Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“What’s the code?” I ask him, looking at the screen that is cracked and chipped like it’s been tossed out a window more than once, but beyond that is the image of a soccer ball in the middle of a green field.
“Six-seven-two-nine.”
I type it in and lick my lips as pain slices up the tips of my fingers, which are red. Clicking open the keypad, I dial 911 and listen as it rings once before a woman comes on the line. As I explain to the dispatcher what happened and that we need the police or an ambulance, I follow the guy to a double-cab pickup truck that is parked on the street and wait on the sidewalk. Then, while he gets the little boy into the cab and starts up the truck to turn up the heat, I hang up with the dispatcher.
“The police are on the way,” I tell him, giving him his phone. “I’m going to run to my house to get him a blanket, then I’ll knock on some doors.” I look around. “Maybe someone will be able to tell me who his parents are. I’d hate for the police to show up and they not be here.”
“No.”
“What?” My brows draw together as I lift my head to meet his gaze.
“Doll, you’re hardly dressed, and soaking wet. You’ll sit in my truck with the kid, where it’s warm, and I’ll see if I can find his parents.”
“I’m fully covered.” I frown, glancing down at my wraparound sweater that has fallen slightly open but is still tied tightly around my waist, and my leggings that are made out of the same teddy bear material. And with my tank top on, there’s barely a hint of cleavage. Plus, before I ended up getting covered with pond water, I was actually quite warm, standing outside on my porch in what I have on.
“Whatever you say, doll,” he mutters, and I narrow my eyes on him. Not that he notices, as he moves around me to the back door of the truck, opening it and pulling out a sheet that is covered with splotches of old paint. “Come on.” He takes hold of my wrist, pulls me around to the driver’s side, and opens the door. “Get in.”
I want to argue and tell him that he shouldn’t manhandle people or order people around, then reiterate that I am dressed, but I know that now is not the time for that. Especially not with the little boy curled up in a ball, shaking like crazy, just a few feet away. With a deep breath, I climb into the truck that is stupidly high, and once I’m seated, I snatch the sheet out of his hands and pull the door closed before he can say anything else to me.
“Hey, bud.” I scoot over to the kid, and he opens his eyes to look at me. “I’m gonna help you get out of that jacket and your snow pants, okay?” I wait for him to nod, then start to help him get rid of the heaviest pieces of clothing, leaving them on the floorboard of the truck, before I wrap the sheet around him. “Better?”
“M-Mom,” he slurs, sounding both exhausted and like he’s trying not to cry.
“I’m sure she’s coming,” I assure him, rubbing his back and letting out a sigh of relief when I hear the sound of sirens getting closer. From where we’re parked, I can see the entrance to my subdivision, so the minute a police cruiser and fire truck come around the corner, I look around. The guy, whoever he is, is nowhere in sight, and there are still no parents out and about. Not that I don’t think that’ll change the minute the police pull up. I’m sure then every single person in the neighborhood is going to come outside to see what’s going on. “Help is almost here.”
The cruiser pulls up next to the truck, while the fire truck parks, and I open the door to get out, regretting it immediately. Having been in the warm interior of the truck for the last few minutes, the material covering me has warmed up, but it’s all still wet. The cold air soaks through in an instant, knocking the breath out of my lungs. Ignoring how cold I am, I hop down to meet the officer when he gets out of his car.
“Ma’am,” he greets me with a dip of his chin, and I quickly lead him around to the opposite side of the truck.
“He seems to be doing better than he was,” I tell him as I open the door, and three firemen join us. “And the guy whose truck this is, is looking for his mom.”
“I think he found her,” one of the firemen mutters when we hear a scream, and I see a woman running at full speed toward us, with Aiden—or his lookalike—close on her heels.