Читать книгу Colton's Ranch Refuge - Beth Cornelison - Страница 9

Nausea roiled in Violet’s gut. Her leg was on fire. Her head throbbed.

But the worst pain came from her heart. She felt flayed, raw. She was tormented by the knowledge that the kidnappers had taken Mary, had hurt Mary. God only knew what they had in store for the Amish girl.

Violet pressed a hand to the gash in her leg, curled in the fetal position and sobbed harder than she had since she was a child.

Mary! They had Mary!

Her head swam, and the road seemed to rock beneath her.

On some level, she knew she needed to get help. She was bleeding, losing consciousness and aching from head to toe.

But she couldn’t erase from her mind’s eye the look of terror on Mary’s face as the animals shoved her in the backseat.

“Mary,” she muttered, feeling her strength seeping from her.

The clop of horse hooves rattled through her skull, and a sudden shadow blocked the sun from her eyes.

“Mein Gott!” a male voice said.

Gentle hands rolled her onto her back, probed the wound on her leg and lifted her.

A vague image of a dark beard, black hat and grim mouth wavered before her. She moaned in protest as the man moved her. “Mary,” she rasped.

The man said something to her in Pennsylvania Dutch as he laid her on a hard surface. The scents of dirt and horse sweat filled her nose, and she struggled not to retch. Near-blinding pain reverberated through her as the surface below her lurched into motion, bouncing roughly down the road. A buggy …

Violet’s vision dimmed. Her consciousness faded in and out as her Amish rescuer jerked to a stop, shouted words she didn’t understand. But a name filtered through the haze.

Troyer. She’d been on her way to visit Caleb Troyer. It was the next farm … not far.

“Mary …”

She heard more voices—urgent voices, young voices. “Violet! What happened?”

Hudson? Mason? No … David and William.

More German. Another name—Dr. Colton.

A bandage was wrapped quickly and tightly around her thigh. Dizzying pain shot through her. And then she was being lifted again.

This man was younger, strong, capable. Caleb Troyer?

“Hold on, Violet. I have you,” he said in English, his voice compassionate and soothing. “We will get you to the doctor.”

She tried to speak, had to tell them … what?

“Where’s Mary?” one of the young voices asked. Mary …

Violet’s mouth was dry, and her tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size. She tried to speak, tried to tell them. “Took … her …”

“Easy, ma’am. You are going to be all right. Dr. Colton is a good doctor. The best.”

“Mary,” she rasped, curling her fingers in the front of Caleb’s shirt. “Took Mary …”

Caleb stilled, met her gaze with piercing gray eyes. “What?”

“They … took Mary …”

Pain filled Caleb’s face, and his jaw tightened. She felt the tremor that shook him.

He set Violet down in another buggy and shouted something in Pennsylvania Dutch to the other man. As Caleb Troyer cracked a whip at his horses, sending the buggy forward with a lurch, he added, “And find Emma Colton. Tell her to meet me at her brother’s office!”

Peering over the top of the résumé he held, Derek Colton studied the attractive blonde sitting across his office. “Your credentials are impressive, Ms. Phillips, but I don’t see any references here.”

Amelia Phillips’s fingers tightened slightly on the arms of her chair. “Well, no. I didn’t list any because—”

The door to Derek’s office flew open. “Dr. Colton, come quickly!” his receptionist blurted without preamble. “We have an emergency.”

Derek frowned as he lurched to his feet. “What is it?”

“An Amish woman. Caleb Troyer brought her in. She’s bleeding badly and unresponsive.” His receptionist jumped out of his way as he rushed to his office door.

His gaze flicked briefly to Amelia Phillips. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to finish later.”

Amelia nodded, her hazel eyes wide with concern. “Can I be of help?”

Derek hesitated, giving her a quick assessing glance. “I … yeah. Scrub in. Nancy will show you where everything is, then meet me in exam room two.”

He turned without waiting for a response and hustled to the sink to wash his own hands and don a pair of latex gloves.

Caleb Troyer stood in the waiting room with a petite woman limp in his arms.

“Bring her back here, Caleb!” Derek shouted, motioning to the exam room where a vast array of top-notch medical equipment waited. When Derek had opened his practice in Eden Falls, Gunnar had quietly funded the purchase of state of the art facilities, setting Derek up to provide most any treatments or tests his patients needed.

