“Griffin!” she screamed. She sucked in a breath to call again, but the air scoured her lungs, leaving her coughing and gagging. She had to get Jaydra even farther away from the fire, but she also had to figure out what was happening. “Griffin? Talk to me!”
Feet ran through the gravel to her. Strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled her upright. “You’re safe now, Cheyenne,” a man said. She didn’t recognize his voice.
She was just opening her mouth to answer when an explosion knocked them both sideways into the gravel.
* * *
Not knowing how much time had passed, Cheyenne pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her cheek stung. Her mouth was open, and she felt herself screaming, her vocal cords straining, her lips stretching, the air pushing out past them.
But what she heard was … nothing.
Nothing at all.
She was deaf.
Now she had neither eyes nor ears. It was like she was drifting soundlessly in space, all alone, with nothing to anchor her.
And Octavio was dead, and Duke. Griffin and Jaydra had to be dead, too.
And all because of her.
CHAPTER 33
MORE THAN SCARS
CHEYENNE
Eight hours later, Cheyenne sat by Griffin’s hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up from surgery. The surgeon had told her and Griffin’s aunt Debby that his wound wasn’t life-threatening. The bullet had entered near his left shoulder, tunneled under the skin, and exited his right upper chest, near the base of the neck. It was a good thing, the surgeon said, that it had missed the subclavian vasculature.
Cheyenne didn’t really know what that meant, but she did understand when he said Griffin should heal without anything more than a couple of dime-sized scars to show for it.
She was also just thankful she could hear what the surgeon said at all.
It turned out that the heat from the fire had caused one of the Escalade’s tires to explode. When it did, it had been like she and the cop who was trying to help her were standing next to a bomb.
For the first five minutes, Cheyenne hadn’t been able to hear anything. It had been her worst fear come to life. She completely lost it, sitting on the gravel screaming and crying and swearing, and hearing not a single sound. It felt like after the car accident, when she realized she was never going to see again. Like waking up in a locked coffin. Trapped in a smothering dark box while the world went on without her, even as she hammered on the lid and shouted to be let out—and no one heard her. When the second cop had grabbed her forearms, trying to help her up, she had freaked out even more at another pair of hands coming out of nowhere.
Then slowly she had begun to hear a faint trickle of sounds, overlaid with high-pitched squeals and hums. Now the ringing had mostly faded.
On the bed, she heard Griffin stir.
“Hello,” he said softly, drawing out the word.
“Griffin!” She grabbed his good hand. “You’re going to be okay. That’s what the doctors say. How do you feel?”
“Fine. Basically. I mean, you’re here and I’m not dead.” His voice was slow and sleepy sounding. “And neither one of us is in handcuffs. What more could a guy ask for?” He squeezed her hand, then took a deep breath. “What about Jaydra?”
She squeezed back. “My dad and Danielle are with her. She’s down the hall. She’s in serious condition, but the doctors think she’s going to make it.”
“If Jaydra has anything to say about it, I’m sure she will.”
Cheyenne had to smile at that. “Your aunt Debby just went to the cafeteria to grab some food. She should be back soon.” At first, Debby had been wary around her, but the hours waiting for everyone to get out of surgery and recovery had broken down the wall between them.
“What about Dwayne?”
“He’s dead,” Cheyenne said. “TJ shot him with his own gun. Even though TJ was still wearing handcuffs.”
“TJ always liked trick shots.”
“The cops almost shot him, too, but I guess he threw the gun down after he shot Dwayne.”
“He’s probably more used to hearing ‘drop your weapon’ than I am.” Griffin laughed, which turned into a cough, which turned into a coughing fit.
Cheyenne stood up. “Want me to get you some water?”
In a half-strangled voice, Griffin said, “I want something, but that’s not it.”
She loosened her fingers from his grasp and began to run them over the bed rail. Was he in pain? “Should I ring the nurse?”
“That’s still not it.” He cleared his throat, then pushed a button. She felt the head of the bed move higher until he was mostly sitting up. He pressed another button, and the bed rail hummed down. Then he caught her hand and tugged. “Come here.”
