“Ah.” The doctor nodded, shaking his hand. “You should give her an hour or so before you start with the questions. She’s going to be groggy for a while yet.”
“We’ve got two gunshot victims.” The detective’s mustache and loosened tie, not to mention the world-weary look in his eyes, epitomized every crime drama dick Mia had ever seen on TV. It was like he’d come straight from central casting. “And only one of them is in any condition to provide us with information on what the hell happened out there tonight. I want answers.”
Wolf slowly turned to the detective. The look in his eyes was enough to make Mia shrink back. She thought he might punch the cop in the mouth. She definitely saw his right hand curl into a fist.
Romeo casually stepped in front of Wolf before pasting on a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And I’d like a house in the Bahamas filled with women in bikinis, Detective,” he said. “But wanting it isn’t going to make it so.”
When Dixon bristled, Romeo softened his tone. “Look, man, our friend has had one hell of a night. I don’t think you giving her an hour to recover is too much to ask. How about I take your number and call you the minute she’s lucid enough to answer questions, eh?”
To anyone looking on, Romeo appeared the picture of friendly poise. But Mia could feel the ominous current running beneath his words. He wasn’t really asking.
The detective proved he was no fool when, with a deep sigh, he passed Romeo a business card. “When a person suffers a trauma, they start forgetting important details quickly. You call me sooner rather than later.”
“You have my word.” Romeo tucked the detective’s card into his hip pocket.
Dixon turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks and swung back. “Did she say anything before they took her back to stitch her up? Anything about the shooter?”
Mia’s gaze was drawn to the two men who’d come into the emergency room not long after she’d arrived with Wolf and Romeo. Originally, they’d snagged her attention because the tall, skinny one reminded her of the Walmart version of Liam Neeson. You know, if she squinted and held her mouth just right—it was the man’s prominent nose and high cheekbones. Now her eyes landed on them because they shifted uncomfortably, sitting forward and eyeing the detective.
Probably carrying weed without the requisite medical marijuana card,she thought, remembering how her own mother got fidgety and restless around law enforcement.
Wolf spoke to the detective for the first time. The impatience in his voice made it obvious all he wanted was to get to Chrissy, and Dixon’s interference was fraying his last nerve. “When I asked her who did this, all she said was, ‘I don’t know.’ Now, if you don’t mind.”
Wolf didn’t have to make a shooing motion with his hand. His tone, not to mention the hard look on his face, made the gesture for him.
Dixon touched a finger to his brow before heading toward the exit.
“Will you be releasing her tonight?” Wolf asked the doctor.
“It’s late.” The surgeon shook her head. “And Miss Szarek’s had quite a shock. I’d like to monitor her overnight.”
“Can we see her?”
“Follow me.” The doctor pushed through the swinging doors and the smell of iodine and blood tunneled up Mia’s nose.
She didn’t realize she’d become living granite until Romeo leaned close and whispered in her ear, “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.” His breath was warm against her earlobe. The comforting hand he placed at the small of her back was warmer still.
Blowing out a deep breath, she fisted her hands and prepared to venture deeper into the belly of the beast.
Chapter 7
11:17 PM…
With hot tears standing in her eyes, Chrissy watched her stepfather pack his suitcase. Her mother sat quietly on the edge of the bed, not making a sound.
Chrissy desperately wanted to scream, “Make him stop, Momma! Make him stay!” But the words lodged in her throat like they were weighted down by anchor chains.
Didn’t Momma love Doug anymore? Or had Josephine gotten tired of eating the lasagna he cooked on Wednesday nights? Or maybe she was finally fed up with the way he never managed to get both dirty socks into the bathroom hamper? Or could it be she was over how he yelled at the TV when the Miami Dolphins were playing?
Even if all of that were true,Chrissystill loved Doug. She still liked his lasagna, although sometimes he added too much salt. She didn’t mind stepping over his one dirty sock. And even though he was too loud during Monday night football, she thought it was funny when he called the refs bad names.
Didn’t any of that count? Didn’tshecount?
Doug zipped his suitcase and dropped it on the carpeted floor. With one last, longing look at Momma, he said, “For whatever it’s worth, Josephine, Iamsorry.”
Chrissy’s mother sat stony-eyed. “If I’m being honest”—her voice was as hard as her expression—“it’s not worth a thing.”
A sad look came over Doug’s face, but it was swiftly replaced by resignation. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Chrissy and knelt in front of her. “You’re a natural fisherwoman Chrissy, my girl. Don’t give up on it.”
