Treasured by Thursday
Page 94
Her eyes drifted closed.
A mask was shoved over her nose and mouth, and someone tied a string around the back of her head as sirens sounded outside the house.
“Gotta go, babe.” Someone patted her head and the two men left.
Hunter heard a third explosion in the direction of Gabi’s GPS. He saw smoke as his father was waking up.
“You alive?” Hunter asked in a rush.
“I gotta stop drinking,” Sherman said.
Hunter released a breath of relief. “I have to find Gabi.”
“Go.”
Hunter didn’t have to be told twice. He ran toward the third explosion with a prayer on his lips.
When he hopped the fourth block wall of the day, Hunter vowed to hire a personal trainer to make this shit easier.
As he crossed the street before the explosion, Hunter noticed two fully masked, armed men running toward a dark van. One turned his way, offered a salute, and slammed the door before peeling away.
Hunter moved faster.
He burst through the door of the house that was filled with smoke as sirens assaulted his ears. He didn’t get far before he found Gabi on the floor, a man at her side.
Someone pushed in beside him and helped drag her out of the house.
Hunter’s lungs filled with smoke, causing him to cough.
The Good Samaritan started back into the house. Hunter stayed behind and held Gabi’s head in his lap.
The unknown helper stumbled out coughing. “Dead . . . he’s . . .”
Three squad cars rolled up, lights blaring.
He felt Gabi’s hand touch his arm and she smiled through the mask.
Hunter released tears he didn’t think he owned and dropped his head to hers.
Gabi refused the ride to the hospital, which prompted Hunter to request a house call from his personal physician.
With a few questions about the dead man in the house, and Gabi’s and Sherman’s accounts of who he was, the police allowed Hunter to take her home. She was still groggy as Hunter slipped her into a hot bath.
Mindful of her cast, he washed the day out of her hair and off her skin. He moved in silence, as if treasuring every moment. He worked in silence and she let him. With the help of a giant bath towel, he dried her off and brushed out her hair. Only when the doctor arrived did he leave the room.
Gabi pointed to her aches and pains, let the doctor know that her captor had definitely drugged her. She wanted to omit her knowledge of the drug, but there wasn’t any mistaking the heroin that had ran in her veins. The doctor drew a few vials of blood and requested she go to the hospital should any of the lab results return with a failing grade.
Hunter met the doctor at the door. She overheard him asking the doctor about her health. Felt some satisfaction when he said she was probably fine. If anything pained her excessively in the morning, to report to him so they could run a few tests . . . take an X-ray or two.
She was drifting off to sleep in the comfort of her bed when she heard Hunter arguing.
“We have a few more questions and then we’ll leave until tomorrow.”
“Hasn’t she been through enough?”
“No one is arguing that, Blackwell.”
“It’s OK, Hunter. I just want to get this over with,” Gabi said from the bed.
Officer Delgado entered the room with Hunter.
Hunter helped Gabi sit up on the bed and tucked the covers around her.
“I’m sorry we have to do this, Mrs. Blackwell.”
She closed her eyes. “Let’s just do it.”
“Tell me what you remember.”
She started from the moment the car crashed. Paused briefly to ask about Connor. Hunter said at last check he was concussed with a few broken ribs, but he’d be back to normal in a few weeks.
Gabi replayed the moment when she knew she’d been drugged.
Hunter moved to the bed beside her and held her hand as she talked. “Then I met your dad.”
“He’s OK. At the hospital.”
Gabi nodded and continued.
She talked about the gun, the threats. How Diaz had no intention of letting her go.
She replayed seeing someone outside the window and the house filling with smoke.
“I knew the syringe held a lethal dose. He told me it did. I couldn’t fight him . . . it’s all I had.”
Officer Delgado wrote a note and looked up. “I can’t imagine anyone faulting you for his death. You managed to keep your wits, and that couldn’t have been easy.”
Gabi rested her head on Hunter’s shoulder.
“What happened next?”
“It was foggy. I couldn’t breathe. Someone was there and a mask helped clear my lungs.”
“Who was there?”
She shook her head. “I never saw a face. Black mask. Then Hunter was holding me outside.”
“You have no idea who placed a mask on your face?”
“I’d just escaped death, Officer . . . knew my assailant was dead. I wasn’t questioning my good luck and quizzing the man offering clean air.”
“It was a man?”
“Or a bulky woman. I couldn’t say for sure.”
Delgado blew out a breath.
The officer stood and extended a card. “If you remember anything else.”
Andrew and Delgado passed in the doorway.
“I brought soup.”
Three days later Gabi and Hunter sat beside Lori and a team of lawyers, half Hunter’s, half Samantha’s, and the district attorney.
Every detail on who Diaz was, why he had targeted her . . . her bank accounts, and the insurance mistake she would gladly pay in full if the courts would allow it, was spelled out.
It helped that the media had painted her the unfortunate socialite who had married a billionaire only to find herself kidnapped and held for ransom. There were three men dead and a few more recovering in hospitals . . . and Gabi sporting enough color on her face to make a supermodel happy.