Cheyenne perched on the side of the bed, facing Griffin. Her heart was beating really fast, and she was suddenly glad that she had heard Debby close the door to the hall until it clicked shut.
Griffin put his good hand on the back of her neck and gently pulled her closer. Then his mouth was on hers, lightly at first, their noses bumping.
Cheyenne cupped his cheek and then ran her fingertips over the stubble on his jaw. She started to slide her hand to the back of his warm neck, but when she touched a bandage, she switched direction. Her fingers slipped into his soft, wavy hair. Under her lips, she felt him suck in his breath.
Suddenly they were kissing so hard it was like they were trying to merge into one person. Everything went into the kiss: the fear, the bravery, the longing, the joy.
Griffin turned his head for a second, breaking contact. “Wow!” he gasped.
And then he put his mouth back on Cheyenne’s.
CHAPTER 34
NEVER WAVERING
GRIFFIN
“All rise!” said the bailiff.
Griffin got to his feet. A bubble expanded in his chest, crowding his lungs. This was it. His dad was finally facing his day of reckoning. At least for some things.
The trial had been postponed two weeks to allow Griffin time to recover, and for the prosecutor to determine what to do about the latest attempt to kidnap Cheyenne. Ultimately, Bennett had decided it would be too hard to present a winning case against Roy for what Dwayne and TJ had done. The authorities had found Roy’s cell phone, and while they guessed that the half brothers had been in touch, there was no way to prove that Roy had played a role in what had happened. Dwayne was dead, and TJ was still considered incompetent to stand trial. That also meant no one would pay for the death of Octavio Ortiz.
TJ had told the cops that Octavio thought that they were planning to steal the Wilders’ art collection. Dwayne had offered him a share of mythical millions. When Octavio realized the real plan was to steal Cheyenne, he had said no. And paid for it with his life.
With Octavio out of the picture, Dwayne had gone with his backup plan, persuading Cheyenne that he was Griffin. Although Griffin had asked what they had messaged each other, Cheyenne didn’t want to share in any detail what she had said to Dwayne when she thought he was Griffin. He was super curious, but he didn’t push.
TJ had been put back in Oregon State Hospital, and the fence around the yard had been reinforced with a second perimeter. Two of the workers who were supposed to have been watching the inmates the evening TJ escaped had been fired.
Now Judge Satterwhite, a tall black man with silvering hair, settled into his place at the front of the courtroom. “All right,” he said. “Be seated, please.”
Aunt Debby patted Griffin’s knee as they settled back down. Cheyenne, who was on his other side, gave Griffin’s hand a quick squeeze. He could pay attention to neither. His gaze was focused on his dad, who sat at the defense table with rigid shoulders. Between the suit and the haircut, it was almost possible to believe that this man was a stranger.
As Griffin waited for the verdict, his gut felt like someone had taken a weed whacker to it. Two days ago, he had testified against Roy. Against Bennett’s advice, he looked his dad straig
ht in the eye when he spoke, his voice never wavering.
In his dreams last night, Griffin had been sitting on this same hard bench, waiting for the jury to announce his father’s fate. But something had kept happening to delay it: an earthquake, a fire drill, a microphone that didn’t work.
The judge looked out at the crowded courtroom. This trial had everything the media loved: money, beauty, betrayal. Cheyenne represented both money and beauty. Griffin was betrayal.
“Let the record reflect that all parties in the trial are present and the jury is seated.” Judge Satterwhite turned to the foreman. “Mr. Michaelson, has the jury reached a verdict?”
As all eyes swung to him, the foreman got to his feet. He swallowed before answering. “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”
“Can you please state it?”
Michaelson kept his gaze on the judge. “We, the jury, find the defendant Roy Sawyer guilty of the offense of first-degree kidnapping as charged in the indictment.”
“No!” Roy shouted. He banged his fist on the table and then started to get up. Wheeler, his lawyer, yanked him back down, but not before the two sheriff’s deputies started forward, their hands on their guns.
