Saving Sloan (Sloan Series Book 2) (3 page)

“He wasn’t in a wheelchair. He was walking. Remember? I told you that.” Okay, sure that was a difficult concept since the man was paralyzed and all, but she knew what she’d seen and she’d seen Boyd standing there all in black, looking in her window.

Detective Morgan held up her hand to keep back the other officers. “Sloan.” That tone… that tone adults used when they spoke to a
child
who should know better. Great. Just… terrific. “Boyd broke his back, remember? He can’t walk. He can’t even feel from the waist down.”

“Serves him right after what he did to Sloan.” Mackenzie grumbled, crossing her arms.

“Maybe.” Detective Morgan said. “But in any case, the boy couldn’t have been here because he can’t walk.”

“You’re sure. You’re one hundred percent sure he can’t walk?” It was Sloan’s turn to do the questioning.

“I read the doctor’s report, Sloan. Read all about his injuries. I saw him in rehab and talked to his physical therapist. His legs are weak. Limp. Unable to move. His PT thinks if all goes well he might walk again someday, but definitely not yet. There’s too much damage.”

Sloan let that sink in. She was glad he wasn’t dead, obviously. But it still hurt that she’d put him in a wheelchair. If he was in a wheelchair…

“Then who did I see?” It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t even a question, really. Who else if not Boyd? He looked exactly like him, and as far as Sloan knew, Boyd didn’t have an identical twin.

“Could have been anyone. Can you describe him to me?” Detective Morgan grabbed the little notebook she always carried in her pocket and the pen from behind her ear. She motioned for the other three officers to start looking around the area.

By that time, they were getting an audience of nosey neighbors. Sloan was in the middle of another police scene. Oh good gracious! She’d be the talk of the town again… as if they had ever stopped talking about her.

“I was getting ready, brushing my teeth. I looked in the mirror and caught a glimpse of him out here. He had on all black and his hair was a little longer than the last time I saw him, but it was him. One hundred percent him.” Okay, ninety percent him. She rolled her neck around to get the tension out. It creaked like an old screen door.

“And you ran out here?”

“Yeah. It was a shock, you know? Seeing him. I came out, and he was gone.”

Detective Morgan wrote down a few more things and closed the notebook. She slid it back in her pocket and put the pen back behind her ear. Sloan didn’t like where this was going. She knew Detective Morgan well enough to know when she didn’t believe her. That was sort of sad.

“Had you just gotten out of bed?” the detective asked.

“Yeah, but…”

“Do you sleep well?”

No… no… no… she wasn’t going to pin this on lack of sleep. “Not all the time, but…”

“Do you still have nightmares?”

Did the woman have to say that out loud? Not everyone needed to know that. “What are you implying?”

“Sloan!” Donna Livingston, sweet Donna from next door, came out of her house — no longer for sale — and made her way as fast as her walker would allow. “Are you alright?”

“Slow down, Ms. Donna! You’ll hurt yourself again.” Sloan felt horrible for worrying the lady. This was her life now. Summoning police and worrying people she cared about.

“I’m fine, sweetie. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine. I just… saw something.” She looked up at Detective Morgan. “Someone.”

“Someone.” Morgan tilted her head. “Are you dropping your claim that it was Boyd?”

“The Lawrence boy?” Donna asked, out of breath. The woman had walked more in the past five minutes than she had in the past few months combined. “Is he back to hurt you?”

“No. No…” Sloan began to question if she had actually seen Boyd. “I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“If you want my opinion, and you can take it with a grain of salt, I think it’s Monday morning and you are half asleep. You get up and go the bathroom to brush your teeth. You look up, see something that reminds you of your nightmares, and freak. It’s understandable. Anyone would have,” Detective Morgan said helpfully.

It felt the opposite.

It made sense in theory, except for the flowers in her car at church yesterday. Who put them there? And why? And five days till what? Prom was in five days. Was someone trying to ask her? If so, he really needed to use his name, and like, manners.

