The Wrong Time Read online

  Blaze comments to Brick that his mom is on her way back now, so get moving. Although from what I heard of the phone conversation, that’s not what was said. But I don’t give a shit about what sneaky crap they’re up to. I need to get out of this situation and now, although it doesn’t look good.

  Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry, I take a deep breath and wipe any tears away with my finger as they drive out of the garage and down the driveway.

  As we reach the road, I see flashing lights one way, so Brick takes the car down the other with Blaze screaming at him to floor it, and cursing at me for calling for help.

  Brick is driving one-handed while constantly looking between his lap and the road.

  “Fuck this. I can’t type and drive. Take the cell, Blaze. You send the text message,” he screams, throwing the device at Blaze.

  Blaze collects it, finishes the text, and throws the cell on the floor of the car.

  Who the hell needs to send a text message so urgently when they’re fleeing the police?

  The car flying over speed bumps has me sliding all around the back seat, forcing me to jump and moving my ankle. A new wave of pain rages up my leg.

  Blaze pulls a gun from under his car seat, and twists around, pointing it straight at me.

  This is it.

  This is where my life ends.

  I close my eyes as tears stream down my face while my body trembles. The only thought on my mind is of Adam’s smiling face and the fun we’ve had over the last couple of months.

  If I’m to die right now, that’s the thought I want as it ends.

  Adam

  Having given the police officers as much information as I possibly could about a woman who I know little about, only what has been found out for me, or what vague memories I have of her as a young child, they head back outside, leaving John and me alone in the kitchen.

  “If I could remember her address, I’d be over there now,” I grunt.

  “I know you would, sir.”

  I contemplate ringing my mom’s nursing home to find out if she’s having a good day or not, but even if she is, I don’t want her to worry about any of this. She needs her rest, and panic won’t help that. Usually, when she’s calm and rested is when she returns to us.

  An officer bursts back through the door, closing it behind her.

  John and I look up in shock.

  “Mr. Cunningham, there’s been a new development. We have a lead.” It’s one of the female officers from earlier. I think her name was Officer Victoria.

  “What lead? Where?” I ask, standing.

  “Calm down. You’re not going anywhere. There was a call made to 911.”

  “Was it Georgia?” I ask, hopeful.

  “We don’t know yet. Please don’t do anything silly. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. Truth is, I knew Georgia when we were in middle school. We weren’t friends, but she was at the same school,” she explains. I’m sure she was the one from earlier, but I haven’t paid too much attention to the faces of all the officers who are currently here.

  “Okay,” I calmly say, sitting back down. “We won’t do anything. I just want Georgia back safely.”

  “I understand that, sir. All I know is that squad cars have been dispatched to a location after a 911 call from a house. If I find out any more, I’ll come and let you know. But please stay here.”

  I nod at the officer.

  John thanks her, and we watch her leave.

  Dropping my already pounding head onto the timber table, I startle John with a resounding thud which I repeat.

  “Sir, stop! You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I’ve already hurt myself in the last twenty-four hours, not once, but twice. This won’t make a scrap of difference.”

  “What do you mean?” John asks.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I start, not wanting to share my shameful behavior from last night with him. “Is there any way you can find out about this emergency call they’re investigating?”

  “Not from here, sir. They are fast-acting with 911 calls. We’ll know soon enough.”

  That wasn’t the response I wanted.

  I excuse myself from John and walk upstairs, hoping a hot shower will help in some way. In any way.

  I push the bedroom door behind me, it doesn’t latch, but I begin to remove my clothes anyway, dropping them on the floor as I take steps toward my bathroom.

  Turning on the faucet in the shower alcove, I place my hand under the running water, checking the temperature before stepping into the shower.

  I drizzle shower gel into my hand and lather up my body before a random thought passes through my mind, and I fall into a heap on the shower floor.

  What if Georgia’s dead?

  Perhaps the kidnapper accidentally killed her and called for help. Images of my beautiful girl wrapped in plastic run through my head.

  A large sob escapes me as I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and placing my head on my knees. The sobs are uncontrollable as the reality of this situation washes over me. I feel utterly useless for the first time in such a long time.

  After a while, I pull myself together as best I can.

  Standing back up in the shower, I turn off the water. As I wrap a towel around my lower body, I step from the bathroom. Lucy’s standing just inside my bedroom door, holding a small pile of towels. Her eyes are darting all over the place as if she’s not sure where to look.

  Normally, I would have lost my shit at the invasion of my privacy, but I know Lucy’s heart is in the right place. Maybe she was checking on me, and the towels are an excuse. It’s my own stupid fault for leaving the door open anyway. It could have just as easily been a police officer.

  I grab a towel from her, throwing it over my shoulder, and she takes a step back toward the door.

  “Sorry… so sorry… sorry to walk in here, sir. Your door was open. I was coming to collect your laundry and deliver you some fresh towels. Then I heard sobbing. I needed to see if you were all right.”

  I clear my throat, embarrassed by what she heard. “That’s fine, Lucy. My clothes are on the floor in the bathroom.” I ignore what she says. My voice is nothing like my usual deep, stern voice. Instead, it’s crackly and pitchy. I don’t like to be vulnerable in front of my staff, but these are extenuating circumstances.

