Marcie
I sprint down one of the identical halls of this part of the warehouse, Ryan’s T-shirt whipping around my otherwise naked body, my heart hammering in my throat.
Being shot at from an SUV was crazy. Finding Ryan was crazy. The shooters following us to this warehouse is crazy. But one of the shooters, one of the people who tried to kill Ryan in the first place, being the therapist I’ve trusted with my life nearly every day of the past six years?
I’m starting to think I don’t actually know what the word crazy means anymore.
Scott thunders after Ryan, and I pray he’s got more of a plan than running and hiding. The “newspaper editor” looks furious.
Oh, f**k, did he kill Mrs. Mathers?
Heels click along the hallway behind me, and I put all thoughts of the ex-editor out of my mind. Ap