Caleb hurried into the exam room and laid the woman gently on the exam table. “I don’t know her name. Isaac Lapp found her on the road and brought her to my house. Her leg has a deep cut, and her head has a large bump. Bruises and scrapes …”

Derek stepped closer to begin his examination, and his breath froze in his chest when he saw the woman’s pale face. “This is Violet Chastain, the actress! I just met her yesterday. Why would—”

Caleb caught Derek’s arm in a firm grip, stopping him. “We need to get Emma here. The woman was still conscious when she arrived at my house. She said someone kidnapped Mary Yoder. I think the men who took my sister have Mary now, too.”

Derek’s pulse kicked, and he muttered a curse word under his breath as he began peeling the homemade bandage off Violet’s leg. “Have my receptionist call Emma and Tate. You can wait out front for them, tell them what you know.” He jerked a nod toward his patient. “Thank you for bringing her in.”

As Caleb left, a scrubs-clad figure bustled in drying her hands on a sterile cloth. Derek arched an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

“You have to be quick when lives are at stake, right?” Amelia peered past him to the exam table and snapped on a pair of gloves. Immediately, she clipped a pulse ox monitor on Violet’s finger, then grabbed the blood pressure cuff from the countertop. “Heart rate 60. BP is 80 over 65. Oxygen 90 percent. Starting 2L oxygen now.” She retrieved the oxygen tank and non-rebreather mask from the corner of the room and settled the mask over Violet’s mouth and nose.

Derek cut Violet’s skirt off her so he could work better, then opened his mouth to ask Amelia for a thigh cuff, only to find her turning from the cabinets with one in her hand. Amelia met his gaze. “Where do you keep your IV kits?”

He jerked his head toward the cabinet across the room. “Top shelf, left side. How are her pupils?”

“Even and responsive to light. Her skin is cool and clammy.”

While Derek applied the thigh cuff, Amelia started a saline IV, finished undressing their patient, draped her with a sterile sheet and assessed Violet’s other wounds.

Satisfied that Amelia knew what she was doing, Derek finished unwrapping the pressure bandage Caleb had tied around Violet’s leg and frowned at the deep gash. “Looks like she was stabbed. There’s separation through several layers of muscle and—”

Amelia dabbed the wound with a piece of sterile gauze, absorbing some of the pooling blood so that Derek could better examine the severity of the injury, then flushed the wound with saline. He flicked a startled glance to her as she ripped open a suture tray before continuing. “Thanks.” He carefully probed the wound with a long swab. “The femoral artery appears to be intact, thank God, but several smaller veins will need ligation. What did you find?”

“Abrasions and contusions to her head and face but nothing critical.”

“Okay, push fentanyl and midazolam. Let’s get her sewn up.”

For the next hour, Derek labored over Violet’s laceration, ligating the torn blood vessels and suturing the layers of muscle and skin. While he worked, Amelia monitored the actress’s vitals and cleaned the less serious scrapes and bumps. With gently probing fingers, she felt Violet’s scalp and searched her hair for other wounds. “In addition to the bump on her forehead, she’s got a rather large knot just over her right ear. External swelling. Do you want to send her to the hospital for a CT scan?”

“No need. I have a machine here. I’ll have my tech do a scan when I’m finished with her.” With the crisis past, Derek paused and watched Amelia work for a few seconds, remembering how she’d anticipated his every need, known and executed protocol without his directives, and ably and efficiently assisted him on every aspect of Violet’s treatment. “I appreciate your jumping in the mix and helping out. You were a model of professionalism and composure under pressure.”

Amelia cut a quick awkward glance toward him as she wiped disinfectant on Violet’s scraped cheek. “I’m glad I could help.”

Derek bent his head over his suturing, pulling closed another small stitch. “You did more than help. Your nursing skills may have made the difference in saving Violet Chastain’s life.”

Amelia’s head snapped up. “Violet Chastain?”

Derek pulled a grin. “The one and only … our patient.”

Amelia’s hazel eyes widened as she studied her patient’s face. “Holy cow, it is! I thought she was Amish … I mean, the dress and …”

Derek chuckled. “Violet’s here filming a movie. She plays an Amish woman, which explains her clothing.” He frowned as he snipped the surgical thread he’d just tied off. “Someone should call her director, let him know about Violet. I have his number in my desk.”

