and every surface between. Frigidity sweeps through the air that has nothing to do with the gentle breeze coming off the bay. Muttered conversations blend with the quiet whimpers coming from the woman on the ground with a knife in her belly. Cameras flash as photos are taken of the scene, small numbered tent cards in various places on the ground.
Arms banded around my neck and legs wrapped around my waist; Tucker trembles against my chest. Since leaping into my arms, he hasn’t stopped shaking. Our cheeks pressed together, I strengthen my hold on him and slowly sway. Ray’s parents stand inches from us, Angel stroking Tucker’s hair and Ray Jr. whispering how much they love him.
When the police rushed through the trees and took control of the situation moments ago, we stepped out of the shadows and onto the platform. The worry on Angel’s face told me I wasn’t alone in needing a clear view of Ray to see he was unharmed. The second I knew both my guys were safe, I took my first real breath in hours.
While we console Tucker, Ray speaks with the police.
“Is my mom okay?” Tucker tries to turn in my arms and look for his mother.
More lights bounce off the trees. Doors slam then gravel crunches. EMTs come into view with two stretchers. They pause in front of Ray and the officers. Ray points toward us and says something we can’t hear.
“I don’t know,” I tell Tucker. I want to ask him how not knowing makes him feel, but I refrain. It’s not the time.
Small pack slung over their shoulder, an EMT jogs up the steps, gives us a sympathetic smile, and points to Tucker in my arms. “Is this Tucker?”
Tucker glances over his shoulder at the medical technician then turns away and ducks his head.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a few questions and check you for injuries. Is that okay, Tucker?”
Tucker gives an infinitesimal shake of his head.
I rub a hand over his back. “How about this, Tucker?”
He peeks up at me.
“What if they ask and you whisper the answer to me, Grandma, or Papa RJ? Can we do it that way?”
Tucker strengthens his hold on me and nods.
The EMT asks one question after another, and we relay answers. Except for being terrified and traumatized, Tucker is otherwise okay. No scrapes, cuts, bruises, or physical injury.
Although this day will live with and haunt him for years, I breathe a sigh of relief he won’t have physical scars.
Handcuffs on her wrists and latched to the stretcher, Brianna is wheeled off to an ambulance. The remaining EMTs load the man into a black body bag, zip it closed, and hoist him onto the other stretcher. As they wheel him away, I keep Tucker’s gaze averted.
Ray strides across the dirt and up the steps, sidling up to us. He presses a kiss to Tucker’s hair. On the next breath, Tuckerloosens his hold on me and reaches for Ray. The world stills and quiets as the two embrace each other in the fiercest hug.
The backs of my eyes sting a beat before tears stain my cheeks. Ray’s parents and I crowd him and Tucker, wrapping them in our arms. A tremble ripples from one set of arms to the next as we weep happy tears.