He runs, not stopping as the chaos unfolds behind him, propelling himself farther and farther away with each bound. He dives into his car and flicks off the headlights before peeling away in a cloud of gravel and dust. He uses the night-vision goggles to guide him as he makes his way back to the main road. No other cars follow. The men are too busy trying to save a woman seconds from death.
Jeremy just drives, flicking the headlights back on and removing his eyewear when he’s put enough space between them. He opens the glove compartment where his phone sits and presses play on a random playlist. “Pretty When You Cry” by VAST plays loudly, and he takes in a deep, calming breath. Today was a bad day. In his brain, he knows he should have just stayed home. He should have dealt with the repercussions of his last miscalculation before piling another mess on top of it.
He’s sure Tara will die. But it’s the sloppy execution that bothers him. He dove into the water without even checking the depth. He was foolish and impetuous. He acted on animal impulses and ignored his prized brain. Without a thought, he swerves the car toward the side of a dark road, throwing it into park as dust swells around the headlights. He pounds his fist against the steering wheel, wails on the vinyl surface like it holds a treasure locked inside. When his hand throbs and his breath is heavy, he sits back in his seat and screams. All his stress and frustration, all his dissatisfaction and hunger erupt in a primal scream on the side of a dark, dirt road deep in the Louisiana bayou. Tears roll down his face, and he lets them cool his burning, dirt-covered cheeks.
His chest heaves as he throws the car back in drive and barrels toward his home. He turns the music up loud, hoping it will drown out his thoughts. The barrage of sound only fuels the anger he can no longer control. As he speeds down the road ahead, he knows his days in this place are numbered.
CHAPTER 28
LEROUX’S PHONE BUZZES FROM HIS coat pocket, and he takes the moment to answer it.
“Leroux,” he answers and taps his phone to put the call on speaker.
“It’s Will. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, what do you need?”
“We have another victim.”
Will drops the statement like a brick. Leroux winces, and Wren’s heart sinks along with his. She rubs her hands down her face.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
“Where?”
“She was found in a hunting area off Bayou Tortue Road. But Leroux, she’s alive and conscious.”
Leroux’s eyes go wild.
“She can talk?” he asks incredulously.
“Not quite. She’s alive, but she can’t talk.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Just meet me at University Medical Center. I’ll give you the entire story once you’re here.”
The line goes dead.
“I’m coming,” Wren states. She turns and starts washing her hands in the sink.
Leroux opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, watching her.
“Spare me your concern. I appreciate it, but I need to hear what this woman has to say myself. I’m part of this.”
She dries her hands and locks her eyes with his. He lets the silence hang between them for a beat longer before gesturing his head toward the imposing metal door.
“Let’s go.”
Will is standing outside, talking to a doctor when they arrive at University Medical Center. Leroux strides up to them, not bothering with introductions.
“So, what’s the deal?” he asks, interrupting the conversation mid-sentence.
“Dr. Gibbons, this is Detective John Leroux and Dr. Wren Muller.”