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  “What are you talking about?”

  He grinned, showing off his bloody teeth. He had knocked out two of the top front ones, probably from the impact when driving the truck into the tree, and strings of blood were dangling from them.

  “You heard me.”

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “Really? Think about it. How much do you really know about her?”

  I stared down at the pathetic man. I wanted to hurt him so badly, to slap him across the face, but I didn’t. Instead, I stared at him, my hand with the gun shaking with anger.

  “You don’t know anything about my wife,” I said. “Absolutely nothing!”

  “Probably not then,” he said, still grinning. “My mistake.”

  Faster than I realized what he was up to, he then reached up, grabbed my hands, pressed down on my finger on the trigger, and fired the gun.

  Chapter 54

  They kept Josie at the hospital for twenty-four hours to monitor her heart, then sent her home, telling me that everything was as it should be. The heart was functioning as it should, and as long as she stayed away from stressful situations for a few weeks, she’d be fine.

  Needless to say, I was very relieved to hear that.

  I brought her home and put her to bed so she could take a nap. I sat on the edge, then folded my hands.

  “Dear God, thank you for protecting Josie. Thank you for letting me have more time with her here. I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”

  I felt Josie’s hand on my arm and opened my eyes. “God knows. He knows you need me.”

  That brought tears to my eyes, and I kissed her cheek, then sat with her till she dozed off. I liked just looking at her. Jean was downstairs, preparing dinner, and as I walked out into the hallway, I could hear her rummaging around down there. It was a sweet sound. I had told her she didn’t need to cook for us, but she had insisted. We had enough on our plate today, she said.

  I didn’t protest.

  I walked downstairs and entered Camille’s room. Her eyes lingered on me as I walked in, and I stood for a little while, simply staring at her. She was sitting in her wheelchair; her head leaned against the backrest. She moved her mouth to speak, but nothing but grunts came out.

  I had gone through all her stuff upstairs in our bedroom the night before, not sleeping even a little bit. I took every box that belonged to her and went through it, trying to make sense of things. But it had gotten me nowhere. The worst part was that I had no idea if what Ferdinand had told me just before he shot himself had any truth to it…if Camille really knew anything, or if it was just his way of making sure to ruin my life on his way out. If so, he had succeeded. He had gotten to me; that was sure. So many questions piled up in my mind, and I had no way of finding answers.

  Yet, I still had to try.

  “Why?” I asked her like she understood and knew what I was talking about. “Ferdinand said you knew about those refugees being smuggled in the appliances. Why did he say that? What did he mean?”

  Camille stared up at me. Her mouth was open, and a little drool ran from her lip. I felt so helpless. I had loved her; I had cared for her. We had a child together. She had been the woman for me. And now this? Now, I had no idea what to believe anymore. I hated the way I was looking at her now. I was terrified of the knowledge I had received. Would it make me resent her? Would it make me push her away? And even if Ferdinand was right, could I still judge her for her previous actions? Could it have been something from her past he referred to? Back when she was a drug addict? So much had happened since then. She had changed. At least, I thought she had until she overdosed. But then she had suffered a brain injury; could that have changed her? Or did she belong in jail for what she knew or had done?

  And most importantly, could I still love her?

  The door opened behind me, and Jean entered. Camille turned her eyes to look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you guys talking? Am I interrupting something? I just wanted to take Camille out of her room. I thought she could sit in the kitchen with me. I know she likes to do that from time to time. And it gets her out of this room.”

  I nodded and wiped away a tear.

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  Camille made a loud squealing noise as she usually did when she wanted something. Jean turned to look at her.

  “Oh, it looks like she wants the sketchbook. I gave her Josie’s a few days ago when I was alone with her, and she seemed to enjoy scribbling on it. Nothing I could make anything of, but I think with a little practice, she might be able to write real letters and maybe, in time, tell us what she wants.”

  Jean reached over and grabbed the sketchbook, then handed it to Camille along with a pen. Camille groaned, then held the pen in her clenched fist and drew something on the paper.

  Jean turned to look at me, then smiled compassionately. “Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”

  “I’m just…pondering about things; that’s all.”

  “Is it the case? About the refugees? Did they not catch everyone involved?” she asked.

  I swallowed, then shook my head.

  “We’re not sure. Some might have been in on it that we don’t know about. Those types of things usually spin a lot deeper than what you’d think.”

  She nodded. “A lot of those they arrested out at the warehouse were officers, right? That’s what they said on TV. Some were hired help, but a bunch of them were cops. Bad seeds.”

  “Yeah, apparently it’s been going on for quite some time and reaches deep within the force. It’s a mess. I’m not exactly popular in the halls these days for taking down a bunch of my colleagues.”

