and Glitch sat staring at me. For a long time. A really long time. They were either absorbing the information I’d just imparted or sleeping with their eyes open. I wasn’t sure which.
With tears sparkling beneath her lashes, Brooklyn spoke at last. “You mean, that truck really did hit you?”
“You heard about that?” I asked, my voice squeaking.
“Yes. Well, no. Kind of. One of those cameramen from the Tourist Channel burst into the café while we were sitting there. He said he could have sworn a truck hit a young girl with long auburn hair. He said you were gone, but he literally went around to all the customers and asked them if they’d seen anything. He said the town looked like an earthquake had hit it.”
“I don’t understand, Lor.” Glitch sounded hurt. The look on his face proved it. “How could this happen? Any of it? You could have died.” He stood and looked out the window. “You could have died.”
My heart swelled. My two best friends in the world had sat with me for three hours. Their concern warmed me. Their very presence made me feel new again. Well, maybe not new. Maybe more like a really good-quality secondhand. But still.
“I was dying,” I admitted.
“Don’t say that,” Brooklyn said, visibly shaken by my story.
“No, I was. Jared brought me back. I felt a life force surge through my body. I felt it.”
“What did it feel like?” Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t know exactly. Warm. Strong.” After a moment, I confessed with a whisper, “It felt like him, pushing inside me, healing.” I shook out the memory of his majestic touch with a forlorn sigh. “All I know is I was leaving and he brought me back.”
“Then why did Cameron try to kill him?” Glitch was angry now, and I had to keep him calm. The last thing I needed was another angry male to contend with. Even a short one.
“That’s exactly what I intend to find out.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re the only one.”
I glanced back at Brooklyn in question. “What do you mean?”
She looked at Glitch, then back at me. “After the cops came roaring through town this afternoon, we went back to the café. We kept trying to call you to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh, right, sorry. I turned my phone off. I was going to the library.” I fished it out of my pocket and turned it on. The screen was broken. Darned big green delivery truck. My grandmother was going to kill me.
“Well, that reporter was there, the one from the Tourist Channel doing the story on the hotel who kept asking everyone if they’d seen anything. He was sitting at the booth behind us, talking on the phone for-like-ever while we were trying to track you down. He kept going on and on about how this was it, about how he had found what they’d been looking for, and how he had it all on tape.”
I inhaled sharply. “He got it on tape?”
“Not everything,” Glitch said. “I think he was talking to some big-time producer. He said the tape screwed up right when the truck was about to … about to run you down.” His voice faltered, proving the subject upset him. For some bizarre reason, I felt guilty.
“Yeah,” Brooklyn said. “He was so excited, he was shaking, but I could tell the tape thing pissed him off. He argued with one of his technicians, told her to fix it or find another job. He had such an attitude.”
“He did,” Glitch agreed. “And he was saying that after the truck screeched to a halt, he saw this one kid, a blond, drag this other kid through the glass that just happened to shatter for no reason, then through the gravel on the street like he weighed nothing, while this girl, the girl, who should be dead, is following alongside them arguing with the blond guy and fussing over the dark-haired one, and that they were all covered in blood and—”
“In other words,” Brooklyn said, interrupting, “someone else knows and is more than interested in what happened today. He said he would get the evidence, that he
With tears sparkling beneath her lashes, Brooklyn spoke at last. “You mean, that truck really did hit you?”
“You heard about that?” I asked, my voice squeaking.
“Yes. Well, no. Kind of. One of those cameramen from the Tourist Channel burst into the café while we were sitting there. He said he could have sworn a truck hit a young girl with long auburn hair. He said you were gone, but he literally went around to all the customers and asked them if they’d seen anything. He said the town looked like an earthquake had hit it.”
“I don’t understand, Lor.” Glitch sounded hurt. The look on his face proved it. “How could this happen? Any of it? You could have died.” He stood and looked out the window. “You could have died.”
My heart swelled. My two best friends in the world had sat with me for three hours. Their concern warmed me. Their very presence made me feel new again. Well, maybe not new. Maybe more like a really good-quality secondhand. But still.
“I was dying,” I admitted.
“Don’t say that,” Brooklyn said, visibly shaken by my story.
“No, I was. Jared brought me back. I felt a life force surge through my body. I felt it.”
“What did it feel like?” Brooklyn asked.
“I don’t know exactly. Warm. Strong.” After a moment, I confessed with a whisper, “It felt like him, pushing inside me, healing.” I shook out the memory of his majestic touch with a forlorn sigh. “All I know is I was leaving and he brought me back.”
“Then why did Cameron try to kill him?” Glitch was angry now, and I had to keep him calm. The last thing I needed was another angry male to contend with. Even a short one.
“That’s exactly what I intend to find out.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re the only one.”
I glanced back at Brooklyn in question. “What do you mean?”
She looked at Glitch, then back at me. “After the cops came roaring through town this afternoon, we went back to the café. We kept trying to call you to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh, right, sorry. I turned my phone off. I was going to the library.” I fished it out of my pocket and turned it on. The screen was broken. Darned big green delivery truck. My grandmother was going to kill me.
“Well, that reporter was there, the one from the Tourist Channel doing the story on the hotel who kept asking everyone if they’d seen anything. He was sitting at the booth behind us, talking on the phone for-like-ever while we were trying to track you down. He kept going on and on about how this was it, about how he had found what they’d been looking for, and how he had it all on tape.”
I inhaled sharply. “He got it on tape?”
“Not everything,” Glitch said. “I think he was talking to some big-time producer. He said the tape screwed up right when the truck was about to … about to run you down.” His voice faltered, proving the subject upset him. For some bizarre reason, I felt guilty.
“Yeah,” Brooklyn said. “He was so excited, he was shaking, but I could tell the tape thing pissed him off. He argued with one of his technicians, told her to fix it or find another job. He had such an attitude.”
“He did,” Glitch agreed. “And he was saying that after the truck screeched to a halt, he saw this one kid, a blond, drag this other kid through the glass that just happened to shatter for no reason, then through the gravel on the street like he weighed nothing, while this girl, the girl, who should be dead, is following alongside them arguing with the blond guy and fussing over the dark-haired one, and that they were all covered in blood and—”
“In other words,” Brooklyn said, interrupting, “someone else knows and is more than interested in what happened today. He said he would get the evidence, that he
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