Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(21)

"Yeah, it's me. What's going on?"

The task of answering, explaining, was so overwhelming that for a moment I couldn't speak. "I need you to come get me," I managed to whisper.

His voice became very calm, gentle, as if he were speaking to a child. "What happened, darlin'? Are you all right?"

"No."

A brief, electric silence, and then he asked urgently, "Where are you, Haven?"

I couldn't answer for a moment. The relief of hearing my own name, spoken in that familiar voice, melted through the numbness. My throat worked hard, and I felt hot tears gush down my face, stinging my abraded skin. "Grocery store," I finally managed to choke out.

"In Dallas?"

"Yes."

"Haven, are you by yourself?" I heard him ask. "Uh-huh."

"Can you take a cab to the airport?"

" No." I sniffled and gulped. "I don't have my purse."

"Where are you?" Gage repeated patiently. I told him the name of the grocery store and the street it was on. "Okay. I want you to wait near the front entrance . . . is there a place you can sit?"

"There's a bench."

"Good girl. Haven, go sit on that bench and do not move. I'll have someone there as soon as possible. Don't go anywhere, do you understand? Sit there and wait."

"Gage," I whispered, "don't call Nick, 'kay?"

I heard him draw an unsteady breath, but when he spoke, his voice was even. "Don't worry, sweetheart. He's not coming near you again."

As I sat on the bench and waited, I knew I was garnering curious glances. My face was bruised, one eye was almost swollen shut and my jaw was huge. A child asked his mother what was wrong with me, and she hushed him and told him not to stare. I was grateful that no one approached me, that people's natural instincts were to avoid the kind of trouble I was obviously in.

I wasn't aware of how much time passed. It could have been a few minutes or an hour. But eventually a man approached the bench, a young black guy wearing khakis and a button-down shirt. He lowered to his haunches in front of me, and I looked blearily into a pair of worried brown eyes. He smiled as if to reassure me. "Miss Travis?" His voice was as soft and rich as sorghum syrup. "I'm Oliver Mullins. A friend of your brother's. He called and said you needed a ride." Staring at me, he added slowly, "But now I'm wondering if maybe you don't need to go to the emergency room."

I shook my head, panicking. "No. No. Don't want that. Don't take me there — "

"Okay," he soothed. "Okay, no problem. I'll take you to the airport. Let me help you to my car."

I didn't move. "Promise we're not going to the emergency room."

"I promise. I absolutely promise."

I still didn't move. "Can't get on a plane," I mumbled. It was getting really hard to talk. "Don't have my driver's license."

"It's a private plane, Miss Travis." His gaze was kind and pitying.

"You won't need your license, or a ticket. Come on, let's — " He broke off as he saw my torn bleeding feet. "Christ," he whispered.

"No hospital," I muttered.

Without asking permission, Oliver sat beside me. I watched as he took off his shoes and socks, slipped his bare feet back into the loafers, and carefully put his own socks on me. "I'd give you the shoes," he said, "but there's no way you could keep 'em on. Will you let me carry you to the car?"

I shook my head. I was pretty sure I couldn't tolerate being held by anyone, for any reason, no matter how briefly.

"That's all right," Oliver murmured. "You just take your time, then." He stood and waited patiently while I struggled up from the bench, his hands half raised as if he had to stop himself from reaching for me. "Car's over there. The white Cadillac."

Together we walked slowly to the car, a gleaming pearl-colored sedan, and Oliver held the door open as I crawled in. "Would you be more comfortable with the seat back lowered?" he asked.

I closed my eyes, too exhausted to answer. Oliver leaned down, pressed a button, and eased the seat back until I was half reclining.

He went to the other side, got in and started the car. The Cadillac purred smoothly as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I heard the sound of a cell phone being flipped open, and a number being dialed. "Gage," Oliver said after a moment. "Yeah, I got her. Headed to DFW right now. Have to tell you, though . . . he knocked her around pretty good. She's a little out of it." A long pause, and Oliver answered quietly. "I know, man." More talking on the other end. "Yeah, I think she's okay to travel, but when she gets there . . . Uh-huh, I think so, definitely. I'll let you know when she takes off. No problem

There was no softer ride than a Cadillac — the closest thing to a mattress on wheels — but every delicate bounce sent fresh aches through my body. I tried to grit my teeth against the pain, only to gasp at the burst of fire in my jaw.

I heard Oliver's voice between the loud throbs of the pulse in my ears. "Feel like you're going to get sick, Miss Travis?"

I made a small negative sound. No way was I going to do that — it would hurt too much.