Page 80 of Shadow Justice

She licked her dry lips, tried to shift, and bit back a groan when more pain ripped down her neck. “Hey.”

“Don’t try to sit up.” His voice was rough around the edges.

Holly blinked, forcing the room to steady. She caught sight of pale curtains, the metal rail on the bed, and the IV in her arm. A plastic water cup with a straw sat on the table. The door to the room was closed, and the worst of the hospital noise stayed muffled beyond it.

“You’re at the hospital,” Reid told her. “They’re keeping you overnight for observation.” He reached for the water cup and held the straw to her mouth. “Small sip.”

She started to take the cup, but he gently pulled it back. “I can drink water by myself,” she said automatically.

“I’m sure you can. You’re not doing it yet. The doctor said your coordination may be off for the next twenty-four hours.”

She let him bring it back to her lips. Her throat felt scraped raw, and the water was cold enough to make her eyes sting with relief. She took two small sips before he pulled it away.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds and held on to his hand. His fingers tightened around hers, and the restraint in that small pressure told her more than a dozen dramatic speeches would have.

He was scared. Reid, who built plans and perimeters and arguments strong enough to hold up under pressure, looked as if the whole world had narrowed to the rise and fall of her chest.

She opened her eyes again. “How bad?”

“You have a concussion. Four stitches at your temple, but the CT was clear. No brain bleed.” His voice caught that last sentence. “The doctor wants you monitored overnight because you lost consciousness twice.”

“Twice?”

“Once before I got to you. Once after.”

The room slid a little, or maybe the memory did. Holly gripped his hand harder. “Allen hit me.”

“Yes, with the butt of his gun.”

Her stomach rolled, and Reid reached for the small plastic basin on the tray table. The nausea passed without becoming anything more humiliating, but she lay still afterward, breathing carefully while his thumb moved over the back of her hand. “Blue?”

“He’s safe.”

She blinked up at him. “Where?”

“With Roni. Hopper called her.”

“Hopper?”

“He helped.” Reid’s mouth tightened. “Blue found me because Allen shoved him out of the apartment and when he couldn’t get to you, he came down the stairs to the shop. I saw him at the window while I was outside with Hopper.”

“Why were you outside with Hopper?”

“I spotted him pacing near the patio gate.”

That should have alarmed her more than it did, but the name no longer carried the same fear. The memory of Hopper in the doorway came back, rough and blurred, his voice saying Allen’s name like the world had gone wrong in a way he couldn’t process.

“He didn’t do it,” she said.

“No. Hopper’s innocent. Allen is the killer.”

Her stomach flipped again. She’d trusted him, defended him. Her heart had kept reaching for the version of him who had helped her, the steady man who had known how to navigate systems and make a frightened woman feel less alone.

That man had carried a Sanctuary cup into her apartment and set it on her coffee table like a place card for death.

“He’s in custody,” Reid told her. “He confessed enough in front of all of us to make the rest easy.”

“All of us?”