Bastard.
“All right, then.” He stood. “I’ll be going. Maybe I should check in with Myra about my hours?”
“Maybe you should leave. Now.” I hated that my voice shook.
He didn’t move. For a moment, his mouth tugged down at the corners. His hands, loose at his side, clenched into fists, and then let go. “Goodbye, Delaney. Get well soon.”
I turned my head and closed my eyes. The sound of his footsteps grew quieter and quieter. I heard the door open, letting in the softer sounds from the hall, and then he was gone.
The room was silent, but nothing inside me was. I felt the hot slip of tears down the curve of my cheek and gritted my teeth against a sob.
I would not let that man make me cry. I would not let him break my heart. I wiped angrily at my face and breathed until I was under control. I was done with this place. With this pain. But even though I was angry, every muscle in my body was heavy, tired, and begging me to surrender to the medications flowing through my veins.
I closed my eyes, slipping, losing my grip on wakefulness. The medicine dragged at me, tucking me breath by breath down into sleep.
I didn’t know how much time passed, but when the nurse gently touched my arm, I woke.
“How are you feeling, chief?” she asked.
“Uh, good. Better. I’m ready to leave.”
My heart lurched with the memory of Ryder, but I shoved it aside. I had more important things to deal with.
Dan Perkin had shot me in broad daylight. He’d shouted something when he’d done it. Even through the haze of pain, he’d sounded panicked more than victorious. Almost like he hadn’t expected the bullet to actually hit.
He might have finally come to his senses after pulling the trigger. That happened often enough with crimes of passion.
But Myra said Dan hadn’t thought the gun was loaded. He was claiming complete innocence.
What if he really was innocent?
I took a deep breath, stuttered to a stop as my left side caught fire, waited out the pain, and carefully exhaled. Bad, but not bad enough to keep me in bed. I’d gotten enough sleep. What I needed now were answers.
“I want to be released,” I told the nurse. “Can you bring me the forms?”
“Your doctor wants to check on you before you’re released.”
“I’m leaving.” I pushed the covers away and slipped my legs over the edge of the bed. “Take out the IV, please. And get me the forms to sign.” Then, in my best chief of police voice. “Now.”
It took more than that to convince her, but I was determined. She finally gave in.
Someone, probably Jean, had brought in a pair of black sweatpants and another one of Dad’s old Grateful Dead T-shirts. Good enough. I took some time getting into my clothes and zipped up the black hoodie with FIGHTINGBARNACLESacross the back of it.
I was out of breath, a little woozy. But I got my shoes on and rested for a couple minutes until my head and hands stopped shaking.
Walking wasn’t great, but not impossible if I just took it a little slower than my normal pace. I kept my arm across my ribs to keep them from jostling too much.
The nurse shook her head at me as I passed the front counter. She handed me a bag of medicines with instructions on how many to take and when.
I thanked her, set my sights on the front door, and, with my pink balloon bobbing above me, headed into the night.
Chapter 25
HERRI’S BAR, Mom’s, had three things going for it tonight: it stayed open late, served damn fine coffee, and was right around the corner from the hospital.
I walked in and took a table in the corner where I could keep an eye on the door, since I expected one or both of my sisters would track me down before long.
It was just past midnight on the Friday night of the festival. The place was loud with drinkers and the clash of music against televisions, which were tuned to a live rugby match going on in some other part of the world.
