“Yeah. Can you get me down now?”
“Sure. I’m going to hold out my arms and you’re going to come to me, right?
The boy nodded.
Gemma reached out to the branch and Colin took a step closer, so she was very near the frightened child. She opened her arms. “Don’t jump, just sort of fall toward me, okay?”
Again the boy nodded, and in the next second he fell onto Gemma. He was indeed heavy and he nearly made her fall backward, but she wrapped her arms around the child so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe.
Colin didn’t give her time to fight for balance. He released his hold on her ankles and took a step backward. For a split second, Gemma and the boy were standing on nothing, suspended in air, over six feet above the ground.
In the next second, Gemma, still holding tightly on to the boy, fell—and Colin caught them both in his big, muscular arms. As he held them, Gemma could feel his heart pounding against her cheek and the boy was holding on to her with a death grip.
Moments later, the child’s mother pulled the boy away from her, and he let out a howl of relief as she took him away.
Colin didn’t put Gemma down
but kept holding her in his arms. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She knew she should get down, but it felt good—and safe—to be so close to him. For a moment she let herself lean against him. It was as though only the two of them existed.
“Thanks,” Tom said from behind them. “To both of you.” In the distance they heard a siren. The fire engine was arriving.
“Look out!” Carl yelled.
Colin, still holding Gemma, leaped backward and knocked Tom down as the branch that had been holding the boy crashed to the ground.
When the noise and debris settled, Tom was on the bottom of the pile. “Colin,” he said, “I love you like a son, but if you don’t get the hell off of me my lungs are going to collapse.”
“Sorry,” Colin said as he rolled away and Gemma stood up.
Colin sat up, looking up at Gemma with pride. “You did well,” he said. “You have a good sense of balance. And—”
“Holy crap!” Tom said because Gemma’s face suddenly drained of color. Slowly, she turned on her heel and began to sink to the ground. She would have fallen if Tom hadn’t caught her.
Colin was on his feet in seconds as he took Gemma from Tom. “Post-traumatic?”
“No,” Tom said as he held out his hands. There was blood on them.
Reaching out with experienced hands, Tom pulled the bottom of Gemma’s tank top up. The tree branch had cut her side. “No arteries cut, but it might be deep enough to need stitches.”
“Call Tris,” Colin said. “Tell him I’ll be there in seven minutes.” He ran with the unconscious Gemma in his arms to his Jeep.
Behind him, still holding his phone and still recording, was Carl. He only turned it off when Colin slammed the door of his Jeep and sped away.
6
DR. EDWARD BURGESS slowly opened his car door, put his cane on the pavement, and carefully swiveled around to get out. He winced in pain when he put his weight on his leg, and used both hands to heave himself out of the car. Across the road, his neighbor was sweeping her porch, and she paused to look at him in sympathy. She waved hello, and he raised his hand in a weak acknowledgment.
He leaned heavily on his cane as he locked his car, then, stooped over, he made his way up the sidewalk. He supported himself against the jamb as he unlocked his front door. When it was open, he turned to again wave at his neighbor. As he knew she would be, she was watching to make sure he got inside safely.
As soon as he was in the house, Dr. Burgess closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. He let out a sigh. “Nosy old bitch,” he muttered as he tossed his cane toward the tall urn by the door. It went in with a resounding thunk.
Bending, he pulled up his pants leg and unbuckled the brace around his knee and tossed it at the cane. That done, he stood up, put his shoulders back, and flexed his neck. As he walked toward the cabinet against the wall, he unbuttoned his shirt, took off the belly pad that encircled his waist, and let it drop to the floor.
He took a couple of refreshing breaths, rubbed the skin over his hard, flat stomach, and opened the cabinet to pour himself a drink. He wasn’t surprised to see that his ice bucket was full. He put a couple of cubes in a glass, poured it half full of thirty-year-old Scotch, then turned around and waited.
The hideous lounge chair that was part of the rented house’s furniture was facing the wall—not the way he’d left it.