Cheyenne shrank back, her features bunching up. Now it was Griffin’s turn to pat Cheyenne’s knee and get no response. From the other side of Cheyenne, her dad, Nick, shot him a look. He pulled his hand back and adjusted his sling.
“Sir, will you be silent, please,” the judge said in a steely tone. It wasn’t a question.
It was Roy’s lawyer who answered. “Sorry, Your Honor,” Wheeler said. “It won’t happen again.”
His dad managed to keep quiet as the jury foreman repeated the word guilty over and over to the long list of charges related to Cheyenne’s kidnapping: assault, abduction, unlawful restraint, and more.
Finally it was over. The judge thanked the jury. The deputies stepped forward to lead Roy away. Now that they were all on their feet, Griffin realized Bennett was right. At some point, he had gotten taller than his dad.
Their eyes met. Neither of their expressions changed, but somehow Griffin felt that his dad finally saw him for who he was. For the man he was becoming.
CHAPTER 35
BEAUTIFUL
CHEYENNE
It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and in some ways it had been like every Christmas season Cheyenne had ever known. In the foyer, a huge fir filled the air with its clean, spicy scent. Whenever the front door opened, the breeze rustled the silver tinsel and antique handblown glass stars that had decorated it every year that she could remember. When Danielle married Nick, she had made it clear to Cheyenne that she would never mess with important traditions.
But she had added some traditions of her own: homemade gingerbread cookies baked the first week of December, scented candles lined up on the mantelpiece, and Dutch babies served on Christmas Eve morning. These were cooked by Danielle herself and accompanied by melted butter, freshly squeezed lemon juice, and drifts of powdered sugar.
As Danielle carried the pancakes into the dining room, Griffin said, “That smells delicious.” Having him at the table was just one of the things that made this Christmas unique. After hearing about everything that had happened and meeting Griffin themselves, Nick and Danielle had slowly changed their minds about him. And they had realized that, while the world was a risky place, they couldn’t keep Cheyenne wrapped up and tucked away. They had to trust her to take care of herself and to make good decisions.
“You know what else smells delicious? Violet.” Cheyenne sniffed the top of her sleeping sister’s head and then kissed it. The baby didn’t stir in her arms. She was only ten days old and was tightly wrapped in a cotton blanket, like an eight-pound burrito.
“It’s the baby shampoo,” her dad said.
“Maybe that’s part of it,” Cheyenne answered. “But some of it’s just Violet. People want to act as if human beings don’t have a smell, but we do. If you blindfolded me and put earplugs in my ears and lined up everyone I care about in front of me, I’ll bet I could tell all of you apart just by sniffing.”
“I believe you.” Danielle set a plate in front of her. “We’re all still animals at heart.”
Maybe she was thinking of Violet’s birth. Cheyenne had gotten to be in the delivery room. Even without being able to see it, the birth was an incredibly intimate and moving experience. Sometimes primal and scary. Right before the baby was born, Danielle screamed as she crushed Cheyenne’s hand. At the end of the hospital bed, Nick shouted encouragement. And a few minutes later, the baby slid into the doctor’s hands and let out a cry.
“Here, let me hold her.” Her dad got up and took Violet from Cheyenne’s arms. “I have more practice than you do at eating while holding a sleeping infant. It reminds me of the early days with your mom, when the baby was you.” His voice thickened with emotion. Something about Violet’s birth seemed to have freed him and Cheyenne to talk about her mom more than they had since she died. He cleared his throat and then changed the subject. “I heard from Jaydra yesterday. It sounds like she’s got herself a new gig.”
Jaydra had spent the summer on Nick’s payroll, not as a bodyguard, but just to recover from her wound and regain her strength. The doctors credited her full recovery to her peak physical condition. Cheyenne was sure Jaydra’s stubbornness must also have been a big factor. No one ever really said no to Jaydra, and that included her body.
“What’s she going to be doing?” Cheyenne asked. There were rumors that an unauthorized TV movie of their ordeal was in the works, with the reigning female MMA fighter starring as Jaydra.
