Chapter Ten
I findWes and Denielle huddled in the far corner of the ER's waiting area. The large, rectangular room is packed to max capacity between people who need to be here and students who want to get their hands on the newest WH gossip. Lilly's former friend Sloane sits next to Jager, her hand between both of his. That's a surprising development, but I can't bring myself to care at the moment. My coach and two of Lilly's teachers are in another section. I ignore them, not willing to answer potential questions. Jager notices me first, and his lips part. Sloane follows his gaze, and her eyes turn wary. I probably look unhinged. If I find out any of them had something to do with what happened to Lilly, pissing his pants will be the highlight of Jager's week. I pass them, not taking my eyes off him, and he gets the meaning. He inclines his head, and with an unspoken message, I know he wasn't part of this. My former friend is a cocky fucktard who thinks with his dick most of the time, but he would never physically harm someone on purpose, let alone a female.
Wes stands as I approach, and Denielle follows suit, her hand gripping his bicep. Without a word, he makes his way toward one of the many doors leading from the room. I trail after them, my fists deep in my jeans pockets so I don't accidentally clock someone who looks at me the wrong way. A new wave of anger hits me when I see all the assholes camped out in the waiting area. I’d bet George’s fancy AR on the fact that half of them don’t even know Lilly personally.
We're in a hallway we have no business being in as my best friend stops in his tracks, pulls out his phone, and types something. A few seconds later, he starts moving again, and after two more turns, we're in a staircase that's definitely not open to the public. Heading down two flights, we find George standing on the landing between the floors.
He has his phone pressed to his ear, listening intently before he replies. "I have to advise against that." Pause. "No, you cannot force her." Deep breath. "You and Miss Lilly are my first priority." Pause. The person on the other end is getting louder, yet I cannot make out the words. "I am fully aware that this was possibly our only shot, Nate, but—" George clamps his mouth shut, and it's clear that he is struggling to keep his cool. "I understand. Keep me posted on what else you find."
He extends the hand with his phone toward me, and I lift the device to my ear.
"Yes?"
I expect Nate to go apeshit on me, but instead, a shuddered breath comes through the earpiece. "How is she?"
My inner asshole wants to blame him. If he hadn't come back, stalked and kidnapped Lilly, none of this would've happened, but even I know that that's not true. He had nothing to do with my psycho ex's plan of revenge.
"She’s in pain, but whatever the doc gave her is helping. They’re releasing her later."
"Thank you, Rhys. I..." He hesitates for a moment. "George will fill you in on everything else."
The line goes dead, and I pull the device away from my ear, frowning at it. Fill us in on what? I don’t like the sound of that.
George plucks his phone out of my hand and pockets it. "We need to talk."
I’m used to zero-expression George. I’ve even seen amused George—not much, but I was privy to get a glimpse of him. Yet, what currently shows on his face makes the blood in my veins turn to ice. Denielle seems to come to the same conclusion, because she shuffles closer to Wes.
Nate and Lilly's head of security leans against the wall across from the stairs and motions for us with a jerked chin-dip to sit. The last thing I want is to plant my ass on these damn stairs, but I follow his silent order, knowing he probably will make me sit if he wants to.
"The reason I wasn’t there to ‘shadow’ Miss Lilly"—he makes air quotes around shadow, referring to my earlier yelled accusation—"was that I was following a...lead."
"What lead?" Denielle frowns at George. She's no longer scared of him.
"I was parked in my usual spot off of Baxter Drive when I noticed an SUV idling not far from the main entrance." Baxter and 11th make up the T-intersection the school is located at. I want to question why that would be suspicious; students often have to park off-campus when they're late and the parking lot is full. Or someone gets picked up outside the gate. But George keeps going. "Something was off. I had Nate run the plate, and it came back registered to a recently deceased veterinarian."
"Fuck." Wes curses under his breath.
I have an idea where this is going. "Turner?"
George levels me with a look that I’ve only ever seen from one other person: my father. "I couldn't confirm one hundred percent that it was Turner, but from the brief glimpse I got of the driver, it was likely. I informed Nate and decided to follow the car."
"Did you lose him?" Denielle inserts herself into the report. I throw her a glare that hopefully tells her to shut up and let the man talk.
"No. I followed him to a warehouse outside of Alexandria. Nate tracked my location from his end." George halts, and I scan his face. What is he not saying? This man never needs time to collect his thoughts, and the waiting makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He stares at me. "I need you to stay calm."
What the—?
I narrow my eyes, and he expels a long breath. "Once he arrived at his destination, I confirmed that the driver was, indeed, Francis Turner. He walked into the warehouse and returned later with a large duffel bag."
My heart rate increases. Before I can ask what that means, though, Wes inserts himself into George's report.
"Okay, the guy went shopping. What's the big deal?" He tries to play it off—for whose benefit, I don't know. He's not that brainless.
"The big deal is that this particular row of warehouses belongs to someone under investigation for running a sophisticated network of illegal substances. Specifically, medical-grade sedatives and paralytic drugs you cannot get from your local drug dealer at the street corner."
George waits for us to put two and two together.
When it clicks, I jump up and punch the nearest concrete wall. "FUCK!" Punch. "FUCK!" Punch. "FUUUUCK!" Punch, punch. I shake my hand, followed by flexing and unflexing my fingers to see what damage I did. While doing so, I let out another string of very explicit and beyond X-rated phrases. My pulse is pounding in my ears. Can this day get any worse?