Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“What we do is get him somewhere safe,” I said. “Whoever did this could be getting off the exit right now to return and make sure he got the job done. Or be looking to get rid of the witness.”
“You want to move him? We should call the police,” she argued. “Have them waiting here in case the guy comes back.”
“We can’t.” I moved around, slipping my arms under his shoulders. “He said no cops.”
Chapter Two
Sienna brushed his golden-brown locks from his forehead, smile playing on her lips.
She made him as comfortable a bed as we could manage, lining our jackets, clothes, packs, blankets, and leaking air mattress between him and the bitingly cold concrete floor.
The disused bottle factory was a far cry from the hospital he truly needed, but it was the best I could do. On cold or wet nights, or nights we saw groups of guys loitering near our turn for the tent and didn’t feel safe letting them notice we slept alone in a dark, deserted part of the city, this factory was where we slept.
This was another dark, deserted part of the city, but it had four walls and a ceiling. We had nowhere else to take him.
“Oh yeah,” she whispered—low enough that she probably thought I didn’t hear. “You’re trouble.”
I rooted through a pile of rusted pipes. “Do you recognize him?”
“No.”
“Well, you don’t get to credit your gift with this one. It’s a good bet that anyone who begs you not to call the cops after getting thrown off an overpass, is up to no good themselves.”
“I can’t credit my gift. So far, no visions. Right now, our friend is on the threshold of living and death. There’s nothing for me to see until he makes his choice.”
“Not sure how much choice he has in the matter,” I muttered.
I carefully stacked the pipes against one door, then the other. It wouldn’t do much to keep someone out, but the clanging metal would let us know if someone came in.
“Should we have brought him here?” Sienna called.
“We had nowhere else to take him. Trust me, the last place I want to be”—I peered out the window, taking in the perfect view of Mercy Park—“is this deep in Digger territory.”
“There’s nothing in his pockets except lint. No wallet. No ID.”
“Makes sense. The person who did this waited till early morning to dump him like a pile of trash where he wasn’t likely to be found for a good while. There’s no upside to helping the police identify his victim. What about his tattoos?” I asked. “Through some incredible foresight, did he tattoo his birth date and mom’s name?”
“His tats are a work of art. Seriously, the artist nailed Marilyn Monroe. But I can safely say she isn’t his mother.”
“It was a long shot.”
“How do we take care of him?” Sienna was holding his hand when I returned, tracing the spirals of ink on his fingers. “He was thrown off a bridge onto an air mattress. He could have...”
She waved a hand over his body.
“Internal injuries,” I filled in. “I don’t think it’s a could and more like he does have internal injuries.” Gnawing on my lips, my stomach twisted. “He wouldn’t be unconscious if he was fine. Sienna, if he dies because we didn’t get him a doctor, I won’t forgive myself.”
Sienna peered at me through her lashes. “You’re already thinking it, and I love you too much to say it.”
I slumped to the floor and took his other hand, lips burning as I forced it out. “I have to go to River. He has a doctor that he takes his people to. A good one, from what I hear. We need him to take a look at our boy. Tonight.”
“I’ll stay with him. He can’t be left alone.”
“I know,” I said, worrying my poor lip puffy.
“Don’t have to be a psychic to know you’re asking yourself how you’ll get to River without Digger’s guys catching up to you.”
“They clearly have no problem with snatching me in broad daylight in public places.”
“What if you... didn’t look like you?”
“What are you talking about?”
She looked me up and down. “We don’t have a lot of options in the wardrobe department these days. You’re so easy to spot because that’s your only jacket and you have to wear it or walk around in flimsy, holey shirts. You’d get around a lot easier without the phoenix on your back telling everyone it’s you.”
“Suggestions?”
Sienna flicked down. My eyes bugged, picking up what she was saying.
“You want me to strip a dying man and strut around in his clothes?” I hissed.
“If it helps us do something about the dying part, I’m pretty sure he won’t mind.”
I gazed at him, tracing the soft, peaceful lines of that handsome face. “Fair point.”
“Help me.”
We were gentle, shrugging off his jacket and shirt, unloosing his tie, and slipping off his belt. I let out a low whistle while reading the labels.