Killer (Savages 2)

"Lo," he said, shaking his head at her. "You know Miss. Alvarado here?"

"Oh, me and Amy... we're old pals," she said, moving to stand next to where I was sitting off the side of the bed, and putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Old pals," he nodded, putting his pad away. "So I guess we are done here, then?"

Why was he asking her? Wasn't he supposed to be the one in charge or whatever?

"I think Amelia has been through enough today with those... muggers and all," she said, smiling flatout at the lie that, apparently, they both knew was a lie.

"I can imagine," he nodded at her.

"If you have more questions for her, she will be at Hailstorm recouping."

At this, Collings actually chuckled. "Of course she will. Well," he said, looking over at me again, "you feel better, Miss. Alvarado. I'm sorry about your ordeal," he said, nodding at Lo, then disappearing.

When the door clicked closed, I couldn't help it. "What the heck was that?" I asked, not even trying to hide my confusion.

"Collings has been around for a while. He knows how things work around here. He's not crying over some big time H dealer with a hole in his head or his missing minions."

"Missing?" I asked, jerking slightly as she pulled away. I guess I had figured they would have killed them all.

"Oh yeah," Lo said, giving me a smile. "Crazy thing. Just up and disappeared like that," she said, snapping her fingers but the wicked smile she had suggested she knew exactly where they were. I had the sneaking suspicion that one or more of them might actually be at this Hailstorm place everyone kept talking about. "So did you get the all-clear?" she asked, meaning to leave.

"Yeah. I got a prescription and some paperwork on how to deal with a concussion."

Lo waved a hand. "We have a medical team at Hailstorm. We'll keep an eye on you. No worries."

"Um, not to sound, um, ungrateful or anything, but why do you think I am going to Hailstorm?"

"Honey..." she said, giving me a sad smile that said it all. She knew. She knew Johnnie was done with me. She knew I had nowhere to go. She knew I couldn't exactly drive back to Alabama with a concussion and hopped up on pain pills.

"Right," I said tightly, pushing off the bed and reaching for the paperwork I had mentioned. "Well, I mean... I can stay at a hotel until I'm better. It's nice of you to offer to put me up, but I don't think..."

"Amelia," she said, her voice a little firm. "I know you really just want to be alone right now. You got knocked around and had the life scared out of you and the guy you have feelings for just trampled all over you. You're dealing with all that, but please, can I say from experience, the absolute worst way to do that is to do it alone. Besides," she went on, "we aren't exactly sure things are all that safe for you yet. Word will get around about Luis' and his men. We need to make sure that whatever blows, blows over your head. Then we can let you get back to your life. We won't stand in the way of that, I promise. If you want to go back to Alabama and..."

"I am going back to Alabama," I said firmly, lifting my chin a little. "There's nothing for me here. I guess there never really was." I brushed past her, not particularly caring that my tone held a lot more bitter than was smart to express. But, well, she was right. I was going through some stuff. And I, apparently, wasn't allowed to do that alone. I wasn't exactly in the mood to put on a happy face.

Sensing this, Lo fell into step beside me, leading me outside and toward a black van that I climbed into without complaint, seeing my bag from Johnnie's place on the floor of the passenger seat and having to blink really hard to fight back the tears.

"Ready?" she asked, turning the van over.

"Yep," I agreed without thinking.But, well, apparently there was no way to really be ready for Hailstorm. Because Hailstorm was like a community all to itself, like a really paranoid, really well guarded survivalist camp. All the buildings were made out of huge shipping containers, a seemingly endless network of them powered by fields of solar panels and wrapped up in a barbed wire fence with what appeared to be guard dogs patrolling the grounds. There was a man at the security booth in front of the gates and some men and women walking around the grounds or even on top of the storage containers.

Lo waved at the guard in the booth who hit a button and the gate slid open. We drove through, Lo parking off toward the side and hopping off, banging her hand on the hood as she did which I took to mean: come on. I grabbed my bag and climbed out.

"Leo," she called to one of the men, reaching over and ripping the prescription out of my hands. "Need this filled," she told him and he nodded and moved away. "Alright, let's go get you settled in," she said, giving me a small smile and leading me into the storage container to the front. I found in oh, say about two minutes, that the inside of Hailstorm was a giant maze full of dead-ends and half-empty rooms. We passed through an area with a normal, homey looking kitchen and living room, then through a barracks-style sleeping area, then finally into a room with a door with a glass cut-out. She opened it and let me step inside. "This is the sick room," she told me, gesturing toward the simple white-linen beds lined up. "The rest of us sleep in the barracks when we're here, but I figured you'd want more privacy than that. You'll have this room all to yourself. There's a bathroom back there with a shower. No one will come in here except Mike who might want to get a look at your stitches and make sure you're not getting sick or anything from the concussion and me to bring you food and stuff, though you're welcome to come out and eat with everyone else."