Playing Dirty (Risky Business, #2)(70)

“It’s okay, McClane,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.” I didn’t know if I was reassuring him or myself, probably more of the latter since he obviously couldn’t understand me.

When we pulled into the clinic, McClane didn’t get off the seat, his dark eyes just staring soulfully at me.

Leaving the door open, I ran inside. “Please help me!”

Two workers came out right away, and between the three of us we got McClane inside. They took him into the back and I stood staring at the swinging doors, feeling like they’d just taken a family member away from me. I started bawling.

A worker put her arm around me. “He’ll be okay,” she said, rubbing my shoulder. “Our doctors are the best.”

“But I don’t even like dogs!” I sobbed. They were slobbery and smelled and McClane jumped on me with his dirty paws … and today he’d saved my life. I cried harder.

She guided me to a chair in the waiting room and I sat down heavily. A moment later, she thrust a box of tissues into my hands.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” she said sympathetically. “As soon as I hear anything.”

I nodded, wiping my face and snotty nose. I’d stopped crying and a hiccup escaped. If something happened to McClane, Ryker would never forgive me, I was sure.

Unable to just sit there, I began to pace. The lady came back with some forms for me to fill out and I jotted my name, address, and all other relevant information. I figured I’d better use my name instead of Ryker’s, not the least of which was because I didn’t know his actual address.

A half hour went by before someone came out to talk to me.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

The doctor smiled reassuringly. “He’s going to be fine. He needed surgery, though, and stitches. We should keep him a day or so for observation.”

Relief flooded me. Thank God. McClane would be okay. I sat down again and the doctor gave me a little pat before disappearing back behind the swinging doors.

I had blood and dog hair on my hands so I searched for the bathroom, washing up and taking a dampened paper towel to my tear-streaked face.

As I was coming back out, I heard someone talking to the lady behind the front desk, and I paused around the corner to listen.

“… had an injured dog,” he was saying. “A German Shepherd. Have you seen her? She’s my sister and she called me, very upset. I came as quickly as I could.”

Me. He had to be talking about me. Except I’d called no one and I didn’t have a brother.

I peeked around the corner and had to stifle a gasp. It was the same guy. He’d cleaned up from his tussle with McClane and looked exactly like what he was purporting to be: a concerned brother come to collect his distraught sister.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman said. “The dog had to have surgery—”

I didn’t wait to hear what else she was going to tell him. Backing up, I went down the hallway, searching for an exit. A door blocked my path, but it was unlocked and I hurried through it, spotting an EXIT sign at the rear of the building.

I was almost there when I heard a “Hey!” from behind me. Instinct made me turn and look in time to see the guy pointing his gun at me. I dove through the door just as the shot sounded. It ricocheted off the slamming door and I hit the ground running.

Running for your life isn’t the same thing as running for anything ever before. No matter what race I’d run as a child or teen, or how fast I’d wanted to clock a mile on the track, none of it compared to knowing that if I didn’t go faster, I’d be dead.

The door to the truck was still hanging open and I could only be grateful for the few precious seconds that saved me as I jumped in and started the engine. As before, the old truck roared to life immediately and I gunned it, seeing the guy once again in my rearview mirror. This time, he fired at the truck. I screamed, ducking down, but then was quickly out of range.

I drove aimlessly for a few minutes, just trying to get myself under control. The tears had dried up, thank God. It was becoming dangerously clear that if I didn’t keep my wits about me, I’d end up dead.

Parker. I needed to call him.

Pulling out my cell, I hit his speed dial. To my dismay, the call wasn’t picked up but went to voice mail.

“Parker, it’s me,” I said. My voice was shaky and I took a breath to try and steady it. “Someone came to the house. I don’t know how, but he found me. McClane got hurt and I took him to the vet. I think the guy is following me somehow …” And it hit me. Shit. My phone. Parker had even warned me about it. Maybe that’s why Parker hadn’t answered. His phone was off, too.

“I’m going to get rid of my phone,” I said. “I’ll call you again from another.”

Ending the call, I tossed the phone out the window, then kept on driving.

The only thing I could think of to do was head to my parents’ house, but before I went there, I had to tell Ryker what was going on.

Though it was early afternoon, I headed for the bar where Malone had told me I could find him. It was in an older section of downtown where the buildings were closer together and the sunlight didn’t quite reach all the dark nooks and crannies of the street.

I was lucky enough that someone pulled out of a parking spot on the street just as I pulled up, so while it took me three tries, I was able to parallel park the truck. Hopping out, I glanced around before hesitantly going inside.