Sloan wanted to tell Detective Morgan about the roses, but with Donna standing there, weary from her walk and worried to death for Sloan, she thought better of it. She’d tell the detective later when Donna wasn’t around, if she thought of it. And who knew, maybe things would die down, and she wouldn’t get any more flowers. Hopefully…

“Yeah, that could have been what it was.” Sloan put her arm around Donna. “I’m sorry to worry you, Ms. Donna. I wouldn’t worry you for anything. I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“You seemed pretty sure of that conclusion when I pulled up,” Mackenzie said, tossing her long red curls into a messy ponytail.

“I was. But now, I think Detective Morgan is right.” Did she really? Who knew? It was one theory. But she wasn’t going to voice that in front of Donna. The old lady had been so kind to her, and Sloan wouldn’t worry her heart. She wasn’t sure her heart could hold up to much more stress. “Come on, Ms. Donna. Let’s get you back home.”

Gladly leaving the police behind, Sloan helped Donna across the road and up her front steps. As she led Donna inside, she saw Detective Morgan talking to Mackenzie. Both were leaning in to each other like they were whispering. A conversation they didn’t want Sloan to hear, obviously. Did they both think she was crazy? Maybe she was. Maybe she’d made the whole thing up and had been sleepwalking. In that case, she’d wasted a lot of taxpayer’s money.

Still… she had this nagging feeling. This
not right
feeling that something was wrong. But how could someone with a broken back walk?

She helped Donna sit and fixed her some tea. By the time she’d convinced her it would be all right, one of the police cars had left. With a smile, Donna told her she’d be fine and to not be late for school. Sloan sure loved that lady.

Taking a big deep breath, Sloan walked across the road to where Mackenzie and Detective Morgan stood. “Find anything?”

Detective Morgan shook her head. “Nothing. If someone was here, they didn’t disturb the ground when they ran away.”

“So you think I dreamed it?”

“I think it’s the only possibility. At this point anyway. I’ll go and talk to Mr. Lawrence just to make sure Boyd stayed home all night.”

“No… don’t do that.” This was getting stupid. The more they talked about it, the more stupid she felt. Of course, it wasn’t Boyd. It had probably been either a figment of her imagination or someone out for a walk — tall with blond hair — who’d just happened to look up in her window and saw a girl in her nightclothes getting dressed for school. Any man would have stopped… a pervert would have stopped and stared. She supposed he was a pervert, whoever he was.

“You’re sure? I can if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if I hadn’t called the cops out over some boogeyman.”

“It’s what we’re here for.” Detective Morgan smiled warmly. “Don’t ever hesitate to call again. I need to know these things, okay?”

Sloan nodded, but wasn’t sure if she’d really do it. Another call would mean another round of police cars, which would worry Donna, not to mention her mother if she were home.

“Well, if we’re done here. I need to get back to the station, and I think you need to get to school.”

For the first time, Sloan noticed she had been outside in her old pink nightgown and black-and-pink plaid pajama bottoms. She was sure at least one neighbor had snapped unflattering pictures of her on a cellphone camera. “What time is it?” she quickly asked Mackenzie.

Her friend took her cell from her pocket and pushed the home button so the display lit up. “Seven thirty-two.”

“Already! I’ve gotta change! Thank you for coming, Detective Morgan. I’m sorry to bother you. Mackenzie, I’ll see you at school.” She hurried off before waiting for either to answer.

“Wait! Do you want me to drive you?” Mackenzie yelled.

“I’ll drive myself. Don’t want you to be late!” Sloan yelled back from her front porch. She slammed the door behind her and leaned back on it, letting out the tension.

Stupid Monday morning.

She ran up the steps, not caring that her leg hurt now and her previously broken ribs were achy. She finished getting ready in the bathroom, stopping only to shut the curtains so no one could see in, just in case. Because of the morning’s events, she didn’t have time to cake on her makeup and apply the scar concealer like normal. It never truly covered the scar, not completely. The crease was so deep and ugly there was no way to ever make it completely go away. But today, thanks to her overactive imagination, it would really shine. Oh. Joy.

