I needed a new phone.

I started to explain that after they finished checking me out at the hospital. Everything had been documented. Every inch of my body had been photographed for evidence—or it felt like every inch. I was exposed.

I didn’t know what they would do with the photographs, if they’d be turned over to the police? I wasn’t even sure if the cops had been called. Channing brought me in under the guise of having had an accident climbing. The nurses didn’t blink, but the doctor had paused when he saw the seatbelt imprints on my body. When that had happened, I had no idea. He paused too when I told him most of the cuts were from tree branches. From falling. When he looked at me, I knew he knew the angle of those cuts came from running at a dead sprint, not falling.

But I didn’t waver from my story, and after a second, he’d continued assessing me.

I didn’t think the cops would be involved, but a part of me wondered if that was bad or good. The concussion they’d informed me I had was making my head a little dizzy. They told me I’d have clear thoughts in a week or two. Until then, it was supposed to be dark and boring rest.

Channing never left my side, even though I knew he was probably itching to go find Richter. I told him once he could, and he’d only grunted, “Payback can wait.”

I was relieved. I didn’t want him to leave. It hurt to admit, but I barely handled it when he stepped outside of the room, for whatever reason—if a nurse had to check on something, or if he had to talk to one of the crew. All those times, he moved so I could see him through a window or I could hear his voice, and then he’d return to his spot beside me.

Brandon had promised to check on me at Channing’s tonight, then left to take care of Manny’s.

Now we were in Channing’s truck, heading to his house. He was behind the wheel with Rebecca beside me in the back, and Congo in the front seat.

The guys remained silent on the drive back, until Rebecca spoke up. “If only I’d put the brooch on you after all, and not that other guy.” She cradled her head in her hand. “I thought the guys would want to keep tabs on him, and I gave you my phone to show you since I was helping Congo. When I pinged my phone and found it on the street, I knew something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.”

“Becca,” I grunted, giving her preferred name a try for once. “Nothing’s your fault. I only got away because of you.”

She flicked a hand over her face, wiping away tears. She sniffled. “Really?”

I nodded, or tried to. The painkillers were kicking in. I was starting to feel like I was strapped in to a roller coaster.

“When I was out there, and Richter’s guys were climbing up to get me, I thought I’d have to go higher than them. And I couldn’t do it. I started to slip, and I thought I was going to die, but then I thought to myself, What would Becca do?” I grinned. “WWBD, man.”

She smiled back. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” It hurt to laugh. Well, that and it felt like the roller coaster had just tipped upside down. “I realized you wouldn’t climb. You’d think of some other way to get out of the situation, so I broke it down. I wanted them to leave, and I thought about what would make them leave. You guys weren’t going to get there in time, so I needed something else. And I thought: the police. Cops would make them run ASAP.”

“Yeah?”

“So I pulled my phone out, put on that police siren alarm, and hit a timer so it’d go off in a minute and get louder. Then I chucked my phone.”

I remembered worrying that the phone might break, that it wouldn’t work.

I worried the alarm wouldn’t work.

That minute was the longest—well, not in my life, but it took forever.

I felt myself grinning again. “When that alarm went off, I almost started crying. I slipped on the tree and fell a little bit, but they didn’t even notice.”

The alarm had been soft at first.

“They didn’t hear it at first. Then it got louder and they started hearing it.”

“Wait! What was that?”

“Oh fuck.”

“Cops!”

“That alarm got louder and louder, and they bolted out of there.”

“Hey!” One of the climbers had begun swearing. “Wait for us!”

“They left the two guys who were climbing for me.”

“You’re not far up. Just cut the rope and bolt,” the first had said as he did just that.

Both dropped almost at the same time.

“They took off after the rest. I’ve never heard more guys squealing.”

“What about Richter?” Congo asked, turning around to look at me.

I shook my head, still smiling. “He was the first to go.”