  “Sir, I know this hard. Try and stay positive. They’ll find Miss Georgia. My gut tells me they will.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never worried about one person like this, ever,” I softly say, too scared to speak too loudly at the risk of anyone else overhearing. Lucy’s always looked out for me like a second mother, making sure my clothes are clean and ironed and that I have a refrigerator full of food. If I’m to lose my composure in front of any of my staff, I’m definitely glad it’s her.

  “My gut’s always right. Get dressed and wash your face. Miss Georgia will need you when she gets back.”

  Lucy places the remaining towels on my bed and leaves. I walk back to the shower, dropping my towel on the floor. My heart and stomach ache at what I’ve done and what’s happened. I frantically try to wash away my stupid decisions from yesterday. But the feeling doesn’t leave. It’s etched into my skin.

  Switching off the faucet for a second time, I wrap the new towel around my waist and walk to the bathroom mirror, the same mirror Georgia has used many times to brush her beautiful long hair and place my hands on either side of the sink. My eyes close, and I let out a puff of air.

  My cell dings from my bedroom, and I race toward it, something telling me that this will be some sort of news.

  Unknown Number: Change of plans. Ur office. 1hr. Money.

  “Fuck,” I scream, throwing my cell on the bed.

  Quickly I put on some clothes and run downstairs, hoping to find John still in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he isn’t, so I head outside, hoping he’s not too far away.

  “John?” I call several times but get no reply.


  I stand at the side of my house, not wanting to wade back through all the police officers on my driveway and call again. But I get no reaction from anyone. I take a walk toward the pool and call again, but nothing. Deciding to head back inside my house, I make another coffee, down another two pills to sit and wait. The message is burning a hole in my pocket, and the temptation to add something to my hot drink is growing by the minute. I’m trying to push it away, but it’s as though I’m gravitating toward it.

  Desperately trying to push the temptation from my thoughts, I’m relieved that I don’t have any booze in the house, and I’m surprised by my thoughts. I was sure I’d beaten this thing. I told myself I had as I poured the amber liquid down the drain all those years ago telling myself I’d never touch the stuff again. I’m putting it down to the stress with Zac, worry about the fight with Georgia, and now this. It’s no excuse, though. I should be stronger than this. This shouldn’t make me relapse.

  This is all your fault. Georgia’s missing because you fell off the wagon, a voice in my head screams at me.

  A frantic tap on my door has me jumping from my seat. John and Officer Victoria are standing there with grimacing looks on their faces.

  I usher them inside, internally praying that they’ve had some news.

  “Did you receive a text message a short while ago?” the officer asks.

  “Umm… yes. I did,” I reply, trying to make eye contact with John to let him know it was another one like before. Unfortunately, his gaze remains on the floor, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “Off the record, sir, I’m glad they sent that to you. It was the reason why they crashed their car,” she explains.

  “Crashed their car? What are you talking about?” I ask them, confused.

  “We’ve found them.”

  “Them? Georgia, too?”

  “Yes, two males and an injured female were found at the scene of a car wreck. It looks like the driver crashed the car during a police chase.”

  “Injured? Is she all right?” I desperately ask.

  “She’s currently in an ambulance on her way to the hospital. I don’t have any more details at this stage.” Her radio starts talking, and she walks away from us to hear what’s being said.

  “Do you know which hospital, John? I need to get there.”

  “I suggest you wait, sir. You’ll find out in good time.”

  “I can’t sit here and wait. If you know fucking, tell me.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t officially been told anything. I need to go.” She rushes out the back door toward the detective.

  “Fuckkk,” I bellow, emphasizing the ‘k’ at the end of the curse word. I pace back and forth, only taking a few steps each time. I feel if I don’t move, I could lash out, and I’m trying my hardest not to do that with police in every corner of my home.

  It feels like hours when the police finally come inside to find me. John and Lucy are trying their best to keep me calm. My headache from this morning is all but forgotten, but I still have no stomach for food. Even though it’s screaming at me to eat, if I down anything, I’m worried it’ll reappear seconds later. When I know Georgia is safe, I’ll relax, and my appetite will return.

  “Mr. Cunningham, please sit down,” Detective Peters starts.

  “I’m fine standing. Please tell me what’s happening.”

  “Your girlfriend has been taken to Maysfield Hospital. She’s currently in a stable condition—”

  “Right. John, can you—” I cut him off and collect my keys from the kitchen table.

  He cuts me off. “Please, let me finish. She’s stable. They’re assessing an ankle injury.”

  “Those fucking bastards better not have hurt her—”

  “Mr. Cunningham. Please.” The detective shakes his head. “Two men were taken by ambulance from the scene. One is stable and one in a serious condition. They are under police watch in the hospital. Do the names Ernesto Ares and Blaze Sawyer mean anything to you?”

  I shake my head. I’ve never heard those names before in my life.

  “Do you know of a reason they’d be after your money?”

  Again, I shake my head. “No clue. If I had to guess, they may have seen my name in a magazine and took the opportunity when they could.”

