10 Years Later Part 14

"I told him that too many people might draw attention to us, and we don't know what Mickey's up to."

"Good call," Tucker said, and I was relieved that he agreed.

"So let's meet up at our normal location and take one car in," I suggested.

"You got it. I'm on my way."

Pulling into the busy shopping center parking lot, I pulled my car to a stop and waited for Tucker to arrive. Glancing in my rearview, I saw him driving in. I hopped out as he rolled down his pa.s.senger window and I leaned against it.

"Ready?" he asked from the driver's seat, making no move to get out.

I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you want to drive today?"

"Get in, we're wasting time," he demanded.

After rolling my eyes at him, I reached inside my car, grabbed the camera from the backseat, and locked up the car behind me before hopping into the pa.s.senger seat of Tucker's less conspicuous car. Both of our automobiles were station a.s.signed, but mine was newer. Once buckled in, I turned on the radio channel and checked in with our boss.

We arrived at the LB docks in record time. The hair on the back of my neck lifted as we drove in, but I ignored it and encouraged Tucker to drive deeper into the shipyard. Ship workers milled about in the distance as we searched for any sign of our suspect. He pulled the car to a stop, and I wished we had a little more information to go on. This place was f.u.c.king huge, and I had no idea where to even start looking.

Glancing at Tucker, I asked, "See anything?"

He breathed out an aggravated huff. "Nothing. Where the h.e.l.l is he? Did Eddie mention a particular ship, or a dock slip?"

"No. f.u.c.k." Frustrated, I slammed my hand against the dashboard. Missing the opportunity to gather more evidence on this piece of s.h.i.t would not go over well with the Feds a.s.signed to monitor the case. "Think we should get out? Move around on foot?"

"Something's not right," Tucker said, and I couldn't disagree. Everything felt wrong. "I think we're being set up."

"I think you're right."

Tucker and I both glanced up through the windshield, seeing the same thing at the same time. Mickey stood about fifty feet in front of us, his middle finger in the air, while his other hand rested on his hip, where I a.s.sumed a gun lay strapped out of view.

"s.h.i.t!" Tucker and I both yelled at the same time.

The station radio crackled to life with a warning as gunshots filled the air.

"Dalton, Tucker, get the h.e.l.l out of there. Do you copy? Get out of there, it's a setup! Come in, over!"

Panic.

Cammie.

I arrived at Graziano's ten minutes early and approached the hostess counter. "Hi. I have reservations at five."

The hostess smiled as she glanced down at the chart in front of her. "Sure. What's the name?"

Shifting my purse strap higher on my shoulder, I said, "It should be under Thomas."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Dalton Thomas, reservations for two. He's not here yet, but your table is ready if you'd like to follow me."

I smiled in return and followed as she led me to a table in the back of the room. Although I wanted to know when Dalton was headed my way, I took the seat that didn't face the entrance of the restaurant, knowing where he would prefer to sit.

"Your waitress will be with you shortly. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, thank you."

She hurried off as a busboy appeared and poured two gla.s.ses of water, then delivered a basket of bread, a bottle of olive oil, and fresh basil. It looked and smelled incredible. I knew that I should have waited for Dalton, but I couldn't help myself as the scent of freshly baked bread wafted toward me.

A young waiter appeared. "Good evening. My name is Richard and I'll be your waiter this evening. I see that we're still waiting for the rest of your party to arrive. So in the meantime, can I start you off with anything to drink?"

"I'll take a gla.s.s of white."

"We have a pinot grigio from Tuscany that's crisp and fruity," he suggested.

"That's perfect, thank you," I said, and he scurried off.

My wine arrived, and I contemplated for a moment whether I should wait for Dalton, or order him a gla.s.s as well. I did neither and sipped my wine as I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was embarra.s.sing to sit alone in a nice restaurant while you waited for someone else to show up. I felt like everyone's eyes were fixed on me, even though logically, I knew they weren't. It was in that moment that I realized I hated having my back to people too. But I suffered through it for Dalton.

Glancing down at my phone, which I'd sat on the table next to my silverware, I noted that it was ten after five. He was late, but not late enough for me to be truly worried. LA traffic could be a nightmare, and for all I knew, Dalton was stuck in it.