Amelia nodded and chewed her lip. “If her laceration is a knife wound as you suspect …”

When she let her sentence trail off, Derek eyed her, puzzled by her obvious uneasiness. “The police are already on their way, if that’s what you’re asking. We have reason to suspect a girl Violet was with when she was attacked was kidnapped.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! How horrible!”

“Exactly.” He lowered his gaze to Violet’s wound and began applying an antibiotic ointment and pressure dressing. “She’ll need a tetanus booster before she leaves, but you can wake her up. I’m finished.”

Derek removed his latex gloves and headed to the sink to wash up, cutting side glances to the nurse who’d performed so admirably under pressure. References or not, he wanted someone with her ability and cool head on his team. “Ms. Phillips?”

Amelia glanced at him.

“I think you’ve just been baptized by fire. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

A bright smile lit her face, and he was struck again by how attractive she was. “Thank you, Doctor. I accept.”

“Ms. Chastain?”

Violet angled her head toward the door where an auburn-haired woman and tall, rugged-looking man with light brown hair waited.

“Yes?” she said weakly, her body and emotions both drained to empty.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Emma Colton, and this is my brother, Philadelphia detective Tate Colton. We’re working the case involving the abduction of Amish girls in the area. If you feel up to it, we need to ask you some questions,” the woman said.

Though she had no energy, a heavy heart and a painkiller-induced daze muddying her thoughts, Violet knew she had information the police needed to rescue Mary. “I’ll do my best.”

Emma Colton stepped in and moved the chair beside Violet’s bed. Tate was propped against the wall, a mini-recorder in hand, ready to take her statement.

“Tell us what happened to you and Mary.” Emma flipped open a notepad. “Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how minor the detail may seem.”

Violet tried to shift into a position more conducive for the interview, but her weak arms gave out and her injured leg, elevated with several cushions, throbbed in protest. Sighing and sinking back into her pillow, Violet let her mind rewind to that morning, to Mary’s sweet smile.

Vanity is a sin.

Violet’s heart wrenched, and moisture puddled in her eyes. “I was … walking with Mary to Caleb Troyer’s farm. Taking him food.” She wet her dry lips and squeezed the blanket covering her. “Mary’s brothers had run ahead.”

With effort, Violet related the whole terrifying incident from the moment the silver car had screeched to a stop in front of them, blocking their path, to the gut-wrenching moment the men shoved Mary into the backseat and raced away.

“You said you were able to pull one of the men’s ski masks off.” Emma met her gaze. “Did you see his face?”

Violet nodded. “Briefly. Just a glimpse.”

“Could you describe him to a sketch artist to compose a rendering?” Tate asked.

Violet shifted her gaze Tate. “I’ll do whatever I can to get Mary back.” More tears flooded her sinuses and dripped from her eyelashes. “They hurt her. Hit her.” She shook her head, and guilt stabbed her. “It’s my fault.”

Emma frowned. “What is your fault?”

“I told her to fight them. To resist. She did and … they hurt her.”

Emma wrapped her fingers around Violet’s wrist. “Don’t take this on yourself. The only ones to blame are the bastards who took her and the evil men behind this online sex ring.”

Violet’s heart lurched. “Sex ring?”

Emma and her brother exchanged dark glances, and Violet felt her gorge rise. She swallowed hard to keep from retching.

“The kidnapped girls are being solicited online for sex and other depravities,” Tate said grimly.

Violet trembled, imagining innocent Mary Yoder in the hands of such sick men, forced into perverted situations and abused for the pleasure of vile men. “Dear God … Mary!” She divided a stricken, panicked glance between Emma and Tate. “You have to find her! She’s just seventeen! She just a precious, innocent girl, who—”

“I know. I know.” Emma squeezed Violet’s fingers, interrupting her. “We’re as appalled and disgusted by this case as you are. And we are doing everything we can to get these girls back. I promise you. The information you have could be key to recovering not only Mary but …” Emma paused, and through their joined hands, Violet felt the FBI agent shudder. “Caleb Troyer’s sister was taken, as well.”