Sloan ran into her room, mentally going through her closet with every step to cut out time. She opened her closet and started pulling out a black-and-gold Chapel Hill High School shirt and jeans. Simple. Today, simple was good. She grabbed some undergarments from the vanity. When she shut the drawers, something behind her caught her eye. Not trusting that again, she turned around to see it with her own eyes.

On the nightstand lay the five roses from the night before. She could have sworn she’d thrown them in the trash.

S
LOAN DID ABOUT FIVE
miles over the speed limit all the way to school, but she didn’t get pulled over, have a wreck, or get there late. At seven-fifty, she rolled into Chapel Hill High School and into her normal parking spot. Number four seventeen. All the way in the corner next to the fence and overgrown trees. She hated that the limbs hung over her car, dropping nasty leaves all over the shiny new exterior. Oh well. At least she had a shiny new car to get leaves on. Definitely a bonus.

Everyone else walked up the hill toward the school, clearing the parking lot. Sloan got out, grabbed her bag, and slammed her door. Knowing her scar was shining exceedingly bright today, she put on her brave face and just went with it. They’d all seen it before, and if they hadn’t, tough. They’d get used to it or not. It was part of her now. Not her favorite part, but definitely a part.

Praying she wasn’t late, she hurried as fast as she could up the hill and to her locker. By the time she got there, the hallway was nearly empty as the others had already found their way to class. She had Biology next, a long walk away. She groaned and leaned on her locker, wishing after all this time the pain would just go away for good. She was eighteen, way too young to hurt that much.

“Problem?”

Sloan looked up and saw the person she used to see every morning. The one who had taunted her and shoved her relationship with Boyd down her throat any chance she got: Darcy Perry.

She had on normal clothes for once, not cheerleader attire. With a light gray short-sleeved shirt, black sweater, and jeans, she oozed beauty. Her blond hair was down around her shoulders, and she was smiling. Darcy had gone from being her best friend to her tormentor when Sloan had gotten saved. She’d become an acquaintance again after Boyd attacked Darcy too. They’d chatted a few times. Nothing earth shattering since the day in the hospital, but they did get along fairly well. It surprised Sloan to see Darcy at her locker, though. She didn’t normally stop anymore.

“A few. Right now I’m late.”

Darcy’s eyes bugged out. “Late?”

Oh, no! “Not that type of late.” She wasn’t pregnant. Had no reason to be. She hadn’t slept with anyone since Boyd, and that was last year. He’d been her last. “Late to school.”

“Oh…” Darcy smiled. “I thought surely Saint…”

“Uh…” They had an agreement after all.

“Sorry. I thought surely you, uh, hadn’t done that.”

“You’d think right.”

Darcy leaned closer. “Not even the Hunter boys? They’re cute.”

Sloan couldn’t disagree there. It wouldn’t be beyond imagination to want to sleep with either Hunter, but she didn’t entertain that idea very much. Things were different with them. Sure, she found them both attractive, but there was more. Plus, it wasn’t like she could choose between them. “That they are. I’m just not ready for… that… yet.”

“Hmm…” Darcy said, like she was thinking of something important to say. Sloan wished she’d spit it out before she was late to class.

While she waited, Sloan pulled her math book from her backpack and put it in her locker. She winced when her ribs hurt, and she leaned over against the locker again. “Ow.”

“What? Something wrong?” Darcy could always see the obvious.

“Nothing. My ribs still hurt. Nothing major.”

“I’d say so. Boyd did a number on them. Mine too. Darcy reached in her bag and pulled out a white bottle. “In fact, the doctor gave me these to take for the pain.”

Sloan looked it over. It wasn’t anything more than a pill bottle sold over-the-counter at the store. “You don’t need a prescription for those.” She pointed at the name on the bottle.

“Goober,
that’s
not in the bottle. The prescription my doctor gave me is, but we can’t have prescription pills here without having the nurse hand them out. I’m seventeen, Sloan. I don’t need a nurse handing my pills to me like I’m a baby. Plus, I take them more than the doctor ordered. The nurse wouldn’t like that.”