Sweet Heart (The Hearts of Sawyers Bend #2) - Ivy Layne Page 0,98

inside. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, everything.

Everything could go wrong. And everything did.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Daisy

J.T. blocked me at the bottom of the steps and held out his hand. “You're way too upset to drive. Give me the keys.”

J.T. was always good at making me laugh. “Right. You know I'm fine to drive, you just want to get behind the wheel of Royal's car.”

“Guilty. Now hand over the keys. You know he wouldn't mind.”

I dropped the keys into his outstretched palm and opened the passenger door, carefully setting the pie at my feet. Royal definitely wouldn't mind if J.T. drove his car, and I didn't care. It was a cool car, no doubt, but I'd had my turn and hopefully would again. All I could think about was getting to Royal.

I was halfway in the passenger seat when something thumped hard on the roof of the car, followed by a grunt.

“J.T.?”

We needed to get better lighting in the alley behind the bakery. All I could see was shadows, two of them, swaying and dipping in and out of the faint light from Main Street. Another grunt, this one of pain.

I shot out of the seat, stumbling a little in my sandals as I rounded the back of the car to get to J.T. He was struggling with someone the same height as him but more slender. Dark hair, pale face, and a flash of metal.

Vanessa, and she had a knife.

What the hell? Why would she go after J.T.?

I shifted my weight, looking for an opening, for any way to get her off J.T. With that knife flashing and the two of them in a combative dance, I couldn't get close. Physically, I was outmatched, but I had my voice and I had a phone. Somewhere.

Racing back around the car to find my phone, I started to scream. Main Street was mostly deserted this time of night, but someone had to be close enough to hear me.

Scrabbling for my phone in the passenger seat, I screamed as loud as I could. “Help! Help us, please! She has a knife!”

Over and over, I shouted and called, hoping someone would come. All I could hear from the other side of the car was their feet sliding on the pavement and grunts. Then a cry of pain.

J.T.—

No! I caught the reflection of my phone under the seat—I must have kicked it there when I jumped out. Grabbing the phone, I unlocked the screen. The police department's number was still pulled up. Thank god someone answered.

“This is Daisy Hutchins. I'm in the alley behind Sweetheart Bakery with J.T. Swift. Vanessa Sawyer attacked us. She has a knife and we need help.”

The dispatcher gave a gasp as I identified our assailant. “Are you injured?”

“I'm not, but J.T. is, I think. They're fighting over the knife. I'm not close enough to tell.”

A brief pause, then muffled sounds like she was talking with her hand over the phone. When she came back, her voice was calm. “Daisy, I have deputies on the way, and I'll get West as soon as I can reach him. Stay away from Vanessa and the knife. Go to the head of the alley so they can see where you are.”

“I can't leave J.T. I'm sorry, I can't leave him. I think he's hurt. Please, hurry.”

I dropped the phone and came around the back of the car to see them still grappling over the knife. Vanessa's face was twisted with rage, the knife flashing in what little light there was, seeming impossibly bright and sharp as she yanked her arm down and buried it in J.T.'s shoulder.

“No!” The scream was torn from me. I launched myself over the back of the car, not thinking, just seeing that long knife, hearing J.T.'s cry of agony. Vanessa wrenched the knife out and stabbed again, her momentum carrying them to the ground. She rolled on top of him, bringing the knife down once more, this time stabbing deep into his side.

It was dumb, I know, but I threw myself at her, knocking her off J.T. as we rolled. I lost track of the knife, lost track of everything. I only wanted her away from J.T.

She fought me, all long limbs and sharp nails, the knife nowhere to be seen. Her fist came around and struck my cheek, pain exploding, slowing me down just enough for her to roll me on my back and pin me.

“I have to,” she muttered, her long, dark hair everywhere, her