Page 63 of Still Afraid

Josh turned back to find Chloe, but she wasn’t in the living room any longer. He glanced in the kitchen. No Chloe. “Chloe?” His blood pressure shot up.

He strode to the hallway. The bathroom door was closed. He relaxed. She was in the bathroom. Of course.

He shook off the disconcerted feeling of not knowing where she was for half a second. And forced himself to get his SAR pack while he waited. Full gear wasn’t necessary since the area was so close, but they needed a few things on their persons just in case.

Removing things from his pack, he lightened the load by removing sleeping gear and overnight items. He kept a first aid kit, ropes, and food like protein bars and such. He finished loading the required items back into the bag before Chloe came into the bedroom.

She hugged his waist without waiting for him to turn around, so he spun in her arms and held her close.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah …” her voice was tight. “I’m fine. Are you ready to get out there and search?”

“Pack is ready. What do you need?”

“I was going to grab the little day pack I brought here Sunday.” Her shoulders sank. “Do you suppose my gear survived the tornado?”

“Hard to say. Your brother found Poirot’s vest, so there’s a chance.”

She nodded and turned away to find her pack. Her countenance was heavy. She said she was fine, but he wasn’t convinced that was the truth.

Chloe adjusted the daypack on her shoulder while she, Poirot, and Josh stood in a short line to check in with the first responders who were managing the search and clean up. Their organization had not specifically been called in, but this was her neighborhood. She wasn’t about to stand on the sidelines.

Josh was keeping her extra close today, and she’d barely made it to the bathroom before the panic attack hit her full force. Were these going to be a regular part of her life again?

It’s not like Josh wasn’t amazing at talking her through a panic attack. He’d proven himself plenty of times, but she didn’t want to worry him right now. He was worried enough about her as it was. She’d get through this just like she’d been getting through panic attacks for the last fourteen years.

Since falling in love with Josh, though, the panic attacks had been fewer and much further between. Until this week … or well, the last eighteen hours. She was already at three. One in the middle of the night had brought her mom into the room.

Chloe had tried to brush it off, but her mom knew her too well. She’d offered to get Josh, but Chloe had told her not to. It had taken a bit of convincing to get her mom to believe she was okay, but she would be fine … in time.

It was their turn to check-in. Josh did the talking and introduced them. The firefighter they spoke to had heard about Chloe being trapped and was a little surprised she was ready to jump back in.

She shrugged. “It’ll help me process what happened. Plus, these are my neighbors. It’s my house that’s scattered across the way. I need to be out there. If anyone is missing, Poirot is excellent at sniffing them out, so please use us that way if needed.”

“Yes, ma’am. At this point, I believe everyone is accounted for, but occasionally with things like this we discover that someone may have been where they weren’t expected and then we’ll search specifically for them.”

After leaving their information, Josh, Chloe, and Poirot set off toward the damage path. They didn’t have a specific mission at the moment as no one was known to be missing and this was primarily a clean-up site.

But Chloe had her own mission. She needed to know what happened to her assailant—if she could call the person that. If the tornado hadn’t come, would he have tried to hurt her? The thought brought stomach acid up her esophagus.

Deep breath. Let it out slowly.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.

She kept walking until she was in her driveway and stopped right about where the assailant had been standing. If she had been that person, what would she have done?

“Chloe? Talk to me.”

She snapped out of her head and gave him a goofy grin.

“That was fake. What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I attempting to put myself in that person’s shoes.”

“The person who confronted you?”

She nodded. “We were standing right about here. They—for sake of not saying he or she, because I’m really not convinced one way or another—held me, and when I spotted the tornado, they turned. I shoved them back”—she took a step in the direction she had pushed—“and I ran.”