“The good news is, your CT came back clean,” she said.
I watched as March let out a relieved breath. It felt comforting.
“The bad news is…” She hesitated. “You have a mild concussion. It may seem antiquated, but you should have somebody watching you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, just in case.”
“I’ll watch her for the two days. I’m familiar with concussion protocols.” March jumped in before I could suggest that I go to Grace’s.
“Military?” the doctor asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Why?” I asked, trying to get out of this situation.
The doctor laid a hand on my wrist. “In case any other symptoms appear. Sometimes there are delayed issues. I’ll prepare your discharge paperwork.”
I thanked her, and she left. I avoided March’s gaze, as the story of his friend Tommy Willmont haunted me.
Zane
In that smallexam space in the ER, I basked in the news that Peyton’s CT was clear, and her excitement that I’d retrieved her watch and her money.
It was a nice watch. Okay, maybe it was a knock-off, but it was a very nice one. Even so, it seemed more important to her than that.
“Miss Smith?” Officer Gentry asked. “Can you confirm that this watch is the one stolen from you?”
She nodded with teary eyes. “Yes. This is mine.” She looked at me. “But how?”
“You said you dislocated that one guy’s shoulder. While you were getting your head scanned, I checked admissions, and his buddy had brought him here. I asked, and he returned it.”
Actually, I’d whispered in his ear that my SEAL training included twenty-seven ways I could kill him with my bare hands. That had motivated him.
“He said he found it on the sidewalk,” Gentry added.
She rubbed her fingers over the watch’s face and then locked eyes with me. “Thank you. The scratch doesn’t affect the sentimental value.”
The look she gave me was all the reward I needed.
“Are these the two men who assaulted and robbed you?” Gentry showed her his phone with the pictures we’d just taken of the two scumbags. He already had his partner keeping an eye on them while he got what he needed to arrest them.
Peyton squinted at the screen, and her demeanor changed. “I can’t say. I don’t remember.”
I gripped the railing to control myself and cocked my head in disbelief. “What?”
“It must be the hit on the head,” she said. “I can’t remember anything about it. I’m sure it happened. March told me I’d been attacked, and the bump on my head is real.”
Gentry looked at me. “Can you positively identify them?”
The sizes were right, and they had the watch, but in the dark, I’d never gotten close enough to them for a positive identification. “No.”
“Sorry, Mr. March, but the DA will never take a case like this without a positive ID from one of you or preferably both.
I let loose the death grip I had on the bed’s railing. “I understand. Thanks for your time.”
“Miss Smith, if your memory improves in the near future, we can revisit this.”
“Thank you, officer. I’ll be in touch if it does.”
Fat fucking chance. At Tito’s she hadn’t said a thing about not remembering. In fact, she’d remembered dislocating one guy’s shoulder.
