* * *
Her head danglingon her shoulders, Summer didn’t have the energy to lift it. Wouldn’t do her any good anyway. Nothing had changed—except for the number of times she’d been hit.
How many had it been now?
Five slaps from Marla? Two punches from Garret? She couldn’t remember. Probably because she kept blacking out. Not from being knocked around. Her blood sugar had dropped dangerously low, and she was about to lose consciousness for good.
Just as well. No point in beating someone in a coma.
Her arms hurt. After Summer had fallen out of her chair multiple times, Marla had ordered Garret to tie her to it.Bitch.The ropes were too tight, cutting off her circulation.
“Marla, you have to stop this,” John argued, and Summer did her best to pay attention. “She doesn’t have the…” Her eyes closed, and she lost the thread of the conversation as a swirl of vibrant colors flowed over the backs of her lids. Purples and greens, morphing into a vibrant teal edged in black.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marla snapped. “It’s too late to…”
Snatches of the melody she’d been working on filtered through, and the colors expanded, a pinwheel of musical notes forming out of a dark vortex. Yes, she liked this version much better. Would she remember it when she got back home?
She hoped so.
A snap of electricity pierced her brain, and the ground shook.
Noise. So much noise.
Then nothing at all.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Cody kicked the door in,Adam breached, and Jamie followed in time to see him double-tap the man who pulled a pistol and swung it in their direction.
“On your knees,” Adam shouted, his sights trained on the Wagners. “On your motherfucking knees. Right now!”
Jamie had no way of knowing if they complied. He had no attention to spare for anyone but Summer. Her upper body tied to an old wooden chair, she shook violently, her muscles straining against the ropes holding her.
“She’s having a seizure,” he yelled, slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and stripping the gloves off his hands. “Cut her loose.”
Cody sprang into action, slicing through the rope binding her, and catching her as she started to fall. In two strides, he set her down on the table as her body continued to jerk, her boots hammering against the wooden surface.
“Make sure she doesn’t fall off,” Jamie ordered, opening his medical kit. “But don’t restrict her movements.” His brain focused on the emergency, he moved fast, his body on autopilot as he reached for the orange Glucagon kit.
Case open, he removed the glass vial, popped off the cap, and inserted the prepared needle into the top. A quick depress of the plunger mixed the delivery solution with the medicine. “Roll her onto her side,” he ordered, tipping the bottle upside down and filling the syringe to capacity. “Watch her neck.”
On the opposite side of the table, Cody used his forearm as a pillow, cradling Summer’s head as he rolled her toward him. Her body in position, Jamie wasted no time. He put the needle between his teeth, ripped open an alcohol wipe, and pulled the waistband of her jeans down. A quick swipe later and he inserted the needle into the muscle of her left buttock, injecting the lifesaving medication as quickly as possible.
“How long before that takes?” Cody asked as Jamie removed the needle.
“Depends.” He recapped the sharp end, and dropping the syringe back into the container, he moved it aside. “Should take about fifteen minutes for her to regain consciousness, but with the seizure…I don’t know. Her blood sugar must be really fucking low.”
“Shit. Now what?”
“Keep her on her side in case she vomits but help me get her coat off.”
Cody managed to work the zipper down, and together they eased Summer out of her thin winter jacket while she continued to shake. “Christ, she’s frozen solid. We need the blankets out of the truck.”
“Yep.” Jamie would have instructed Chase to bring the F-250 to the cabin, but he heard Adam giving the order through his communicator. “How long has she been seizing?” He looked over his shoulder to find the Wagners on their knees, both sets of trembling hands in the air. “How long?” he barked again, fighting the temptation to pull his pistol when a response took too long to come.
“Not long,” John Wagner sputtered, wild eyes flitting from Summer to the dead man and back again. “About fifteen seconds before you kicked the door in. We didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear—”
“Shut up,” his wife hissed.