I stared at my phone every few minutes, typing out text messages to him as I wondered where the heck he was. Richard the waiter continued to cast sad glances my way as the seat reserved for Dalton remained empty.

Cammie: Are you on your way? Our waiter keeps looking at me like I'm a lost puppy. Hurry up! : ) Cammie: Still nothing? All right, well, I'm bound to be good and loosened up by the time you get here. The wine is pretty spectacular.

Cammie: Okay, I'm starting to worry.

Cammie: Dalton! I'm really starting to lose it here.

Panic slowly started to creep in. It was so subtle that I barely even noticed it at first. Minutes turned into half an hour, and he still hadn't arrived. I pressed the b.u.t.ton on my cell phone again, watching as the screen lit up to reveal no new messages, and telling me it was now 5:47.

I finally called Dalton's phone, fidgeting in my chair as it went straight to voice mail. I sent him another text message as well, just to cover all my bases.

Cammie: Where are you?

By the time an hour had come and gone with no sign of Dalton, I was in full-fledged freak-the-f.u.c.k-out mode. I was sweating, my heart pounding so hard it could probably be seen beating through my top. Terror ripped through me, filling my mind with devastating thoughts.

Something was wrong. Where was he? Something had happened to Dalton; I just knew it.

Sensing I was about to lose my cool, I knew I needed to get out of the restaurant before I exploded. What the h.e.l.l was happening to me? Complete and utter panic consumed me as I waved Richard over.

"I'm really sorry," I told my waiter. "I guess he's not coming. Can I just get the check for the bread and the wine?" My mouth was so cottony with fear, I was surprised I could even get the words out.

Richard disappeared quickly before returning empty-handed. "My manager says it's on the house, miss. I'm sorry about your date." He looked so sympathetic, as if I'd just been stood up. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?"

Dazed, I shook my head. "I'll be fine, thanks."

My stomach twisted as anxiety washed through me. Terror, sadness, and an ache there were no words for enveloped me. The walls closed in around me, and I desperately needed to get the f.u.c.k out of there before I got sick all over their beautiful imported flooring.

I shoved out of the chair and raced out of the restaurant, thankful that my legs moved me at all. Not caring about the concerned looks in my wake, I barely noted the tears spilling down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I raced for the security of my car. Once I was locked inside, my panic only continued to grow.

My heart was beating so violently that I was convinced I was having a heart attack. This wasn't normal, what I was experiencing. I needed to go to the hospital, but I couldn't drive there.

I couldn't believe that I was going to die in a f.u.c.king parking lot. I opened my mouth wider, trying to suck in more air, to take deeper breaths, but my chest refused. It felt like it was caving in on top of me each time I tried. I was definitely dying.

Pressing the speed dial b.u.t.ton for Kristy, I rocked in my seat as the sound of ringing filled my ears.

"What's up, hooker?" she said cheerfully.

"Something's wrong," I choked out through my tears. "I think I'm dying."

"What? You're not dying. What's wrong? Are you okay? Cammie, what happened?"

Kristy's concern should have been soothing, but it did nothing to ease my current state of mind. I swiped at my wet cheeks, trying not to sob as I spoke.

"Dalton didn't show up. We had a date and he never showed. But I think I'm having a heart attack."

"Well, I'm sure he just got tied up at work or something," she said, attempting to calm me down, but it only made things worse. "Did you try to call him?"

I wanted to reach through the airwaves and strangle her. "Of course I tried to call him. It went straight to voice mail. Did you hear me about the heart attack?"

"Well, that means his phone is off. Maybe he's still at work?" she suggested. "Or sleeping?"

Why wasn't she listening to me? Why wasn't she helping me?

"Kristy!" I cried and couldn't stop the tears. "I'm completely freaking out right now. Can you come get me? Please? Something is wrong with me and I can't drive."

"I'll be right there. Graziano's, right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Once I'd ended the call, I buried my head in my hands and sobbed. Thoughts of worst-case scenarios filled my mind, holding me in their grip. If something had happened to Dalton, I'd never know. No one would call me, would they? Dalton could be hurt or worse, and I'd never f.u.c.king hear about it because no one knew that I even existed. These nightmarish thoughts niggled in the back of my mind, and I tried my best to toss them away, ignore them, give them no life, but they refused to leave. They took root in my brain and grew to epic proportions.