  “And Fowler?”

  “What about him?”

  “You think he was in on it too?”

  “No, why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that…well, the former major was. Maybe he took over the torch if you know what I mean. They were close, weren’t they?”

  “I don’t think that’s the case…” I said. “I’ve known Fowler for years. I don’t think he’d ever…”

  “Okay, so let me ask you this. Did you ever find out how they knew where to find Josie when you were hiding her with Al? Did anyone else know where she was? Did you tell anyone else besides Fowler?”

  “No, but…he could have told someone; maybe he told Ferdinand?”

  She gave me one of those looks. “You really believe that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because…”

  “And how did Ferdinand get away from the warehouse at the port?” she continued. “The SWAT team had the area surrounded, yet he got to the truck and drove away? Are you telling me someone isn’t helping him? I think you have a mole, someone on the inside helping him. Someone high in the ranks. That’s what I think.”

  I exhaled, annoyed. “You watch too many movies.”

  I said the words in order to stop this conversation, hoping to sweep it off the table. I didn’t want to talk to her about this anymore. I wanted this to be over and all the bad seeds found.

  Yet, I couldn’t help wondering if she was right. She made a strong point. Not one that I liked much. But something wasn’t right about this story, and I needed to get to the bottom of it, even though it wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Anyway, do with it what you want,” Jean said, then walked to Camille. “I told you what I think…say, what’s that?”

  She grabbed Camille’s sketchbook, then studied it.

  “I think you should see this,” she said, showing it to me.

  I approached them, looking at the scribbles on the paper. To me, it didn’t look like anything, at least not at first. But as I got closer, I could make out what looked like two single words.

  KILL ME

  I looked up at Camille, then back at the words.

  “Kill Me?”

  Jean nodded, a sad look in her eyes.

  “You want me to kill you?” I asked Camille. “Are you crazy? That�
��s not gonna happen.”

  Camille groaned loudly, her hand with the pen in great spasms. She was getting agitated, and when she was like that, it was even harder for her to control her movements.

  “She’s upset. I don’t think that’s what she is trying to say,” Jean said. “Could it be something else?”

  “Like what?” I asked, confused. “I don’t see what else it could be? She wants to kill me?”

  “No, you dummy,” Jean said. “I think it means someone tried to kill her. Someone tried to kill Camille. It wasn’t an accident. She wasn’t doing drugs. She didn’t overdose.”

  Hearing this, Camille suddenly yelled, almost screamed at the top of her lungs: “JOSIE! JOSIE!”

  I stared at her, puzzled. Jean snapped her finger.

  “She keeps saying that, yelling it out. Maybe that’s what it means? That’s what she’s been trying to tell us all this time when yelling out Josie’s name? What if she was really trying to tell us that someone tried to murder her?”

  My eyes locked with Jean’s, and I felt more mystified than ever. Was she right? Had someone tried to kill my wife? Did it have anything to do with what Ferdinand had said? With what Camille knew and maybe had been a part of?

  As more and more questions piled up, I felt more confused than ever, especially about who to trust in this town. But one thing was certain. One thing Ferdinand had been right about.

  I didn’t know my wife at all.

  THE END

  Want do know what happens next?

  Get Book 3 in the Harry Hunter Mystery Series,

  NO OTHER WAY here:

  https://readerlinks.com/l/1004330

  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing RUN GIRL RUN (Harry Hunter#2). This is the second book in a planned series of shorter, more fast-paced mysteries that I’m planning to write. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I know I left you with unanswered questions, but don’t worry. Answers will come in the upcoming books as we find out what really happened to Camille.

  I know this story is a little extraordinary, and it might be hard to believe, but something like it actually happened. An eight-year-old girl received the heart of a ten-year-old girl who had been murdered. Later, she began having frequent dreams of someone being murdered. The girl was taken to a psychiatrist, and it was later concluded that the girl was talking about a real incident, going into details she couldn’t possibly know. After contacting the police, they were able to provide clues like time of death, murder weapon, place, clothes worn by the murderer, and what the little girl had said to him before she died. All that led to the arrest and later conviction of the murderer of the eight-year-old girl.

