“Killian.” I looked up to see Nick. He looked worried. “I’m going to get Katie back to yours. I wish I could stay, bro, but…”
“Get her out of here. I’ll let the police know when they get here.” Sirens punctuated my sentence and a response car stopped next to us, an officer climbing out of the car.
I didn’t stand up, letting my brother give the cop the overview. It was going to be a long night.
By one a.m., Claire was in a private room away from the ward, looking groggy and pissed off as hell. The paramedics arrived a couple of minutes after the police, checking her over while I tried to look like I wasn’t completely imploding and just about managed not to shout at anyone to tell them to hurry the fuck up.
We’d headed to hospital in an ambulance, Claire still mainly out of it, just her eyes flickering and an occasional garbled word. I did mention that if this was what it took to get her to be quiet for longer than a few minutes we should consider knocking her on the head on a regular basis. I was relieved when she shot me the bird.
“I’m fine to speak to the police,” she said, trying to prop herself up. “Although what I can tell them is minimal.”
“Nick’s given them the story and they have mobile phone footage from two witnesses of the biker and the person who threw you. Denico found your purse, by the way,” I said, having given up on telling her she needed to rest.
She’d had a CAT scan and they had found a brain in there, one with a grade three concussion which meant she had an overnight stay at least and then a period of recuperation with close observation. She’d heard the basics and already pulled her face, mentioning the word ‘work’ at least five times. Then she’d been ignored.
There didn’t appear to be any memory loss and although her speech had initially been a little slurred, it now sounded better. She had a hard head.
“Let me guess: nothing was taken?”
“Correct.”
“It wasn’t a random mugging, was it? This is Dean Lacey trying to intimidate us.”
“Correct.”
“You told the police?”
“Correct.”
“Can you stop saying correct?”
I grinned, her irritation further proof that she wasn’t permanently damaged by the hit on the head she’d received when she’d collided with the lamppost.
“What did Katie say to the police?”
I’d only heard it from Nick about twenty minutes ago. Nick had managed to get Katie quickly back to my house, giving the police the details. “Katie explained about the mediation yesterday and some of what Lacey said. They were going to question him. Two attacks in two days does seem a little coincidental.”
“He’ll blame it on a stalker and they’ll be nothing to connect him to either one of the them,” Claire said, her hand moving to touch the gauze on her head where she’d had stitches. The clash with the lamppost had left a nasty gash.
I nodded. “Try not to touch it.”
“It stings.”
“It will,” I said. She threw me a look that could’ve hung, drawn and quartered me. “How do you feel about a vacation?”
“What the fuck, Killian? I’m in hospital with what’s apparently a grade three concussion because I might’ve been a bit quiet for two point five seconds; I have a shit load of work to do and one of the biggest cases in my career and you’re asking about a vay-fucking-cation?” The box of tissues next to the bed was launched my way. She had a terrible aim.
The door to the room opened and Jackson stood there, arms folded, his expression a cross between concern and determination. “You’re out of the office for a fortnight.”
Claire tried to sit up and failed. “But. Fuck off Jackson. I get that this needs some recovery time but…”
He shook his head. “Marie’s going to come in and cover your work or at least oversee your department. That includes the technical details on Katie’s case. That’s the only case she’s going to speak to you about.”
“When did you speak to Marie?” Claire said, paler now than she was before. She loved her step-mother. She was the one-person Claire trusted as much as her elder brothers, even more so than her father.
“About twenty minutes ago. She’s coming over in the morning to see you,” Jackson said, approaching his sister cautiously. Max and Jackson had told plenty of stories about how many times Claire had plotted to murder them when they were kids. Clearly some degree of fear was still there, especially as she was tired, hurting and very, very pissed off.
“She really doesn’t need to,” Claire muttered. “I’m fine. I just have a headache.”