A bone-deep fatigue and grief washed through Violet. She closed her eyes, searching for the strength to continue the interview. Mary’s life, the lives and innocence of the other missing Amish girls lay in her hands, in her ability to remember and identify her attackers.

Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.

Icy fear settled over her like a cold morning fog. “They … they meant to kill me,” she rasped.

“What?” Tate asked stepping closer to the bed, his brow furrowed.

“Because I saw his face. I can identify him and—” she shivered “—he said he had to kill me.”

Emma and Tate exchanged worried looks.

“I think they believed I would die from my wounds … or they wouldn’t have left me.”

The monitor registering her heart rate began to beep loudly, and Derek Colton, followed by a blonde woman in scrubs, hustled into the recovery room. “Interview’s over. Her heart rate is too high.”

Emma scowled. “Derek, we still have questions about—”

“The interview is over,” the doctor repeated firmly. “For now. My patient needs rest, not more stress.”

“We need to arrange protection for her.” Tate slid the mini-recorder in his shirt pocket. “If word leaks out that she survived the attack, the thugs who stabbed her will come after her.”

Violet’s stomach pitched. “Oh, God.”

“We can post an officer at the door of your hospital room,” Emma offered.

Violet raised a trembling hand to her temple and shot a pleading glance to Dr. Colton. “Please … can’t I recover at home? Hospitals … there’s no such thing as privacy for a public figure at a hospital. There’ll always be another patient or dietary worker or orderly looking to make a fast buck selling info about the famous patient in room 323.” In the case of her late husband, the leak had been a candy striper confiding to the wrong friends that she’d delivered flowers to the Adam Ryder, who was recovering from a drug overdose. Except Adam hadn’t recovered and the media frenzy had been salt in an already bitter wound. Violet sighed. “News that I survived the attack is sure to get out if I go to the hospital.”

“Do you really think the bed-and-breakfast where the movie crew is staying will be any more private?” Dr. Colton asked. “You need to be somewhere a medical professional can keep tabs on your progress or any setbacks.”

Violet frowned, too tired to have to deal with major decisions but desperate not to be thrust into a volatile situation. “I can … hire a private nurse.”

“Derek,” Emma started, clicking her ball point pen closed and clipping it to her pad, “we have plenty of rooms at the ranch. With Tate and I both staying in the main house until this case is closed, she’ll have protection. Plus you can check in on her anytime.”

Derek arched an eyebrow, and Violet shook her head. “I couldn’t impose. Surely, there’s some other—”

“The ranch is the perfect solution. Privacy, protection, someone there around the clock …”

“But—” Violet glanced from one Colton to another “—I …”

“Unless you have serious objections or a comparable, viable alternative …” Derek folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head, inviting her to state her case.

“I … I …” Violet’s muddled and weary brain blanked.

“Then the ranch it is. Doctor’s orders.” Derek lifted the corner of his mouth in a Denzel Washington–worthy grin.

“And you’re not an imposition. We’re glad to have you,” Tate said.

Violet’s head spun, and she couldn’t be sure if it was the painkiller or the speed of changing events. “My kids …”

“Bring them and their nanny. The nursery hasn’t been used since Sawyer outgrew it. Your boys will love it.” Derek headed for the door, aiming his finger at his siblings. “I’m going to take care of another patient now. No more questions for her until she’s had a chance to sleep a few hours.”

Tate scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll go make arrangements to transfer her to the ranch. We’ll need a way to distract the media long enough to get her in a vehicle without detection.”

Violet’s heart sunk. “The media is here? Already?”

“We had to notify your director, and word got out.” Emma sat back in the chair and pulled a face that expressed her low opinion of the paparazzi. “Don’t worry. We’ll get rid of the vultures before you’re moved. I promise we’ll keep you and your family safe.”

“Vampires.” Casting a disgruntled glance to the gathering of reporters and photographers crowding the parking lot, Gunnar left the ranch’s SUV at the back door to Derek’s office and punched the keypad to the security system to let himself in his brother’s clinic. He’d been having a late breakfast with Emma at the main house when his sister had been called in to Derek’s clinic to follow up on a new development in the Amish kidnapping cases. Apparently another girl had been abducted, and the bloodthirsty media couldn’t wait to broadcast the juicy details of the poor girl’s misfortune. “No comment!” he shouted to the news crew that shoved a microphone in his face and tried to shoulder their way into the clinic. “Get lost or we’ll arrest you for trespassing.”

