Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 98
Screams and shouts echoed down the hall. People were struggling to their feet. Equipment had toppled over and light fixtures hung from the ceiling by wires.
And my father looked at me. And he knew.
Then Reyes was in front of me again, an expression that was part anger and part satisfaction lit his beautiful, traitorous features. “Finally,” he said, right before he disappeared.
Then it was silent and Uncle Bob was leading me out of the hospital, carrying me up the stairs to my apartment, onto the sofa where Cookie had built a bed with sheets and my Bugs Bunny comforter and set a soda on the end table she’d scooted within easy reach. I was back at my apartment, stitches, arm sling, leg brace, and all.
“They’re calling it an earthquake,” Cookie said, the relief in her voice evident. Like they would ever suspect that undulating force had come from a person, especially one unable to walk and chew gum at the same time. She needn’t have worried. “And Neil Gossett from the prison called. He has information on Reyes’s status, and he wants to know how you are.” Oddly enough, I didn’t care. “I gave him the usual. But if you want to call him later, I’ll leave your phone right here.” She put it on the table beside the soft drink.
“I’ll take care of this, hon,” Uncle Bob said, hovering almost as much as Cook. “Don’t worry about what your father did. I’ll get everything dropped.” He left worried and angry, and I wanted to warn him about the dangers of driving in his condition, but I was so numb, even the thought of being a smart-ass didn’t appeal to me.
So, I sat in shock and wallowed in self-pity for a good long while before drifting off, Cookie at my side. At least I could sleep now, and suddenly sleep was all I wanted to do.
* * *
A knock sounded at the door. I didn’t quite have the energy to invite a visitor in. I’d used it all hobbling over to the snack bar and climbing up it with my one good leg. I raised the other knee and sat on the hard tile surface with my back against the wall, the coolness biting into my injuries. I didn’t deserve to be comfortable, spread out on a sofa watching soaps all day, even if I was decades behind.
Wednesday sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the countertop, the knife in her lap, and I wondered if it was there to protect her, to keep her from being betrayed by almost every man in her life. Probably not.
The drugs had kicked in and lessened the throbbing in my leg and arm. Clearly, my judgment had been clouded when I decided to make the hazardous journey to the snack bar and summit it like a rookie climbing Everest. I had no idea how I was going to get down.
I could feel Reyes hovering, sticking to the shadows but looking on, watching, waiting. I was just about to tell him to beat it when the door opened and my biker guy, Donovan, walked in like he owned the place. Mafioso and the prince were right behind him. I looked away in embarrassment. Face sutures couldn’t possibly be appealing. Thank goodness I had a huge white bandage covering half my face. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. I’d hate for him to fall out of love with me so soon after falling in.
He fixed a curious gaze on me, then sucked in a soft hiss of breath.
I covered my face with one hand, the other still impossible to raise without screaming.
“What the f**k happened to you?” he asked. He moved a barstool aside for a better look. “Did Blake do this?”
“Who?” I asked, peeking between my fingers.
The prince was studying my leg brace. I had changed into shorts with Cookie’s help and she reattached the leg brace to keep me from bending my leg. Apparently, the tendons had to heal first. The bandages around the knife wound were visible from between the straps on the brace. He put a hand on them then glanced up at me, worry in his eyes.
Mafioso stood against the wall at my feet, hands in his pockets, a decidedly uncomfortable expression lining his features.
“Blake, the guy whose life you saved the other night.”
“Oh, no.” I closed my fingers again. “This is my own doing.”
“Kind of hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
“How’s Artemis?” I asked, but I knew the answer instantly. The same regret suffusing the air. The same pain as when Cookie told me about Garrett.
“She’s gone.”
My mouth pressed together. I’d had enough death for a while. I breathed deeply before saying, “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too, darlin’.”
“Did you find your guy?”
“Who, Blake? He wised up and went to the police.”
“I would have, too, if you had been looking for me.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” I felt his fingers slide along my forearm and rest on my wrist. With the greatest ease, he tugged my hand away from my face. From where I was sitting on the bar, my head was actually a little higher than his, and I looked down. He was quite handsome for a scruffy biker sort. Of course, scruffy biker sorts were exactly my type.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He’d kept the fingers of one hand laced within mine while the other fished something out of his pocket. “I brought you a key.”
I blinked in surprise when he placed it in my palm. “A key to what?”
The prince spoke up, a bitterness in his voice. “To the asylum.”
“Whenever you need to visit Rocket,” Donovan said, glowering at his cohort, “you can go in through the front doors. No more scaling fences and climbing in through windows.”
