“I’m not worried. You’re obviously going to save her life. I have all the time in the world.”
I scowled. Harris wasn’t wrong, of course. But it wasn’t out of some misguided desire for her to live. It was entirely selfish. Harris would be upset with me if I let her die—and that would be… inconvenient.
Still holding the phone to my ear, I approached her. I smiled at the strangled noise of horror she made as I dropped into a lowcrouch beside her. She didn’t do it just to please me, of course, but I appreciated it all the same.
She thought I was the one who drugged her, I realized. How silly of her.
And yes, her heart was working much too fast. She would probably have a heart attack very soon. Her brow dripped with sweat, matting her hair to her face, and her skin looked waxy and far too pale. Her body shook as well—though I couldn’t tell if it was from the drugs or simply her fear of me.
Her gaze slid to Jerry’s body. Her eyes widened. She sucked in a breath, looking back up at me in total horror. Her lips parted and—
“Don’t scream,” I told her, my gaze locking with hers before her heart could give out, immediately placing her under a hypnotic spell. “You feel very calm. Breathe in and out. All of this is fine.”
All the fear drained from her expression. I rolled my eyes again.
“How badly is the woman injured?” Harris demanded. “Do I need to call an ambulance? What’s the address?”
“Not to worry. She’ll be fine, Detective.”
And she would be. A few drops of my blood would destroy even the worst toxins she might’ve ingested. It would repair any damage the compound had done to her internal organs as well.
Harris chuckled, and I could picture the giant, obnoxious grin sweeping across his face. “Youaregoing to heal her, aren’t you?”
I heaved another annoyed sigh—enough of an answer.
He chuckled. “Not a good guy, my ass.”
CHAPTER TWO || ELI
“Happy birthday!” My older sister, Sam, sounded far too awake for nine in the morning on a weekday. She hardly even slurred her words. Which meant two things: first, she’d slept through the night like a normal person so she could wake up and wish me a happy birthday, and second, she’d only just started drinking for the day. She was probably only on her first glass of wine.
“Thanks,” I replied, blinking against the too-bright overhead fluorescent lights of the emergency department, clutching the phone like a lifeline. I was too exhausted from my fourteen-hour shift to actually sound like I meant it, even though I did. I didn’t mindherwishing me a happy birthday.
“Bad night?”
Bad night. Bad month. Bad year.
A year ago, almost to the day, Sam and I had lost our father. I had moved back to Los Angeles to help out with the estate, only intending to stay until the ink dried on the paperwork. That’s what I’d told myself, at least. But then I’d gotten thoroughly stuck. Sam needed me, so I had sublet my apartment in San Francisco, quit my job, and moved in with her. Then I’d taken a position at the nearby hospital—a five-minute drive from the house we’d grown up in. It was only supposed to be temporary,just to pay the bills that were rapidly piling up, but that had been ten months ago, and I didn’t seem especially motivated to leave.
And, up until a month ago, I had been dating a—in retrospect, very cagey—gentleman who had seemed plenty nice enough, right up until I discovered he was married and was not, in fact, a very nice guy at all. Granted, I was one hundred percent sure it was my fault somehow. If there’s a walking red flag within a ten-mile radius, I’ll probably end up going out on at least one date with him. But that’s what therapy was for, right? If I was going to get my head shrunk by a trained professional, I might as well get my money’s worth.
As for my night, it had been screwed on wrong from the start. First, there was the middle-of-the-night text from another ex who didn’t know I was back in LA, wishing me a happy birthday at exactly midnight. It wasn’t the cagey guy—Colin—I’d dated for three months when I’d moved to the area. No, it wasthatex. The real one. The one I’d actually been dumb enough to fall in love with, years and years ago. Everyone has that one ex-boyfriend where even thinking about them feels dangerous because it brings everything rushing back and you forget what it was like—for a moment, or for a month. And then, before you know it, you’re right back where you started. So yeah,hewas the one who texted me at exactly midnight, even though it had been a very, very long time since we’d last spoken.
Then, if that wasn’t enough to ruin my entire week, to top it all off, I lost a patient—a young man with two gunshot wounds to the abdomen. Way too much internal bleeding to stabilize him.
“Eli, are you still there? Was your shift… not good?” Sam asked, only slurring a little and sounding concerned. I had been quiet for too long.
“You could say that,” I told her, suddenly feeling like I was on the edge of tears.
“You lost someone.”
I swallowed, feeling too worn-thin to lie to her. “Yeah.”
“Shit, Eli.” She hesitated. “Listen, I—I could bake.”
I let out a surprised laugh. Sam could hardly boil water, and it was a completely left-field suggestion—which was, of course, precisely what I needed. Sam always had the uncanny knack for snapping me out of whatever funk I—admittedly, often—found myself in.
“Have you ever baked anything?” I couldn’t quite hide the skepticism in my voice. “Even one time?”
