“Mr. Dowd…” Grimaldi sounded scared.
“Let’s go,” I heard Mitch say. “I’m not done with you.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to me or Frankie.
Their footsteps scrambled away, and another set hurried to me. Maryann’s arms went around my shoulders as I sat up, the sirens growing closer.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “I got him. On my phone. His face. He’s done.”
“No…” I struggled—and failed—to stand up. “Don’t. He’ll hurt you too…”
Shiloh…
Now the terror pushed me to my feet.
“Don’t get up,” Maryann said. “Wait for the ambulance.”
“No…ambulance. No cops…” I staggered out of her grip, reeling.
“Ronan, stop. Come inside.”
“I’ll scare the girls.” I peered around in the dark night, trying to get my bearings.
Shiloh. Fuck….
“Where are you going? You have to make a statement.”
“No.” I rounded on her. My face must’ve been a horror show—she recoiled, her eyes wide. “Maryann, listen to me. Listen to me. He’ll come for you.”
He’ll come for Shiloh, I thought drunkenly. He’s going there now.
“He’s not coming for me,” Maryann said, incredulous. “He’s going to jail for what he did to you.”
“No,” I said, my voice slurry. “Please leave my name out of it. Leave it alone. For your sake. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
The sirens were getting louder. I shoved out of her grasping hands.
“Ronan…”
I ignored her, hurrying as fast as I could.
Not too late. Please, don’t let me be too late…
Chapter Twenty-Three
As I pulled the Buick into my drive, the headlights lit up a dark figure sitting slumped on our steps.
“Oh my God…”
I slammed to a stop and killed the engine. My fingers fumbled to yank the keys from the ignition, and then I tore out of the car, leaving the milk and eggs from my grocery store run on the seat. At the front walk I stopped, my blood thrashing in my ears.
Ronan sat hunched over on the middle step, chin to chest, arms resting on his thighs.
“Ronan…?”
He raised his head, and both my hands flew to my mouth to keep a scream from bursting out.
“Jesus Christ!”