Peter and Drake had found her. That information was cemented in me, securing my hope. She was alive. She had to be. I was ready to go with them, fight beside them, but Carter wouldn’t have it. Peter had been shot as they got away. They were going to regroup, but I had to stay back and tend to Peter.
At first I refused, but I saw the warning from Carter. If I didn’t, he said he would lock me in the bathroom and be damned the damage I would do as I tried to get out. Fine. I told him I would stay back. I would dress Peter’s wound.
That was what he wanted to hear. So that’s what I said.
And now, after seeing that the bullet had gone all the way through Peter’s shoulder, and after finishing his bandages, I had another item on my agenda.
Spying a bungee on the floor behind his chair, I pulled it through a loop on his pants, tying it in a firm knot to the chair where he sat. It wouldn’t stop him, but it would give me the element of surprise. That was all I needed. I waited another second, but he wasn’t paying attention. It was now or never.
“Peter.”
I secured the end of the bandage over his wound and stepped back. He’d put his gun on the counter behind us. I knew what I was going to do, but I was an idiot. Still, I didn’t see another way around him, and with my decision finalized in my head, I stepped backward. He inspected the bandage as I took one more step backward and reached behind me. My hand closed around the gun’s end.
“Hmm?” He lifted his arm to look. “What’d you say, Em?” He looked now.
I held my breath. He didn’t know what I had in my hand. He just saw the set of my jaw and the determination in my eyes.
“No, Emma.” He
shook his head. “Let them handle it. It’s for the best.”
It wasn’t. My alarms had been going off since he got back. He’d been wounded. Drake had been taken. Carter and Michael left to rescue him, but it was all wrong. Why let him go? Why now? It was a trap. Carter knew it, too. I could tell by the way he seared me with a look, but he had to go. They had one of his men, and Drake was family now. He had to go, but so did I.
“No, Peter.” He didn’t understand. “Where are they?” I was going.
His eyes narrowed, and I watched as he realized he didn’t have his weapon. He remembered where it was, and he knew I had it.
My arm dropped from behind me to my side, and I moved over, out of reach.
“Emma, I’m serious. You can’t go after them.” His eyes trained on the gun in my hand.
“Okay.” Let’s lie about this then. Let’s do it that way.
I put the gun aside and held my hands up, making a show about it. “Fine. I won’t go, but I still want to know where they are.” I had to know. And he didn’t know about the bungee cord behind him. I was banking on that.
His gaze centered on the gun; he was thinking it over. I hoped his thoughts went along this route: what would it hurt? He could grab the gun faster than me now. He looked me up and down, and his head lifted a bit. Oh, yes. I was smaller than him. He was quicker than me. If I did anything, he could get the gun and hold me off. Easily.
I needed him to think all of this over. I held up my hands again. “I won’t go. I promise. Just tell me where. Tell me, Peter. What if something happens? I can call someone, Cole maybe. I can send him there. Just...” Please God, tell me. “Where are they?”
“Emma, if I told you—”
“I won’t go,” I barked out and moved another step away from the gun. “I’m promising you, but I have to know where they went.” My hand pressed against my stomach. “This doesn’t feel right, Peter. They had you, and they let you go? You didn’t fight to get away. They. Let. You. Go.” Why wasn’t he just telling me?! “Think about it!”
“Emma, I—” He stopped himself. He knew I was right. I could see the dots connecting in his eyes. He was going to tell me. I could almost see it on the tip of his tongue. I stepped forward, my hands in the air, as if I could pull it out of him. Then he gestured to the gun and started to stand. “Okay, but give me—”
My voice rose. “Just tell me! My god!”
He sat back, stunned. A look of sympathy filtered across his face. “At sixteen-oh-one Bezzaleen Road. It’s by Uni—”
I knew enough. I whipped around, grabbed the gun, and turned back to him.
His eyes were wide. He tried to stand and stop me, but the bungee contracted and jerked him back down. He began to twist around, a question on his lips. “What the—”
I whipped the end of the gun across his face as hard as I could. He fell back. I needed to hit him once more, so I backed up and ran at him. At the last minute, I jumped in the air and put all of my body weight behind the gun as I hit him again.
His body slumped. I caught him before he fell out of the chair, pulling it over top of him because of the cord, and I tried to slow his descent to the floor. It wasn’t smooth, but I lessened his fall a little bit. Before his head hit the floor, I caught it with my foot. And then—it was all over.
Peter was unconscious, but safe. I was good to go.