We hop fences, run through backyards, and dodge neighborhood dogs until we’re out of Jeremiah’s subdivision and back on a main road.
I stop beside a dumpster located behind a dark building to take a break.
“Come on, Makenna. Just two more blocks,” Reid says.
My lungs are on fire and my legs feel like Jell-O. I might even throw up. I probably shouldn’t have had so much grown-up juice.
“I can’t. I just need to rest a minute.” It’s like swallowing needles every time I breathe.
Reid looks around like he’s nervous, then reaches for my hand. “I know, baby. But it’s late, and I’ve seen some serious shit go down at this place. We really need to go.”
Did he just call me baby?
A proud smile spreads across my face as I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. I’m about to address the “baby” remark when the back door of the building flies open, and a guy not much older than Reid comes running out. I stand there speechless as he ducks behind the dumpster and empties the contents of his stomach. His face is white as a sheet, and he’s struggling to breathe.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” I ask when he’s finished throwing up.
He remains hunched over, his hands on his knees and his head hung down. When he does finally look up at me for a split second, his eyes—remarkably blue—bore into my own, down to my very soul.
“What happened to you in there?” I ask him without ever saying a word.
I don’t know why, or how, but I can almost physically feel my universe shifting to make room for him in my world. In this one look, I feel every ounce of his pain. There’s something more behind those deep blue depths—something rising to the surface—something I don’t want to feel.
I hold out my hand. “Here, let me help you.”
With a confident resolve, he answers me in a deep unruffled voice. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, and I immediately identify the other emotion rising within him. Anger.
So much anger.
“Makenna,” Reid yells. “We need to go.”
I move my attention from the stranger to Reid, noting the seriousness in his tone. I hesitate for a moment. The humanitarian in me feels obligated to this man. What if he’s hurt? I need to make sure he’s going to be alright. I have to help him. But the unspoken connection I have with Reid tells me to trust him.
In a moment of haste, I make my decision.
We need to go.
I wouldn’t be much help to this guy in my condition anyway.
“Okay,” I agree, then with one last look at those haunting blue eyes I mouth the words “I’m so sorry.” Then I follow Reid around the corner.
I suddenly wish I hadn’t.
As soon as we round the corner, I watch as two men in expensive-looking suits carry a limp, lifeless body to the backseat of an SUV. It immediately dawns on me that whatever was wrong with Blue Eyes had something to do with those men and that body. Fear paralyzes me, holding my feet to the ground.
Reid takes my hand, not appearing the least bit affected by what we both just saw. “Just follow me and stay quiet.”
All I can do is nod.
He leads me away from the men—and the SUV. Soon, we’re walking through a gate into another neighborhood. We’re surrounded by massive brick homes and lush landscaping.
“Was that person… dead?” I ask him.
Did I just almost witness a murder? Was the guy with the eyes responsible for it?
Reid remains focused on getting us where we’re going. “I don’t know.”
My blood turns cold, and I vow to bury this memory as deep as it will go and never dig it up as long as I live.