“She wouldn’t exactly spell it out. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someday we see her standing right behind the president with a mic in her ear.”
“Secret Service?” Cheyenne asked. It was fun to imagine Jaydra bossing the president around.
“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be so secret, would it?” Her dad laughed at his own joke.
“She would kill at that,” Griffin said. “Maybe literally.”
For a moment, there was only the sound of people eating. Cheyenne’s mouth filled with the zing of lemon, the silkiness of melted butter, and the sweetness of powdered sugar layered on the puffy pancake.
Then Danielle asked, “So, Griffin, are you done with school this term?”
“Yeah. I actually think I did pretty well.” Surprise colored his voice.
Griffin had taken two art classes at Portland Community College, which didn’t require that he have a high school diploma to attend. Danielle had looked into it, though, and it turned out there were ways to get a GED even when you had trouble reading, the way Griffin did. Cheyenne’s dad had arranged a job for him at the Nike outlet store, and he now shared an apartment with two other employees.
“In fact, Nick and Danielle,” Griffin said, “my final project was actually meant as a gift for you guys. To thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Danielle said.
“I did it because I wanted to. It’s in my backpack in the entryway—is it okay if I go get it?”
“Of course,” Nick said. Cheyenne heard the curiosity in his voice. She was intrigued, too, but of course, without sight, most art was sealed away from her. She had been to a museum just once since she had gone blind, one she had been to before. She had listened to the audio guide, relying on a combination of imagination and memory to know what the paintings looked like. And even then it was just a guess.
Griffin scooted his chair back. When he returned, staccato footfalls accompanied him.
“Duke wanted in,” Griffin called out. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Anything Duke wants, Duke gets. You know that,” her dad said. He had found Duke gravely injured near the self-driving car. Duke’s front left leg had had to be amputated, leaving him with a hopping gait. In an odd way, the injury seemed to have mellowed him. He could no longer rely on his fierce physicality to navigate the world.
r /> Cheyenne heard the backpack’s zipper unzip, and then Griffin pulled something free. There was a crackle of paper as he unwrapped it.
Danielle sucked in a breath. “Oh, that’s beautiful!”
Her dad said, “Wow!”
Griffin put it into Cheyenne’s hands. It was a flat rectangle about the size of a tabloid sheet of paper.
“Go ahead,” Griffin urged. “You can touch it.”
The back was smooth and felt like pressboard. “What is it?” she asked, running her fingers around the edges of a narrow wooden frame. She gingerly moved her fingertips to the front. It was hard and bumpy with texture.
“It’s an oil painting,” he said. “I’ve been playing around with putting the paint on really thick, so maybe you could see it that way.”
“What’s the subject?” At the top were thick swirls, but the rest of the painting was smoother.
“Can you guess?”
Near the center of the painting, her fingers found a round dot about as big as a thumbprint. There was another dot parallel with the first, about two inches away. She checked out the swirls again, and then the dots. Above each dot was an arch as wide as a pencil. Eyebrows, she suddenly thought. Eyebrows and eyes and curly hair.
“Is it a portrait?” she asked.
“It’s you,” Danielle said softly in what Cheyenne had come to think of as her mom voice. “It’s a portrait of you. And it’s beautiful.”
CHAPTER 36
WITH YOU
CHEYENNE
The dogs raced ahead of Cheyenne and Griffin as they ventured out into the backyard. It had started to snow while they were eating breakfast, and judging by the sound it made under their shoes, an inch or so had accumulated. If the snow stuck around until tomorrow, it would be Portland’s first white Christmas in their lifetimes. Snow was rare in the city. If it came at all, it was usually after the first of the year.
Cheyenne had one arm looped through Griffin’s. She smiled as she heard Duke and Phantom scuttle and chase, stop and start, snuffle and snort, and sometimes even bite the snow. Phantom worked so hard that it was good to hear him play. Aside from the dogs and the sound of their footsteps, the world was hushed. The frosty air tasted clean.