Urgent Care (44 page)

“Bad. They evacuated an epidural hematoma but there’s swelling already and no one knows—”

She squeezed her eyes shut at his words. “He’ll be okay.” He had to. She had to hang on to that. “And Seth?”

“Did fine, no airway damage, so they actually extubated him in recovery. I don’t think they even sent him to the SICU—at least he wasn’t there when I called up.”

“Good.”

The resident finished smoothing the fiberglass cast. “Okay, I think I got it. Let me get an X ray and we’ll see. If not—”

“I don’t want to go to the OR,” Lydia muttered.

“You want to use that wrist again, don’t you?” Trey said, sounding a lot like his mother.

She rolled her eyes as the X ray tech wheeled the machine in. The tech laid a lead apron on top of Lydia. “You’ll have to step out, sir.” Trey obeyed, and Lydia had peace and quiet for a few minutes until Trey and the resident returned, waving the X ray in triumph.

“Perfect alignment,” the resident boasted. “Let that dry and you’ll be good to go.” He waved a hand and left once more.

Before Trey could settle into the chair beside her, Janet Kwon appeared in the doorway, her usual frown lines deepened into furrows.

“Trey, why don’t you go home?” Lydia asked.

“But—”

“I mean it, Trey. I’ll meet you at home.”

He narrowed his eyes, debating. After a long moment he gave her a grudging nod and left.

Janet slid into his place beside Lydia. “He’s not a happy camper.”

“Not many are tonight. You saw Jerry?”

“Just came from there.” Janet’s voice cracked the smallest bit. Something she would surely deny. “He’s stable.”

Neurosurgeon talk for still having vital signs, but nothing else was certain. Jerry might not make it through the night. And even if he did . . .

“We got a hit on the shooter’s prints with Live Scan. The guy’s a hired thug, got two strikes against him already in California,” Janet continued, her voice now holding an edge. “Gina tells me you might know why he decided to visit sunny Pittsburgh. Said the gunman had an old picture of you and your mother.”

Lydia startled so violently that she rocked her cast and the newly positioned bones inside it. Pain screamed along her arm, up her neck, clamping her jaws together with a snap.

“Help me up,” she gasped. Her stomach was churning, if she was going to vomit, she didn’t want to be lying down. Janet took her good arm and supported her as Lydia swung her legs around and sat up. Her vision went black for a moment, but after she heaved in a few breaths, it cleared.

“I know you had Jerry working a cold case,” Janet continued, her fingers still gripping Lydia’s arm. “You need to tell me everything.”

“I don’t know much.” Quickly she explained to Janet about her mother’s murder by an unknown man wearing a law enforcement uniform eighteen years ago. “Jerry asked a friend of his in LAPD to see what, if anything, they had on the case.”

“A friend? You mean Mitchell Epson?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Janet’s face clouded, and Lydia knew there was more bad news coming. “He was found dead in his home. Murdered. He’d been there a few days—probably happened three, four days ago. LAPD has no leads. But according to Gina, it was Epson who gave the killer Jerry’s name, sent him here to Pittsburgh.”

Lydia recoiled as if she’d been sucker-punched. “Why? There wasn’t anything new on Maria’s case.”

“It gets worse. From what Gina said, sounds like the man who shot Jerry found another Jerry Boyle—an Officer Jeremiah Boyle from Zone Two—and tortured and killed him yesterday.”

Acid clawed its way up Lydia’s throat, and she had to swallow hard to control her nausea. Jerry had been shot because of her—Gina almost killed as well. And two more police officers dead. All because she’d told Jerry her secret, told him the truth about Maria’s murder.

“I never asked Jerry to look into Maria’s murder. I told him to leave it alone. It was so long ago—” She looked up at Janet, frowning in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why is this all happening? Now, eighteen years later?”

“You tell me. What the hell is so important about your mother’s murder that two cops were killed and my partner—my friend—is lying upstairs in a coma?”

“Believe me, Janet, I wish I knew.”

Before Janet could ask more questions that Lydia had no answers to, a nurse bustled in, carrying a sling and a sheaf of discharge instructions. “Let’s get you out of here, Dr. Fiore,” she said. “It’s been a long night for you.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Janet promised. “You think of anything, you call me.”

“I will.”

Janet started out the door, then stopped. “And Lydia, be careful. Jerry will kill me if anything happens to you.”

After fleeing the ER and avoiding the press gathered around the hospital, Lydia walked the familiar route past the cemetery, her fingers gripping her keys so tight they bit into her flesh. The police had taken her gun, of course.

She paused at the locked cemetery gates, hauling herself up one-handed to see past them. The movement jarred her broken arm, the pain knocked her teeth together, but in a way it was welcome. Gave her an edge.

The weeping angel was draped in snow, most of the graffiti now hidden, with only a few remnants of crime-scene tape visible to memorialize the horror that had occurred at her feet. In the dim light, with her curling hair chiseled around her shoulders, she looked a little like Maria. The same distant, sad expression Maria used to get. As if she could see the future but was powerless to stop the pain that was coming.

Lydia’s good arm shook with exertion. She reluctantly stepped back down to the pavement. Her entire body was trembling as she turned her back on the angel.

Despite the blowing snow she kept her hood down, the better to see at the extremes of her peripheral vision. After years of running from a faceless, nameless danger—after all that time—the danger had found her. It was out there somewhere in the night, stalking her.

Taking aim at anyone near her.

She stopped at the end of her drive, listening intently. The tall hemlocks blocked all light except the faint pinpoint of her porch light.

She pulled out her keys, fingering them with her left hand until she found her car key. She could leave. Now.

