Never Giving Up (Never #3) (14 page)

“How are you holding up?” I asked softly.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

I nodded, understanding she was tired, exhausted—both physically and emotionally. “I need you to promise me something, Ella.” Her head turned and she looked at me, eyes half closed, near sleep already.

“Hmmm?”

“If you’re going to run, you have to take me with you.” I looked her in her hooded eyes, trying to be very clear, to make sure she understood me. “I want to stay here and see this guy captured, but if you’re going to run, we run together.”

“You’re not safe with me,” she whispered.

“I’m dead without you.” She took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Please, I need to hear you say it.”

“If I feel the need to leave, I promise I’ll tell you. I won’t leave you behind.”

“Promise me you won’t give up the fight, Ella.”

“That’s just it, Porter; I’m not sure how much fight I have left in me.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence, my hand wrapped around hers. When we pulled up onto our street, I spotted the cruiser a few houses down. I could see the outline of two officers in the car and admittedly was a little relieved to see them. I just hoped Ella would sleep better knowing they were out there.

We entered the house and Ella readied herself for bed, not saying one word. She was silent again and I felt myself settling into the same panic she often found herself in. I couldn’t lose her.

That night, when I was finally sure she’d drifted off, I wrapped my arm around her waist and pushed my body close up to hers, wanting to follow her into sleep with her body safely pressed against mine.

It’s amazing how a person can become accustomed to living in fear. The fear becomes normalized, something akin to the everyday. It was now normal to have a bodyguard in Dahlia with me every day. To see a police car drive by my house was relieving and to get a nod from the officers inside the car was calming.

Weeks passed and it didn’t seem as if we were any closer to finding the man who shot me as we had been before we knew his identity.

Jason Ramie.

One name changed my whole universe. I couldn’t find his face in my mind, but I could see him—his black hoodie, his slumped shoulders. I heard his voice, shouting through the glass he eventually shot me through, asking for food or money. So many things I could have done differently that night, but I still can’t find myself regretful for the way anything happened. Anytime I started to feel the panic come over me, I placed my hand on my belly and remembered that through all the terrible and scary things I’d been through in the last year, I was still in the best place I could ever imagine: married to, undoubtedly, the most wonderful man ever in creation and carrying his child. Would I do it all over again to make sure I ended up right here, right now? Yes.

I went to the doctor a few times since we learned about Jason Ramie and it was obvious that the stress of the situation was taking a toll on me. My blood pressure was sky high and my energy low. But I wouldn’t let him win. It wasn’t in my nature. Sure, I’d taken a few days to regroup. The stores had to remain closed for a few days to sort out security and I’d let Porter handle all of that—like he’d have it any other way. I took those days to allow myself to feel every emotion that came my way. Fear, pain, panic, guilt—it was all there and it tried to drag me down, tried to force me to throw in the towel.

But then I’d feel my baby move inside me, see my belly move and shift as the life inside me grew and changed, and I made a decision. I was never giving up. Never. I’d fight until there was no fight left in me. So, although I was afraid, I was brave. I went to work every day and distracted myself. Heck, I even found myself laughing eventually. Life went on as it had before, the only difference being that, every once in a while without warning, a flash of fear would shoot through me like lightening.

A man’s voice, a dark shirt, even hearing the name Jason could send me into a momentary lack of composure. The people around me understood and helped me cope but, truth be told, it was getting old. I didn’t want to live in this fear any more. So, when Detective Dillard called me one rainy morning, I was hopeful.

“Hi, Ella. It’s Detective Dillard. Do you have a free moment?”

“Sure. What can I do for you?” I was filing some sales reports in the backroom of Dahlia, sitting at my desk. I felt my heart rate pick up speed, anticipating whatever it was he called to tell me.

“We picked up a man by the name of Jason Ramie last night in Portland. We are pretty confident he’s the man who shot you, but we need you to come to the station to look at a line up. If you can ID him, it will help the case tremendously.”

“You caught him?” I whispered, shocked. Those were words I had given up on hearing.

“We got him, Ella,” he said softly.

“Like, right now? He’s in custody this very moment?” I could hear my voice getting higher, tears stinging my eyes.

“I told you I’d get him. He’s locked up this very moment, Ella, behind bars. He can’t hurt you.”

I exhaled. I let it out. So much more than air came out of me: fear, anxiety, sadness, guilt. It all came rushing out and when I breathed in, I felt lighter. I smiled and a happy tear slid down my face.

“Thank you,” I managed to whimper into the phone.

“No thanks necessary. It’s my job. But I do need you to make your way to the station as soon as possible. The line-up is important.”

“But I don’t remember what he looked like. I won’t be able to identify him.”

“Regardless, it’s still important to try, Ella.” He paused, giving me a moment to absorb everything. “Can you come to Portland today?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“See you then.” He disconnected and I immediately dialed Porter.

“Hey, Babe,” he said in greeting.

“Porter, Dillard just called me.”

“And?” His voice immediately went from happy and light to tense and worried. I had spent a lot of time focused on keeping myself sane and hadn’t paid enough attention to what this had done to my husband. Of course he was always strong and protective, but this had to have been eating away at him.