  “All right. Please have someone drive you to the hospital. Keep your cell on. We’ll call you down to the station if we need any more information.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  I turn to John asking if he can drive me to the hospital. He’s already pulled his keys from his pocket and waves them at me. I want to see Georgia now. See for myself that she’s all right, hold her in my arms, and comfort her. I can’t imagine what the last twenty-four hours have been like for her, but I’ll be there to listen when she’s ready to talk.

  It’s the least I can do.

  All I can do now is hope she wants to see me.

  Georgia

  Shuffling my body, trying to find a comfortable position, the hospital bed groans in complaint as pain surges up my leg again. What is this so-called pain relief they’ve given me? Is it a damn placebo? I’m such a weakling when it comes to pain, even a stubbed toe can set me off for hours.

  I’m so uncomfortable with half my leg in a large blue ice wrap. I’ve been told not to move it, if possible. That’s definitely something I’m trying to abide by right now. They are trying to bring down the swelling, but I’m freezing cold, and no number of blankets are helping. Wiggling my toes over and over, I try to get the sensation back. What I wouldn’t give to be in Adam’s arms right now.

  The bed, combined with the incessant beeping within a hospital, isn’t helping my headache. It’s starting to make me feel even more nauseous than before.

  I hope it isn’t a migraine.

  While I’m still shocked and angry that Adam blamed me for what happened in the office and wouldn’t listen to my reasoning, it was the tone in his voice that had me most upset. It was like he was disgusted at me for doing what I did, even if he was a willing participant. But after what happened last night, not knowing if I’d ever see him again, it’s made me rethink everything, and I’d like to talk it out with him if he ever gives me a chance.

  The X-ray they initially took of my ankle was a nightmare, having to hold a position for a certain amount of time. The only way I can describe it is like when you feel that you need to crack a joint, but you can’t. The wrist wasn’t as bad as it was mainly done as a precaution. The technician said that he didn’t think my wrist was damaged. However, with my ankle, he said that he couldn’t see any breaks, but he wanted to send the images to a specialist for a second opinion. In my head, they’ll tell me it’s broken, maybe even needing surgery. But everything is being amplified in my head right now. This pain is bad, but a nurse I saw in emergency said that sometimes ligament damage is just as painful as a fracture.

  A doctor in emergency mentioned something about doing a scan of my brain as well, given Dad’s history, and the bump on my head, I assume is there from when I collapsed at the guesthouse.

  I’ve given a brief statement about what happened to the police, but my nurse put a stop to it when a wave of nausea and pain washed over me, and every swear word I know ripped from my mouth when they placed the ice pack around my whole leg. I know the police will be back. I told them about Blaze and Brick, and what happened from before Blaze knocked me out, and after I woke up in his mother’s home. I didn’t get a chance to tell them about Blaze’s claim that he’s related to Adam, though. I bet it’s all bullshit. They look nothing alike.

  The car accident scared the shit out of me. I was already terrified before that as Blaze had a gun pointed at my face. But it was all an act because, apparently, the gun wasn’t loaded. In some ways, I’m glad they crashed. I had a horrible feeling they were meeting someone to get rid of me. It was at that moment all I could think about was Adam.

  Luckily for me, I braced myself for the impact of the crash, so I only received a few bumps and s
crapes. Brick had to be cut from the car. He was in a real bad way. With the front of the car crumpled, the steering wheel was pushed back, trapping Brick in the seat. His head was bleeding, and he was unconscious when the paramedics arrived.

  Blaze said sorry before trying to escape the wreck, but somehow got tangled in his seatbelt as he slid out of the passenger window, ending up being trapped. I don’t know where he thought he was going to run to. The police were right behind us. They were on the scene of the accident within a few seconds of it happening.

  He tried to blame me for the accident, screaming profanities at me. I think he was just lashing out, knowing he’d been caught. I did everything they asked me to. I wasn’t the dick who was sending a text message after all. That’s what started it. If they had kept their hands off their cell, maybe they could have navigated the narrow streets a little easier instead of wrapping the car around a streetlight.

  When rescue finally arrived, the paramedics took Blaze first, then cut Brick from the car. Even though Brick was out cold, they took him under police guard to the hospital as well. I didn’t ask which hospital they were in, and I can only hope they aren’t here. The less I know, the better.

  In the back of my mind, I think both of the men are also in this hospital as the hospital staff got me out of emergency as fast as they could and onto a ward, plus there were police everywhere.

  Slumped down on this uncomfortable bed, I look around at the stark white walls, wishing anything would take my mind off my current situation. Shuffling back in my bed again, I’m forced to drag my leg back a little, which pulls the ice brace along too. It feels more gelatinous rather than solid. My ankle rotates slightly, and a new wave of pain hits me, and I’m trying to stop myself from being sick with the agony rushing through my system.

  I frantically push the call button for my nurse, not able to cope with the pain anymore. I’m hoping that by seeing my suffering, the steady stream of tears, and perhaps some begging and pleading, she’ll be able to arrange stronger medication for me, even if it were to only take the edge off the pain.