  It’s on the verge of being supernatural, but actually, it isn’t, according to the scientists and doctors. There are, in fact, scientific reports written about this, and about all the accounts of transplant receivers experiencing a change in nature afterward and dreaming things that their donors lived through. A Dr. Pearsall has collected the accounts of seventy-three heart transplant patients and sixty-seven other organ transplant recipients and published them. You can read more here. This article also goes into possible explanations for the phenomenon. It’s very interesting:

  https://www.namahjournal.com/doc/Actual/Memory-transference-in-organ-transplant-recipients-vol-19-iss-1.html

  You can also read more here:

  https://www.iacworld.org/the-scientific-mystery-of-transplant-cellular-memory-projectiological-hypotheses/

  Now, the story about refugees being smuggled hidden in appliances is also taken from the real world, believe it or not. Border control between Mexico and the U.S. recently found eleven Chinese migrants inside the furniture and appliances in the back of a truck. It never ceases to amaze me how they keep finding inhumane ways to smuggle people and what refugees will subject themselves to in order to make it. You can read more and see the pictures here:

  https://www.cnn.com/2019/12/10/us/california-border-migrants-hiding/index.html

  As always, I am so grateful for all your support. Don’t forget to post a review of the book if you can.

  Take care,

  Willow

  About the Author

  The Queen of Scream aka Willow Rose is a #1 Amazon Best-selling Author and an Amazon ALL-star Author of more than 80 novels. She writes Mystery, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense, Horror, Supernatural thrillers, and Fantasy.

  Willow's books are fast-paced, nail-biting page-turners with twists you won't see coming.

  Several of her books have reached the Kindle top 20 of ALL books in the US, UK, and Canada.

  She has sold more than four million books all over the world.

  Willow lives on Florida's Space Coast with her husband and two daughters. When she is not writing or reading, you will find her surfing and watch the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

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  What Hurts the Most (7th Street Crew Book 1)

  Excerpt

  For a special sneak peak of Willow Rose's Bestselling Mystery Novel What hurts the most turn to the next page.

  Prologue

  Cocoa Beach 1995

  They’re not going to let her go. She knows they won’t. Holly is terrified as she runs through the park. The sound of the waves is behind her. A once so calming sound now brings utter terror to her. She is wet. Her shirt is dripping, her shoes making a slobbering sound as she runs across the parking lot towards the playground.

  Run, run! Don’t look back. Don’t stop or they’ll get you!

  She can hear their voices behind her. It’s hard to run when your feet are tied together. They’re faster than she is, even though they are just walking.

  “Oh, Holly,” one of them yells. “Hoooollllyyy!”

  Holly pants, trying to push herself forward. She wants desperately to move faster, but the rope tied around her feet blocks them and she falls flat on her face onto the asphalt. Holly screams loudly as her nose scratches across the ground.

  Get up! Get up and run. You can’t let them get you.

  She can hear them laughing behind her.

  You can make it, Holly. Just get to A1A right in front of you. Only about a hundred feet left. There are cars on the road. They’ll see you. Someone will see you and help you.

  She tries to scream, but she has no air in her lungs. She is exhausted from swimming with her legs tied together. Luckily, her arms got free when she jumped in the water. They have pulled off her pants. Cut them open with a knife and pulled them off. Before they stabbed her in the shoulder. It hurts when she runs. Blood has soaked her white shirt. She is naked from the stomach down, except for her shoes and socks. Holly is in so much pain and can hardly move. Yet, she fights to get closer to the road.

  A car drives by. Then another one. She can see them in the distance, yet her vision is getting foggier. She can’t lose consciousness now.

  You’ve got to keep fighting. You’ve got to get out of here! Don’t give up, Holly. Whatever you do, just don’t give up.

  Their footsteps are approaching from behind. Holly is groaning and fighting to get a few more steps in.

  So close now. So close.

  “Hurry up,” she hears them yell. “She’s getting away!”

  Holly is so close now she can smell the cars’ exhaust. All she needs to do is get onto the r
oad, then stop a car. That’s all she needs to do to get out of there alive. And she is so close now.

  “Stop her, goddammit,” a voice yells.

  Holly fights to run. She moves her feet faster than she feels is humanly possible. She is getting there. She is getting there. She can hear them start to run now. They are yelling to each other.

  “Shoot her, dammit.”

  Holly gasps, thinking about the spear gun. She’s the one who taught them how to shoot it. She knows they won’t hesitate to use it to stop her. She knows how they think. She knows this is what they do. She knows this is a kick for them, a drug.

  She knows, because she is one of them.

  “Stop the bitch!” someone yells, and she hears the sound of the gun going off. She knows this sound so well, having been spearfishing all her life and practiced using the gun on land with her father. He taught her everything about spearfishing, starting when she was no more than four years old. He even taught her to hold her breath underwater for a very long time.

  “Scuba diving is for tourists. Real fishers free dive,” she hears his voice say, the second the spear whistles through the air.

  It hits Holly in the leg and she tumbles to the ground. Holly falls to the pavement next to A1A with a scream. She hears giggles and voices behind her. But she can also hear something else. While she drags herself across the pavement, she can hear the sound of sirens.

  “Shit!” the voices behind her say.

  “We gotta get out of here.”

  “RUN!”

  Chapter 1