“He says they’ve caught him.”

“What?” I laughed just a little at his surprise. Surely we’d been living with bad news for so long we’d only come to expect it. Hearing good news was so much of a shock, his first reaction was to assume he’d heard me wrong.

“Yes,” another laugh breaking through. “He says they caught him last night and they want me to go to Portland and try to pick him out in a line up.”

“They caught him?” I heard his emotion through the phone and wanted desperately to hold him in that moment.

“Yes, Baby. They got him.” He took in some deep breaths and let them out, shuttering. Oh, how I wanted to be with him. “Porter, come and get me. Bring me to Portland,” I whispered.

“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.” I laughed because it was an hour’s drive.

“Drive safely, Love.”

True to his word, Porter showed up at Dahlia only fifty minutes later. He walked in, nodded at Chad, the security detail he’d hired, and came straight for me. The next instant I was in his arms, smelling the familiar scent of wood and soap, ready and willing to crawl right inside of him and live there forever.

“Are you ok?” He asked, stroking his hand down my hair.

“I am now.”

“You ready to go?” I nodded and he turned to Chad. “You’ll follow us to Portland?”

“Of course,” Chad responded, moving from his posed position of feet spread shoulder-width apart and hands grasped behind his back. He held the front door open for us and we headed out, shouting a goodbye to the girls left at the store for the day. In the past weeks, Chad had become somewhat of a shadow. He drove me where I needed to go and went with me everywhere, unless I was with Porter. Megan had a similar guard at her shop, but he only stayed in the store. She didn’t have the pleasure of having a quiet and seemingly grumpy man with her at all times.

Another development over the last few weeks was that Porter now carried a gun. It made me nervous to see the handle sticking out of his belt, or to see it holstered around his ribcage, but I knew there was no talking him out of it. And, really, I wanted him protected too, so I accepted it. I refused to carry a gun. I knew what it felt like to fire a gun into a person, what it was like to shoot someone and watch them die. Porter agreed that as long as I was with him or Chad, there was no need for me to carry a gun. It was one argument I was glad we avoided.

An hour later we pulled up to the police station and before I could even try to open my door, Chad was there, his eyes roaming around the parking lot, looking for any sort of trouble. Porter came to my side of the truck and took my hand, leading me into the station. My other hand instinctually found my belly, and I took a deep breath, trying not to freak out about what I was going to do.

Detective Dillard was waiting for us when we entered and he ushered us into another interrogation room. We sat down and Porter never let go of my hand.

“Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”

“Do you really think it’s him?” Porter’s question was short and strained. I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand, trying to calm him. I could only imagine what he was thinking, possibly being in the same building as the man who shot me. His protective instincts had to be tearing him apart.

Dillard took in a deep breath and seemed to hold it for a moment longer than normal. “I think it’s him.” I felt Porter’s hand grip mine a little tighter at Dillard’s statement. “But we really need Ella to try and ID him in a blind line-up.” His eyes drifted over to me and I could feel my pulse beating in my temples.

I shook my head at him. “I don’t remember his face. I never saw it.” Dillard put his hands out like he was offering me something. I couldn’t help but think he was trying to give me my life back, I just had to claim it.

“You’re just going to go into a room, much like this one, only instead of a mirror there will be a window. On the other side there will be eight men, all with a number above their heads. You just take your time and look at each of them thoroughly. If one of them stands out to you, or even two of them, you let me know.”

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Porter said as he pulled my chin to look at him.

“Don’t I?” I whispered.

“No. If you’re not ready we walk right out of here and go home. They can wait.”

“No, we can’t,” Dillard interjected. “We can only hold him so long on a charge with no substantial evidence. If we don’t ID someone, he’ll be back on the street by morning. And if it’s him in there, the man that shot you, he might get a crazy idea to go after you.”

Porter nearly growled at the man. “Do not use
fear
to coerce her into doing something she isn’t ready for.” His voice was full of rage and I could feel his pulse pumping through the tanned skin of his wrist. It was my turn to comfort him. I placed my hand on his cheek and urged him to look back at me.

“Porter, it’s going to be ok. I’m going to walk into a room and look at a bunch of strangers. I don’t remember him.”

“And if she doesn’t remember him, but he’s in that room, what then?” Porter was seething.

“I’ll do everything I can between now and morning to get something out of him that can give us cause to hold him.”

“There’s nothing to lose by going in there, Porter. If I leave he gets off anyway.” My hand slipped to the back of his neck and I pulled his forehead in to touch it to mine. “I’ll be ok,” I whispered.

“You ready?” Dillard asked. I turned to him and nodded. He stood up and started towards the door.

“Give me just one minute alone with her,” Porter said without looking at Dillard, still fuming. He said nothing, but left Porter and I alone in the cold room. Before I could look towards him, I felt his hands on me, pulling me into him, and his mouth pressed against mine.

There was nothing soothing or calm about this kiss. His hands were in my hair, on my neck, holding me to him, as if he were afraid I was going to float away. I let him take me. It was obvious that was what he needed, to hold on to a piece of me while we were separated. He felt helpless that I was doing this alone and in turn, he felt alone.