Dream of You (Wait for You #4.5)(2) by J. Lynn

The bald man was pointing a gun at the injured man!

Instinct was screaming like a five-alarm fire. Run. Get away. There’s a gun! Go. But I couldn’t move, torn between shocked disbelief and some inherent, possibly suicidal urge to do the right thing, to intervene and to—

A small light burst and thunder cracked overhead. The injured man crumbled as if some grand puppeteer had cut his strings. He hit the ground with a fleshy smack, and for a moment, all I could hear was my heart beating fiercely, pushing blood through my veins.

That popping snap wasn’t thunder. The burst of light was a spark.

Reality slammed into me as I stared at the fallen man in the alley. A dark puddle formed, spreading from where he lay face first on the dirty pavement. My heart seized in my chest as I opened my mouth, dragging in air.

No. No way.

The man with the scar was talking to the one with the gun, his voice an excited, high-pitched squeal, but I was beyond hearing the exact words. My hand spasmed, and the keys slipped from my grasp. They clattered off the sidewalk, as loud as me trying to run on a treadmill.

Bald man’s head swung sharply in my direction, and if I had felt like time had slowed before, it stopped right then. Our gazes locked, and in an instant, a horrifying connection was formed. He saw me. I saw him.

I saw him shoot someone in the face.

And this man, this killer, knew that.

His arm started to lift. All my muscles reacted and unlocked at the same moment. Pulse pounding, I spun around and started running back toward the bar, my lungs burning as a scream tore out from me, a sound I was sure even in my darkest moments, I’d never made before.

Brick exploded to my left, showering wickedly sharp chunks into the air. Flashes of pain erupted along my cheek, and I stumbled. The heel on my shoe snapped and slipped off, but I kept running, leaving the shoe behind.

I needed to find someone. I needed to call for help. I needed—

Rounding the block, I slammed into someone. A startled scream was cut off as I bounced back. There was a grunt, and I felt a hand grasping for my arm, but it was too late. I went down, landing hard on my side. A flash of pain jarred my bones, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Holy shit,” a male voice boomed above me. “Are you okay?”

I gulped and wheezed air as I flopped onto my front as I heard a woman say, “Of course she’s not okay, Jon. She kamikazed into you!”

Lifting my head, I peered through the hair that had fallen into my face. I saw them—the one with the scar and the bald man, the cold-blooded murderer, running away, down the sidewalk, beyond where my car was parked. I watched them until they disappeared.

“Miss?” the man asked. “Miss, are you okay?”

Hands shaking, I pushed up onto my knees. The whole world took on a startling clarity. Cars driving by sounded like airplanes. Nearby doors closing sounded as if they were being repeatedly slammed, and my own heart was beating like a steel drum.

“Yes. No.” I rasped out. Pressing my fingers to my burning cheek, I jerked my hand back when I felt the wet warmth. Darkness smeared the tips of my fingers. My gaze shot back to where I’d run from. “We need to call the police. Someone has been shot.”

Chapter 2

I’d never been inside a police station before. One might think I lived a boring life. No parking tickets to appear for. I’d never been fined for speeding. Even as a teenager, I obeyed the law.

Well, I did do a little underage drinking here and there, and I most definitely smoked a bit of weed in my day, but I’d never gone overboard.

And I’d been clever enough to not get caught.

But now I was sitting in one of those rooms that I’d only seen on reality TV. I was sure the camera in the corner wasn’t for show. Although I’d done absolutely nothing wrong, I half expected a barrel-chested detective to burst through the door and start throwing accusations at me.

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