He yanked the door closed and stalked down the hall, grumbling under his breath. He found Derek in his office and folded his arms over his chest. “So … what’s going on? Emma was all cryptic on the phone about needing the SUV and some muscle for a transport.”

Derek rose from behind his desk. “That’s right. First we have to send a decoy out, a goose for the paparazzi to follow, then we’ll load Violet and her kids in the SUV for you to drive to the ranch.”

Gunnar frowned. “Violet? As in Chastain? As in the starlet I met yesterday?”

“The same.” Derek motioned for his brother to follow. “She’s back here.”

“Whoa. Hold up, Doc. Are you telling me you got me out here to play chauffeur for an actress?”

Derek faced him. “We need your help, and we needed the SUV. It’s important that Violet not be followed. We have to protect her, assure her privacy.”

“Why?” Gunnar grumbled. “That part of the contract you signed yesterday for them filming on the ranch? I asked to be left out of that, remember?”

Derek frowned and stepped closer, pitching his voice lower. “This has nothing to do with the movie. Violet is my patient. She was attacked today and nearly bled out. The girl she was with was kidnapped.”

Gunnar stiffened, straightening his back and raising his chin. A prickle of guilt for his surly assumption slithered down his back. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Violet got her attacker’s ski mask off for a moment and saw his face. Emma fears the guy might come after Violet. Try to kill her to keep her quiet.”

Gunnar drew his brow into a V. “Hell.”

“Guess you saw the cameras outside?”

“Out in force.” Gunnar rubbed his unshaven chin, an itch of suspicion starting between his shoulders. “So I’m part of some police operation to get Violet into hiding somewhere?”

“Exactly.”

His fists clenched. He might be highly trained and capable of this bait and switch transfer, but the idea of putting his skills on the line left him unsettled. When he’d left the military, he’d thought his “operation” days were over. Helping execute Emma’s plan was an uncomfortable reminder of his last mission in Afghanistan—and his greatest failure.

A high-pitched squeal rang down the hall, and Gunnar turned in time to see a blond-haired toddler race into the corridor giggling … and then a second, a carbon copy of the first.

A young woman of about college age appeared, her face pale and her eyes reflecting deep fatigue. “Come on, you rascals. Not today. Rani is too tired to play chase.”

“Patients?” Gunnar asked Derek.

“No. They’re Violet’s twins and her nanny. Your passengers.”

Gunnar’s gut pitched. Being around kids was hard enough without being responsible for them, even if only for the few minutes it took to drive them to—

“And where am I taking them?”

Derek continued down the hall, waving Gunnar forward. “The ranch, of course.”

Gunnar’s steps faltered. “What?”

Derek stepped into a room where Emma and Tate conferred in one corner and a blonde nurse tended to the wisp of a woman laid up in a bed. Gunnar almost didn’t recognize the injured woman as the same pixie who’d stood up to him yesterday. Violet Chastain’s eyes looked hollow, sunken and desperately sad. Garish cuts and bruises marred her porcelain skin, and her cheeks, which had sported spots of color as they’d sparred yesterday, now had a sickly pallor. Propped with pillows, her leg was bandaged, her foot bare. The scrubs she wore hung loosely on her petite frame, making her appear even tinier and more defenseless.

Her doelike brown eyes met his as he stepped in the room, and instead of the crackle of attraction he’d experienced yesterday, Gunnar felt mule kicked. She held his gaze only long enough to register his presence, then turned away.

An image of the broken bodies that had littered the marketplace in Kabul flashed in his mind’s eye, and his breath hung in his lungs. Violet Chastain’s vulnerability raked through him, scraping raw memories. He shuddered, and fisting his hands at his sides, he crammed the haunting echoes of the bombing down, locked them away. In their place, a protective instinct and warrior spirit surged to the forefront. Some bastard had done this to her, had beaten her and kidnapped an innocent Amish girl. Fury poured through him until he shook with it. A mandate to defend her, to avenge her, to heal her blindsided him.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Emma said when she saw him. “So here’s the plan. Derek’s receptionist has volunteered to be our decoy. She’ll be dressed up in some of Violet’s clothes, sunglasses, hat, the works, and Tate will pretend to be escorting her back to the movie set. They’ll leave, and with luck, the media horde will give chase, clearing the parking lot for us to sneak Violet and her kids through the back door and into the SUV. You take them all back to the ranch, making sure you aren’t followed, and get them safely into the house. Simple as that. Got it?”

