Chapter Twenty-Three
Somehow I tear my eyes away from the still smoking gun back to Grace. Her eyes are closed and her breaths come quickly, like her lungs are struggling to draw in air. My totally uneducated guess is that, if she doesn’t get help soon, she’ll die.
Then my gaze goes to the radio lying next to her, which is still spitting out occasional reports from Wolf and Commander Robinson that the suspect hasn’t been found.
Because, duh.
“You don’t want to touch that,” Kehoe says in a voice so even it’s creepy as hell. “In fact, you want to stand perfectly still and not say a word.”
I don’t want to touch the radio. I want to stand perfectly still and not say a word.
Wait, what?
I try to move my feet. They don’t budge. I open my mouth, intending to spit out the worst curse I can
