Page 65

“Yes, detective. Does he have family that can be contacted?”

My mind raced as I thought about how it could have happened. “Not around here. He has a sister, but she lives back east. I’m his boyfriend, though.”

“I see. Is there a way you can get hold of his sister? Unfortunately, being his boyfriend, you can’t make medical decisions on his behalf.”

“Yes, I can!” I barked. “I’m on his health care directive.” I had been adamant in the jobs we had, that we’d done that for each other over a year ago.

“Oh, then yes, you can. We would need that document here on file at some point.”

“I’m on my way,” I said before clicking my phone off. I looked at Sean, who had a look that meant he knew something was up with Craig.

“What’s going on?” Sean asked, gripping my arm.

“Uh…Craig was in an accident on his way back. He’s in Oakland at Highland Hospital. They…they said he’s stable but in the ICU.”

“Oh, shit. Dude, go…just fucking go!” Sean exclaimed. “I’ll tell the cap’n what happened.”

I thanked Sean, grabbed my keys from the top drawer of my desk, and rushed out. It was as if I had blinders on, and all I could do was get to Craig. Fuck the Miss California pageant, fuck the Chandlers, fuck everything except getting my ass to his bedside.

Jesus, I couldn’t even tell him I loved him yesterday when we talked on the phone.

That thought played repeatedly in my head as I drove like hell, sirens blaring and lights flashing. I pounded the steering wheel in frustration, my adrenaline pumping. My throat burned, and my eyes stung with tears, which I sniffed back. Getting emotional while driving wasn’t a good combination.

Even with my siren and lights flashing, the congestion on the Bay Bridge slowed my progress. I pulled into the fire lane closest to the emergency room entrance and parked, not caring if anyone said anything. Rushing through the doors, I pulled out my badge and ID, ready.

There wasn’t anyone at the registration desk, so I pushed the call button to get someone’s attention. A woman in blue scrubs appeared after a few moments.

“I’m Detective Jones, and I understand that Craig Bannon was brought in from an auto accident,” I said in a rush, holding up my badge and ID.

The receptionist looked at a computer screen and said he’d been admitted to the critical care unit and was now in the ICU. She told me to take the elevator to the fourth floor.

As I waited for the elevator, my hands shook, and my pulse raced. I pressed the button for the fourth floor. Once I stepped inside, the doors didn’t close fast enough, so I repeatedly punched the close button, which irritated the older woman standing against the far wall of the elevator. When she got off on the third floor, she gave me a dirty look.

The fourth floor was quiet except for the faint beeping of monitors. The pungent odor of disinfectant, the shiny floors, and the cold steel surfaces reminded me of the trip to the ME’s office last week. Approaching the nurses’ station, I presented my badge and ID again and asked which room was Craig’s. A young blond nurse with her hair pulled back in a ponytail told me it was four-eleven. I took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect as I walked to his room.

I stood in the open doorway, taking in the sight before me. There were a couple of monitors by his bedside, one echoing the sound of his pulse, the other resembling a self-administering morphine pump. He was slightly propped up, with his left arm in a sling. His head had a bandage covering the top, and an oxygen tube rested under his nose. I couldn’t tell if he had any other injuries because he was covered with a blanket, but his face and right arm had scrapes and some lacerations. I was happy to see he hadn’t been intubated.

In the three years we’d been together, I’d never seen him in such a state, and it scared me. I approached his bed quietly, not wanting to disturb him. My eyes welled with tears, and my breath hitched when I noticed his injured arm was in a fresh cast. I instinctively reached down and took his free hand in mine. It was warm and soft. I ran my thumb over his knuckles, which made him stir.

Craig winced as his eyes fluttered open, not quite focusing. He squeezed my hand lightly and turned his head to look at me. He coughed, making him squeeze his eyes shut again in pain.

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspy and quiet when he looked up at me.

It made my tears fall.

“Shh. Save your strength, baby,” I choked out in a whisper.

He gave a slight chuckle. “Apparently, somebody on that road didn’t like me,” he said, slurring his words slightly.

“Jesus, Howler. We’ll figure out what happened, but not right now. Save your strength.”

I cupped his jaw with my other hand, running my thumb over his cheek. “God…I could have lost you today.” Raymond Chandler’s accident came to mind.

He gave me a pained smile. “Nahhh. I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

“How’s your head?” I said, reaching up to touch the wrapped bandage.

“Pounding. It hurts… and you look a little blurry.”