A mask was shoved over her nose and mouth, and someone tied a string around the back of her head as sirens sounded outside the house.
“Gotta go, babe.” Someone patted her head and the two men left.
Hunter heard a third explosion in the direction of Gabi’s GPS. He saw smoke as his father was waking up.
“You alive?” Hunter asked in a rush.
“I gotta stop drinking,” Sherman said.
Hunter released a breath of relief. “I have to find Gabi.”
“Go.”
Hunter didn’t have to be told twice. He ran toward the third explosion with a prayer on his lips.
When he hopped the fourth block wall of the day, Hunter vowed to hire a personal trainer to make this shit easier.
As he crossed the street before the explosion, Hunter noticed two fully masked, armed men running toward a dark van. One turned his way, offered a salute, and slammed the door before peeling away.
Hunter moved faster.
He burst through the door of the house that was filled with smoke as sirens assaulted his ears. He didn’t get far before he found Gabi on the floor, a man at her side.
Someone pushed in beside him and helped drag her out of the house.
Hunter’s lungs filled with smoke, causing him to cough.
The Good Samaritan started back into the house. Hunter stayed behind and held Gabi’s head in his lap.
The unknown helper stumbled out coughing. “Dead . . . he’s . . .”
Three squad cars rolled up, lights blaring.
He felt Gabi’s hand touch his arm and she smiled through the mask.
Hunter released tears he didn’t think he owned and dropped his head to hers.
Gabi refused the ride to the hospital, which prompted Hunter to request a house call from his personal physician.
With a few questions about the dead man in the house, and Gabi’s and Sherman’s accounts of who he was, the police allowed Hunter to take her home. She was still groggy as Hunter slipped her into a hot bath.
Mindful of her cast, he washed the day out of her hair and off her skin. He moved in silence, as if treasuring every moment. He worked in silence and she let him. With the help of a giant bath towel, he dried her off and brushed out her hair. Only when the doctor arrived did he leave the room.
Gabi pointed to her aches and pains, let the doctor know that her captor had definitely drugged her. She wanted to omit her knowledge of the drug, but there wasn’t any mistaking the heroin that had ran in her veins. The doctor drew a few vials of blood and requested she go to the hospital should any of the lab results return with a failing grade.
Hunter met the doctor at the door. She overheard him asking the doctor about her health. Felt some satisfaction when he said she was probably fine. If anything pained her excessively in the morning, to report to him so they could run a few tests . . . take an X-ray or two.
She was drifting off to sleep in the comfort of her bed when she heard Hunter arguing.
“We have a few more questions and then we’ll leave until tomorrow.”
“Hasn’t she been through enough?”
“No one is arguing that, Blackwell.”
“It’s OK, Hunter. I just want to get this over with,” Gabi said from the bed.
Officer Delgado entered the room with Hunter.
Hunter helped Gabi sit up on the bed and tucked the covers around her.
“I’m sorry we have to do this, Mrs. Blackwell.”
She closed her eyes. “Let’s just do it.”
“Tell me what you remember.”
She started from the moment the car crashed. Paused briefly to ask about Connor. Hunter said at last check he was concussed with a few broken ribs, but he’d be back to normal in a few weeks.
Gabi replayed the moment when she knew she’d been drugged.
Hunter moved to the bed beside her and held her hand as she talked. “Then I met your dad.”
“He’s OK. At the hospital.”
Gabi nodded and continued.
She talked about the gun, the threats. How Diaz had no intention of letting her go.
She replayed seeing someone outside the window and the house filling with smoke.
“I knew the syringe held a lethal dose. He told me it did. I couldn’t fight him . . . it’s all I had.”
Officer Delgado wrote a note and looked up. “I can’t imagine anyone faulting you for his death. You managed to keep your wits, and that couldn’t have been easy.”
Gabi rested her head on Hunter’s shoulder.
“What happened next?”
“It was foggy. I couldn’t breathe. Someone was there and a mask helped clear my lungs.”
“Who was there?”
She shook her head. “I never saw a face. Black mask. Then Hunter was holding me outside.”
“You have no idea who placed a mask on your face?”
“I’d just escaped death, Officer . . . knew my assailant was dead. I wasn’t questioning my good luck and quizzing the man offering clean air.”
“It was a man?”
“Or a bulky woman. I couldn’t say for sure.”
Delgado blew out a breath.
The officer stood and extended a card. “If you remember anything else.”
Andrew and Delgado passed in the doorway.
“I brought soup.”
Three days later Gabi and Hunter sat beside Lori and a team of lawyers, half Hunter’s, half Samantha’s, and the district attorney.
Every detail on who Diaz was, why he had targeted her . . . her bank accounts, and the insurance mistake she would gladly pay in full if the courts would allow it, was spelled out.
It helped that the media had painted her the unfortunate socialite who had married a billionaire only to find herself kidnapped and held for ransom. There were three men dead and a few more recovering in hospitals . . . and Gabi sporting enough color on her face to make a supermodel happy.