“Got it.” His voice sounded rough and raw even to his own ears, and when Violet raised a gaunt look to him, he experienced another gut kick.

Tate turned to Derek. “We’re ready. Can she be moved now?”

Derek shifted his attention to the blonde nurse. “How are her vitals, Amelia?” The nurse rattled off the information while Derek checked Violet’s bandaged leg. “Okay. She’s good to go. Gunnar, she’ll need that wheelchair behind you.”

“Decoy leaving now.” Tate headed up front to escort the receptionist out the front door.

Gunnar retrieved the wheelchair and rolled it to the bed. While the nurse lifted Violet’s injured leg, removing the pillows beneath it, Violet began gingerly scooting her healthy leg toward the edge of the bed.

“Wait,” Gunnar said, then scooped her carefully into his arms and set her down in the wheelchair.

She hissed in pain, and he narrowed a concerned look on her. “Okay?”

Violet nodded. “It wasn’t you. Any movement hurts my leg, but I’m all right now.” She gripped his hand. “Will you make sure Rani and my kids get in the car safely?”

Her hand felt so small on his, and the plea in her expression burrowed deep inside him. Gunnar’s mouth dried. “Of course.”

The nurse took her position behind the wheelchair, ready to roll Violet out when the coast was clear, and Gunnar marched down the hall to prepare the nanny and two toddlers to leave.

The nanny—Rani, Violet had called her—looked up when he entered the exam room where they waited. Her eyes were bleary, and her cheeks were flushed. Gunnar frowned at her haggard appearance but assumed the nanny was simply upset over Violet’s injuries. She had the twins occupied with a snack of graham crackers and juice but rallied when she spotted him.

“Time to go?” Rani asked, then covered a cough.

“Soon. Do you have car seats for the kids? We’ll need to install them before we leave.”

She nodded and pointed to the corner of the room where two safety seats, three suitcases and a large diaper bag waited … along with two pet carriers.

“She’s bringing animals?” Gunnar groaned, visualizing whimpering little Chihuahuas or yipping Pomeranians.

Rani nodded. “Romeo and Sophie.” She paused to cough, then added, “They’re part of the family. She doesn’t go anywhere without them.”

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from commenting on Hollywood divas and their portable mutts, Gunnar stepped close to the nearest carrier and peeked inside. A fuzzy black-and-white cat blinked back at him, three black spots decorating his nose. Gunnar arched an eyebrow, not sure if cats were an improvement over snippy dogs or not.

Once Tate called to report they had the entourage of reporters following them across town, Emma checked the parking lot for stragglers, then gave the all clear. Derek helped Gunnar load the luggage and cats and buckle the safety seats in the SUV, while Emma assembled everyone at the back door. When Derek gave the signal, Gunnar hustled Rani and the twins, one boy in each arm, to the Suburban. Derek buckled one boy in while Rani tended to the second. Gunnar swept the parking lot with an encompassing glance, and Amelia wheeled Violet out.

“Gunnar, will you do the honors again? It’ll save time,” Emma asked, hitching her head toward Violet.

He answered by stepping to the passenger door and silently lifting Violet into the front seat and fastening her seat belt for her. He caught the faint scent of flowers as he leaned across her, and he gritted his teeth when an inappropriate spark of attraction spun through him.

“Damn!” Emma snarled behind him, then thunked him on the back. “Hurry up! Get the door closed.”

Gunnar jerked back and closed the passenger door before facing his sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Across the street. The car parked by the tree.” She gave her head a slight hitch toward the street, her face taut with frustration and disgust. “Telephoto lens.”

Amelia raised her head to look where Emma indicated, and she drew a sharp breath. Ducking her chin again, the nurse kept her head down and hurried back inside the clinic with the wheelchair as if she were the celebrity needing to stay out of sight.

Gunnar scowled at Emma. “Make sure the car doesn’t follow me.” Then to Derek, he said, “Let’s move.”