Something had happened to Dalton, something bad; I knew it. And there was nothing I could do about it.

"I'm here, I'm here." Kristy's voice rang out from the pa.s.senger seat as she entered it through the unlocked door.

I looked over at her, wondering if I looked as insane as I felt. "You have to take me to the hospital. Please. Something is definitely wrong with me."

A concerned expression crossed her face as she reached out and touched my shoulder. "I think you're having a panic attack. Just breathe."

"I can't f.u.c.king breathe!" I screamed out at her. She wasn't listening, and I was going to die because she wouldn't listen. "Take me to a hospital or call 911. Your choice."

"Okay, let's go. But we're taking my car," she said firmly, her tone allowing me no room to argue.

She jumped out and came over to the driver's side to help me, then hustled me over to her car. Once she had me settled, she drove like a bat out of h.e.l.l, and I probably should have been relieved, but her new sense of urgency only fueled my panic.

"I can't breathe," I squeaked out, pressing a trembling hand to my chest. "Every time I try to breathe, it feels like no air will come in. You can't live without air, Kristy."

"I know. I know," she said in a soothing voice. "It's going to be okay. We're almost there." She threw me a quick glance, sympathy filling her eyes as she navigated between me and the road.

Once at the hospital, I overheard Kristy yelling at someone at the check-in counter. The woman peered around Kristy's shoulder and glanced at me before nodding her head, probably agreeing with my a.s.sessment about my impending death.

When a wheelchair was brought over, Kristy had to help me into it since my legs were shaking so much I was pretty unsteady. She wheeled me down the hall as we followed a nurse dressed in scrubs. Why wasn't she going faster?

I was placed in a hospital gown and asked way too many questions. What seemed like a million pieces of equipment were quickly attached to my body, monitoring my vitals and doing who knows what else. The nurse set me up with an IV, and came back a few minutes later with a syringe that she injected into it, explaining to me that it contained a mild sedative.

My heart instantly started to slow to a normal pace and began beating less violently. The bands that had constricted my chest eased their grip, and I was soon able to breathe easier.

"Feel better?" the nurse asked.

"That's definitely helping. Thank you." I let out a sigh of relief and wiped at my cheeks, sure my mascara had probably run at some point during this debacle.

"Don't ever do that to me again," Kristy said sternly from her perch in the only visitor's chair.

"You? I have no idea what the h.e.l.l that was. That was one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced. I felt completely out of control, like I was losing my mind," I admitted, still wondering what the heck had happened to me.

The doctor walked in, a beautiful dark-skinned woman not much older than me, glancing down at my chart in her hands before looking up and greeting me with a smile. "Well, Miss Carmichael, that was one heck of a panic attack you were having."

I glanced over at Kristy, half expecting to see an I told you so look on her face, but instead found nothing but concern.

"I'm Dr. Patel," she said by way of introduction. "Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

I shook my head. "No. Never. Are you sure that's what it was?"

Dr. Patel nodded, tucking my chart under her arm and then clasping her hands in front of her. "Yes. You display all the standard symptoms. Usually they're triggered by something. Did anything happen that might have upset you before it started?"

Dalton not showing up for our date and my not being able to get a hold of him was one h.e.l.l of an emotional trigger.

"Yeah," I said. "Something definitely happened." And so I told her about what had happened tonight, as well as what had happened the last time someone I loved hadn't shown up . . .

a a a Hopping out of the shower after winning our latest softball game, I had been thoroughly stressed about my math test the following day. I'd changed into my pajamas and met my mom in the kitchen, where she was making dinner as we waited for my dad to get home. I tossed my math book on the table and hopped onto one of the bar stools.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, wondering why he wasn't home yet. Dad was rarely late getting home for dinner.

"Running late, I guess," Mom said over her shoulder as she tended to something she had going in the frying pan that smelled delicious.

Someone knocked on the door. The knock was so gentle that at first I thought I was hearing things.

"Was that the door?" My mom turned slightly to look at me.

"I wasn't sure. I'll go check." I jumped down and rushed to the front door.

Swinging it open, I was met by the ashen faces of two police officers I didn't recognize. One looked really young, and the other was about the same age as my dad. They removed their caps as they looked at me.