with a blistering one of her own.
Despite the hostility between them, they’d somehow been able to work together to find him and Ava.
He owed them for that.
A few minutes later, Brit walked back in, scratching his head, his face scrunched in confusion.
“What?” Alarm stiffened Liam’s spine.
“Val’s gone.” He lifted his hand, his car keys dangling from his index finger. “So’s my Jeep.” He
grimaced. “And so’s Ava.”
Chapter 5
She had to escape. Had to save Liam. Arms kept her trapped. Pulled her back. Liam screamed her
name.
Ava’s eyes popped open as she wrestled against her restraints, panic surging through her as a cold sweat
broke over her skin. As she realized she wasn’t running for her life anymore and the restraint was a blanket
tangled around her, her struggles ceased.
They’d been saved. Britton and that woman had helped them escape.
Sitting up slowly, she grimaced against the pulsing in her entire face. Where was she? She was lying in
an oversized bed with an IV taped to the top of her hand. Someone had changed her bloodied nightshirt for
a hospital gown. She lifted a hand to her face. Swollen, hurt like the dickens, but no crusty blood.
This place had to be a hospital of some sort, though the room gave a more upscale hotel vibe with its
dark wood paneling, lush cream carpet, and leather furniture.
The contrast from the white padded wall of her prison was calming. The panic slowly eased out of her
body. They helped people here, not tortured them.
A man in a white lab jacket walked in, flipping through a chart. When he glanced up, he smiled. “Ah.
You’re awake.”
Though he didn’t hold a candle to Liam, the doctor was handsome. Late thirties, maybe, with thick,
wavy, brown hair and light blue eyes. “Wh—” She licked her parched lips. “Who are you?”
He offered his hand. “Dr. Miles Bradley. Val brought you in a little over an hour ago.”
“Val?”
“The detective.”
That’s right. The woman with Britton. “Where am I?”
“The Bradley Clinic.”
He said that like it was supposed to make complete sense to her. As Dr. Bradley walked over to the bed
and checked the bag hanging from an IV pole, he said, “You were suffering from dehydration. We’ve given
you saline, but we can take out the IV now that you are awake.”
“My head hurts.”
“That’s not surprising considering the beating you must have taken. No concussion though, so that’s
good, but you might have a headache for a while. Most of your injuries are superficial, but you did sprain
your ankle pretty badly. It’ll be a little hard to get around for a couple of days.” He studied her for a
moment. “We also just received your blood work back. Are you on any anti-arrhythmic medication?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. We found trace amounts of disopyramide in your system as well as etomidate.
“And what is etomidate?”
“An anesthetic agent. It’s used to sedate patients for short procedures.” He stepped toward her. “Do you
know how many times he injected you with it?”
“I can’t be certain. I was conscious for at least two.” She swallowed. “Was it the drugs that made me die
to Liam?’
The doctor stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“Liam said he felt me die twice when I didn’t.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I’m telling you it is. One of the times, our captor had just given me an injection.”
The doctor rubbed his mouth with his hand and gazed at the opposite wall. “That’s interesting.”
She didn’t find anything remotely interesting about it.
“The etomidate would’ve put you in an almost vegetative state. The combination of the anti-arrhythmic
and anesthetic agent must have messed with the Fewshon ,” he murmured, more to himself than her. He
finally glanced down at her. “Your blood pressure and liver counts are normal, so I don’t think he gave you
enough to cause any long term damage, but just to be