Miss you too. I shoot right back since I know his message came hours ago and he’s probably checking his phone whenever he gets a free minute. He told me that’s what he does, and I can’t blame him because it’s exactly what I do. Before him, I never spent that much time with my phone in my hand. It’s crazy, but I must be a defect from this new generation because I’m a pen and paper kind of girl, reading actual newspapers and paperbacks. Maybe it’s because I spend all day typing on my computer at work or writing my novels that I don’t bother with cell phones. Now, needing to hear from Whit keeps it glued to my fingers.
“That movie was great,” I tell Georgie, who’s checking her phone.
“I work tomorrow.”
“Okay. And?” She seems distracted.
“I’m off to bed.” Damn. I wonder what’s on her mind, but I’m not going to push her because she looks upset.
“Goodnight. I work tomorrow as well.”
I head into my bedroom, taking my laptop with me to check on my notes for my other books because I’m not ready for bed. Although he said he’s going to be working all night, I want to talk to him.
I sent him a text letting him know that I’ll be up for another hour. When he doesn’t respond in that hour, I send another goodnight text and get one in return. I was hoping that maybe he would call, but he didn’t, so I shut down my computer and get ready for bed.
I haven’t told Whit what I want to do for a living because I’m a little embarrassed since it’s not like I’m something big like Bennett or anything. Whit’s already established and I’m not, which makes me feel a bit insecure. What if he gets bored of me?
Chapter Seven
Whitaker
It’s late as hell when I finally get to the station. I’m so damn exhausted, but I’m off tomorrow. “Hey, I’m done for the night. Well, for the morning.”
“Thanks for handling those kids.”
“No problem. I’m off tomorrow, so hopefully you all can handle any other trouble we have. I’m tired and need to catch up on some sleep. If you need me, just call.”
I wish I could have called Lydia last night, but I had to deal with a bunch of drunken teenagers and only saw her text as she sent the goodnight message. I miss her like fucking crazy.
The sun is nearly up when I pull into my driveway. Pressing the button to my garage, it doesn’t work. That’s fucking strange, but I’m too damn tired to worry about it. There could be a power outage in the garage, so I park next to it and climb out. Taking a step toward my front porch, I hear my name. “Whitaker,” I whip my head around just as I grab my gun. Hearing that voice, I know I’m in trouble but it’s already too late because the shots go off in quick succession. I climb my steps and rush through my front door as I get off a few shots, closing the door and shoving the side table in front of it like a barricade. Squealing tires is the only sound that does my heart any damn good as I lose consciousness.
Sounds of footsteps and my name shake through my fuzzy brain, but I don’t know where it’s coming from or who it is, and then it’s gone again.
***
Beep…beep…beep.
My eyes slowly open, head pounding as I try to look around the white, sterile room. I know I’m lucky to be alive from her second attempt on my life, but I’m not sure what damage that woman has done this time.
“Hello, Sheriff Marlowe. I’m Nurse Sarah. You’re at Denver Regional Medical Center. How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know who you are?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what the damage is.”
“Well, that’s a little hard to say right now. You were shot in the back and given your previous injuries and swelling, we’re not sure how severe your wounds will be. The doc will be in to discuss that matter with you when he comes in.”
“Whitaker, it’s good to see you’re awake. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Dr. Lindstrom says. We go way back to when I was shot many years ago.
“Not as bad as I should be.”
“You’re a strong man. We need to run some tests, but your injury should have killed you.”
“Am I paralyzed, Doc?”
“No, but it’s going to be a while before you gain all your motor functions easily again.”
“I know. Has she been arrested?”
“Who?”
“My mother. She’s the one who shot me outside of my home this morning.” The look on his face says it all. He knows that she’s the one who sent me to the hospital the first time, so it’s terrible that she came to finish the work she started so many years ago. Fuck, is it even morning anymore?