There was nothing at the house she needed except Trey and the cat. They could take care of each other—better than she could.

Wind sighed through the trees, cascading snow all around her as if she were caught in a snow globe. She stood there long enough for her toes to grow numb, her fingers white with cold as they gripped the flimsy piece of steel.

She could run. She should run. But for the first time, she didn’t
want
to run.

Arching her neck, she glanced over her shoulder at the street behind her. Then she took a step. In the opposite direction. Toward home.

She wouldn’t run. Not this time.

As she approached her house, Trey and Ginger Cat appeared in the front doorway. Both looked worried: Trey by the way he held himself back, giving her the space she needed. And Ginger Cat by the way he rushed past her, darting over the threshold, searching for danger, then slipping back inside before she could close the door.

“You okay?” Trey asked, taking her coat from her, taking care not to jostle her sling or cast. “You’re freezing. I was getting worried.”

“I’m fine.” Damn, wasn’t that what Nora had kept saying? She squared her shoulders, her decision made, no regrets.

Before he could say anything more, she rubbed her palm against his cheek, circling to the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. His lips were warm, as were his arms as he wrapped them around her, ever so gently. Even after the kiss was over, he held her there, his chin resting on her hair, her face pressed against his chest.

“Thought you might like your Christmas present early,” he said when they finally parted. “Close your eyes.”

Too tired to argue, she complied. He took her hand and led her through the archway into the dining room. “Okay, open them.”

She gasped. In the corner where her surfboard used to stand was a large Douglas fir, complete with lights and sparkling ornaments.

“Surprise!” Trey’s parents, Ruby and Denny, stepped out of the shadows. “I’m sorry the kids had to leave, it was past their bedtime,” Ruby said.

“But we old folks could wait up for you,” Denny added, brushing Lydia’s cheek with a kiss. “So what do you think of your present?”

Lydia turned away from the tree that had captured her attention and saw that the rest of the wide-open space had been filled by a large Shaker-style cherry dining table and chairs. On the top was a large platter of homemade cookies.

“This is why I was so edgy about you coming home unexpectedly today. Dad and I have been working on it for a month,” Trey said proudly, skimming a hand over the table’s polished surface.

“And don’t worry about the tree,” Ruby said. “Denny found a place that sells them live. After New Year’s you can plant it, let it put down roots.”

Her words sent a chill through Lydia. She shoved her hand into her jeans pocket, clutching her car keys again. The urge to run was so overwhelming, she felt breathless.

She pulled her hand free, leaving the keys behind. “It’s beautiful,” she told Trey, reaching for his hand and holding on tight. “It’s all so beautiful. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Denny told her. “No need for thanks. This is just what families do.”

 

 

NORA JOLTED AWAKE WITH A START. BRIGHT sunlight streamed in through the window. She sat up and saw that Seth was already awake, staring at her.

“Morning,” he said, his voice raspy but strong.

“Are you—” She faltered, remembering how they’d argued before he was attacked. The last words she’d spoken to him. “You’re all right?”

“A little sore.” He patted the cervical collar that supported his neck.

Nora gently slid from the bed, taking care not to jostle him. She raised the head up for him. He’d kicked the sheets aside in his sleep, and she couldn’t help her smile at the sight of Seth’s hairy, muscular legs barely covered by the patient gown and the thigh-high surgical stockings. Pulling the sheets up to cover him, she busied herself by tucking them in around him.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, wondering why he wasn’t furious at her, why he was treating her like everything was, well, normal. She’d almost gotten him killed.

“Is he—” His face clouded.

“Dead.” She paused, not sure how much to tell him. He’d hear it sooner or later. “So is Tommy Z.”

“Are you okay?” Seth grabbed her hand, stilling her movements, scrutinizing her.

“I’m fine.” For the first time in two years, she really, truly meant it.

He didn’t let go of her hand as he stretched his other one toward the bedside stand and a tray full of materials for dressing changes.

She grabbed the tray with its tape, bandages, scissors, and set it on his lap. “What do you need?”

He just smiled. Not his usual wide-eyed grin. This smile was tentative, as if he were trying something he’d never dared to try before. “A second chance. Close your eyes.”

She frowned at him. “Seth—”

“Just do it.”

She closed her eyes. A strange flutter took control of her heart. Not fear, not panic . . . anticipation.

He raised her left hand and she felt something slide down her ring finger. He kissed her hand.

Nora’s eyes popped open. He kept hold of her hand—a ring made of surgical tape sat on her finger.

The muscles around his mouth and jaw tightened as he worked to draw in a deep breath. “Nora, I love you. I want to marry you, have babies with you, share my life with you. I’m a selfish, inconsiderate, sometimes downright-stupid bastard. I’ll work long hours, forget birthdays and anniversaries, leave the toilet seat up, but if you’ll have me, I’m all yours.”

His voice broke at the end of the speech—and it had nothing to do with his injuries. He watched her, waiting.

She admired her makeshift ring. Better than any diamond. “What girl could resist a proposal like that?”

He started to smile, a real smile this time, then it faded. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Just in case he still didn’t get it, she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him.

Not a perfect, Hollywood, fairy-tale kiss—far from it. A sloppy, nose-bumping, hard-to-avoid-his-left-side, clumsy, eager, excited, real-world kiss. An honest kiss that acknowledged past pain, future clashes, and present complications.

A kiss that said she knew him, he knew her.

A kiss that promised they belonged together.

Although
Urgent Care
is fiction, most of the facts surrounding Nora’s story are true: according to the U.S. Department of Justice, more than 60 percent of sexual assaults go unreported. Every two minutes someone in the U.S. becomes the victim of a sexual assault.