“Miss Halle, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I grip the back of her seat, shaking it slightly for emphasis.
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t answer.
“Reese!”
Still no response. She takes a breath so deep her shoulders move up and slouch down when she exhales, then she does it again.
I’ve seen enough.
Jumping out of the back seat, I round to the driver’s door and kneel beside her. “Reese, what’s wrong? Tell me,” I say gently.
Her breaths come in hard, labored waves, but she still doesn’t answer me.
I’ve seen this before, a decade ago submerged in a nuclear sub in arctic waters, collecting intel on the Russians. There’s no mistaking a panic attack.
“Keep breathing,” I whisper, rubbing her back. “Deep breaths. You’re doing great.”
Her shoulders rise as she inhales, her blue eyes lashing toward me. Our gazes connect.
“Can you hold it for me? Hold it and count to ten this time...”
She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t let out a ragged exhale immediately. I’ll take that as a win.
“One, two, three, four,” I count for her. “Five, six, seven.”
She exhales before I get to ten.
“Good.” I put my hand on her arms with the same caution you use to pick up an injured animal. I’m not her favorite person, I know, but right now I’m her only person in the middle of...this.
“I’m just going to slide you into the passenger seat so I can move the car. Understood? Just so we’re not blocking the pump.”
I pick her up, half expecting her to fight. Instead, she winds her arms around my neck and lays the side of her face flat against my chest.
Fuck. Whatever’s going on, it’s left her in shambles.
I carry her around the car, place her in the passenger seat, and buckle her seatbelt.
Back at the driver’s side, I check the gas meter. We’ve got a quarter of a tank.
We’re okay on gas although we never refilled. I move the car into a parking place, stop, and turn around to look at her.
“When you’re ready...will you tell me what’s wrong?” I whisper.
She’s slumped over in the passenger seat, nearly comatose.
“Where can I take you? Can you at least tell me that? Is there someone I can call for help? Do you need a hospital?” I keep my voice even, but inside, I’m worried as hell.
Grabbing her wrist, I press two fingers against her soft skin.
Her pulse feels strong, steady. Her breathing slows after another minute.
“I think you’re okay physically. Who called you?” I ask.
She mumbles something I don’t understand.
“Come again?”
She doesn’t.
The moronic conversation I had with Roland Osprey before she picked me up rips through my head. He asked who my ’darling little date’ was with me the night Carmen flipped her shit.
I told him to leave her the hell out of it.
“Reese, who called you?” I demand. Because if Osprey did this, he’s a dead man walking.
“Chicago PD. The...the police,” she says weakly.
Not what I expected.
Roland probably gets to live—for today—but now we’re getting somewhere.
“The cops? Why?” Then it hits me. Shit. I remember she mentioned her niece on the phone. “Is Millie okay?”
“No. I...I have to find her.” She turns her head and blinks at me.
“You have to find Millie?” I repeat. “I don’t follow...is she missing?”
Reese just shakes her head, her blue eyes disappearing as she pinches them shut.
“Where would we look for her?” I ask, trying to play along, to figure out what’s destroying her.
“Mrs. Gamlin’s place.”
“Mrs. Gamlin?”
“The neighbor lady at Abby’s apartment. She watches her when Abby’s...when she’s gone.” She sits up straighter, coughing into her hand.
Good. We’re getting somewhere, and I hope that cough means she’s coming out of it.
“Do you have an address?”
“The Spanish Oaks apartments on East Devon,” she tells me.
I punch the place into my Maps app and pull out of the gas station. When we’re on the road, I look at her and decide to try going direct.
“Reese, is your sister okay?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I...I don’t understand it. I’m not sure why she’d ever do this. It doesn’t make any effing sense.” She sighs, turning and pressing her red face against the glass. “At least Millie wasn’t with her. Can you turn the air conditioner on, please? I need air.”
I crank the AC up so high I feel like a penguin. “I’m worried you’re having an anxiety attack. Has this ever happened before?”
“I don’t know. Don’t remember. Maybe when Abby and I were separated, back when we were kids. I can’t believe this. Why would she do it? Why?” That last word is almost a broken scream distilled into one word.
“You said a cop called. What did he say about your sister?” I ask.
She nods limply.
“She got arrested, Nick. Drug sniffing dogs, a SWAT unit, everything. They found enough cocaine in her car to get a group of elephants high and—get this. It was hidden under Millie’s car seat. Who does that?” She’s quiet for a minute. “She’s been clean for years, especially since she became a mom.”