And my father looked at me. And he knew.
Then Reyes was in front of me again, an expression that was part anger and part satisfaction lit his beautiful, traitorous features. “Finally,” he said, right before he disappeared.
Then it was silent and Uncle Bob was leading me out of the hospital, carrying me up the stairs to my apartment, onto the sofa where Cookie had built a bed with sheets and my Bugs Bunny comforter and set a soda on the end table she’d scooted within easy reach. I was back at my apartment, stitches, arm sling, leg brace, and all.
“They’re calling it an earthquake,” Cookie said, the relief in her voice evident. Like they would ever suspect that undulating force had come from a person, especially one unable to walk and chew gum at the same time. She needn’t have worried. “And Neil Gossett from the prison called. He has information on Reyes’s status, and he wants to know how you are.” Oddly enough, I didn’t care. “I gave him the usual. But if you want to call him later, I’ll leave your phone right here.” She put it on the table beside the soft drink.
“I’ll take care of this, hon,” Uncle Bob said, hovering almost as much as Cook. “Don’t worry about what your father did. I’ll get everything dropped.” He left worried and angry, and I wanted to warn him about the dangers of driving in his condition, but I was so numb, even the thought of being a smart-ass didn’t appeal to me.
So, I sat in shock and wallowed in self-pity for a good long while before drifting off, Cookie at my side. At least I could sleep now, and suddenly sleep was all I wanted to do.
* * *
A knock sounded at the door. I didn’t quite have the energy to invite a visitor in. I’d used it all hobbling over to the snack bar and climbing up it with my one good leg. I raised the other knee and sat on the hard tile surface with my back against the wall, the coolness biting into my injuries. I didn’t deserve to be comfortable, spread out on a sofa watching soaps all day, even if I was decades behind.
Wednesday sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the countertop, the knife in her lap, and I wondered if it was there to protect her, to keep her from being betrayed by almost every man in her life. Probably not.
The drugs had kicked in and lessened the throbbing in my leg and arm. Clearly, my judgment had been clouded when I decided to make the hazardous journey to the snack bar and summit it like a rookie climbing Everest. I had no idea how I was going to get down.
I could feel Reyes hovering, sticking to the shadows but looking on, watching, waiting. I was just about to tell him to beat it when the door opened and my biker guy, Donovan, walked in like he owned the place. Mafioso and the prince were right behind him. I looked away in embarrassment. Face sutures couldn’t possibly be appealing. Thank goodness I had a huge white bandage covering half my face. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. I’d hate for him to fall out of love with me so soon after falling in.
He fixed a curious gaze on me, then sucked in a soft hiss of breath.
I covered my face with one hand, the other still impossible to raise without screaming.
“What the f**k happened to you?” he asked. He moved a barstool aside for a better look. “Did Blake do this?”
“Who?” I asked, peeking between my fingers.
The prince was studying my leg brace. I had changed into shorts with Cookie’s help and she reattached the leg brace to keep me from bending my leg. Apparently, the tendons had to heal first. The bandages around the knife wound were visible from between the straps on the brace. He put a hand on them then glanced up at me, worry in his eyes.
Mafioso stood against the wall at my feet, hands in his pockets, a decidedly uncomfortable expression lining his features.
“Blake, the guy whose life you saved the other night.”
“Oh, no.” I closed my fingers again. “This is my own doing.”
“Kind of hard on yourself, aren’t you?”
“How’s Artemis?” I asked, but I knew the answer instantly. The same regret suffusing the air. The same pain as when Cookie told me about Garrett.
“She’s gone.”
My mouth pressed together. I’d had enough death for a while. I breathed deeply before saying, “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too, darlin’.”
“Did you find your guy?”
“Who, Blake? He wised up and went to the police.”
“I would have, too, if you had been looking for me.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” I felt his fingers slide along my forearm and rest on my wrist. With the greatest ease, he tugged my hand away from my face. From where I was sitting on the bar, my head was actually a little higher than his, and I looked down. He was quite handsome for a scruffy biker sort. Of course, scruffy biker sorts were exactly my type.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He’d kept the fingers of one hand laced within mine while the other fished something out of his pocket. “I brought you a key.”
I blinked in surprise when he placed it in my palm. “A key to what?”
The prince spoke up, a bitterness in his voice. “To the asylum.”
“Whenever you need to visit Rocket,” Donovan said, glowering at his cohort, “you can go in through the front doors. No more scaling fences and climbing in through windows.”
