“We’re going to take care of you,” a nurse’s soothing voice stated. “Follow me. We’ll take you to a room.”
Amy had been clutching her side during this interchange. Now, she removed her hand, revealing, to her shock and the nurse’s alarm, a growing patch of blood. Pain spasmed through her side. “I-I… They must have…shot me.” She didn’t remember it happening. She couldn’t figure out how it had occurred. She had been too focused on Spencer and getting away. Was it a bullet or something else?
The nurse urged her along. Another stretcher arrived. Urgent voices filled the room. Amy felt gloved hands on her body. It all turned to dull commotion in her ears. She felt them lowering her, and the lights were bright in her eyes. Too bright. Too white. Everything hurt.
“Spencer,” she choked out before darkness slammed into her, and she knew no more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The car rumbled along the road.
Though Stacy would have preferred Rowan to race home, it was better to take it slow and not draw attention to them. They had no idea how many of Victor’s men were on the road or if Victor himself would drive past them.
Stacy had not realized until now how sore her body was from all the fighting and running. It wasn’t until they were riding along that she realized how much blood was on her clothes. Kiera sat opposite her, still as a statue and silent as the deepest night.
The quiet was shattered when Stacy’s phone rang. She snatched it, realizing with a pit in her stomach that she had not heard from Amy since confirmation of Victor being at the gala. The call was not from Amy but from a hospital. Hardly breathing, she answered.
“Is this Stacy Drake?” a woman’s voice on the other end asked. “We found that name with this number in a wallet belonging to Ms. Amy Greentree. You must be an emergency contact.”
“Y-yes, I’m Stacy. What happened? Is Amy okay?”
Rowan glanced in the rearview mirror with concern. Kiera shifted slightly, waiting.
“Ms. Greentree will be all right, the doctor thinks,” the nurse answered. “She was involved in an altercation that resulted in her being shot. That is all we know since she is currently unconscious. The bullet is out, and our best doctors are working on closing the wound and preventing further complications.”
It took everything in Stacy to stamp down the rising panic. This was her fault. If she’d simply thought of another plan, Amy would have never ended up like this. She’s alive, she kept telling herself as the nurse continued. “Our doctors are confident Ms. Greentree will recover, though it will take time. Is there anyone else we should call about this?”
Stacy stammered the names and numbers of Amy’s parents, tears pricking her eyes. I have to see her.
The nurse’s voice grew more solemn. “Did you know her friend? A young man, tall with dark hair and eyes?”
“Y-yes, I know Spencer.”
“We need contact information for his family.”
Stacy paused, feeling like she was about to be punched in the gut. Her voice wavered. “Wh-why? Is he hurt, too?”
A beat of silence followed, broken by the nurse’s voice. “He was shot, too, Ms. Drake, and he arrived here too late. He died about twenty minutes ago.”
Victor sought solitude in the grand suite on the top floor. His wife and son were in the adjoining room, preparing for bed. Most of the guests had left, though some lingered on the floor far below. Victor didn’t care.
He kept checking his phone for news of what happened at his estate. He had wanted to go there himself, but leaving the hotel now would raise suspicion. He would wait until his men brought Stacy to him. His mind filled with everything he wished to do to her.
Finally, his phone rang. “What is it?” he growled into the speaker.
“They got away, boss.”
“Who?”
“Greentree and her friend. They got to a hospital, but they aren’t doing well, from what we can tell. That’s the word I got from Hammer, who followed them in the car. Riker went on the bike. He was shot.”
Victor seethed. He could only hope whatever injuries the journalist bitch received couldn’t be fixed before she was dead. “What about Drake and her team?”
“We saw them at the estate, sir.” A heavy pause followed.
“Well?” Victor was close to roaring.
“There were three, but they all got away. Somehow, they knew about the tunnel through your library and escaped before the men got to them. One of her team members could wield shadow magic, sir. It prevented them from being shot.”
That was interesting. Stacy was a capable witch, but it seemed she had somehow recruited other, far more experienced people. “Is someone following them?” Victor demanded.
“Trying to. The trail…went cold.”
“Keep working.” Victor hung up, feeling like he was about to boil over with rage. He considered heaving a chair into the wall or smashing a window. He reminded himself that this was not the sort of decorum appropriate for a man of his status, for a Corbinelli. Instead, he undid his cufflinks and tie, took off his shoes, and shrugged his suit jacket off his shoulders. He would take a cold shower and decide what move to make next.
Before entering the bathroom, he sent another message commanding his men to stake out the hospital. If Stacy Drake showed up, he wanted her apprehended immediately.
Stacy wasn’t sure she’d heard that right.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Her throat was too tight, and her tongue felt too heavy. She couldn’t get her mind to form a proper sentence.
“Ms. Drake?” came the nurse’s voice. “Are you still there?”
Stacy choked. “Y-yes.”
