Detached
Page 6
“What happened?”
“I was doing a traffic stop and a car hit my cruiser. A piece of metal nearly took my head off.”
“We heard sirens at the hotel. I had no idea it was you. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did, dumbass.”
He was quiet for a second. “Nyx, I really don’t mind taking off. I can be there in half an hour.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you if I can’t hack it alone.”
“Does Paps know?”
“No, and I don’t want to worry him tonight. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”
“OK.”
“Ransom?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay off the sleeping pills. If it happens, it happens.”
He groaned. “I know.”
My brother and drugs didn’t mix. The first time he landed in jail on possession charges, he was only sixteen. Now in his thirties, he’d been clean for a while, but he also had enough sobriety chips for a game of poker. It was part of the reason I stayed clear of anything stronger than Tylenol.
What will happen when he learns the truth? Ransom wouldn’t inherit the gift. And even bigger still . . .
His whole life had been a lie.
If I was able to detach, it meant Ransom wasn’t Elias’s firstborn. Elias wasn’t Ransom’s father at all.
Nausea churned in my stomach again. “I’ll see you this weekend,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion.
“Yes, but I’m serious. Call me if you need help.”
“I will. I promise. My personal phone is destroyed. I’ll text you my SWAT phone number when I get it back.”
“OK.”
“Kiss Milly for me.”
“She wants you to come visit.”
“Tell her I’ll come soon.”
“OK. Bye, sis.”
“Bye.” I ended the call and stared at the phone.
“Are you all right?” Bess asked from the door.
With a nod, I stood and crossed the room to return her phone. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me make a call.”
She didn’t reach for it. “Do you need to call anyone else?”
I needed to call my boss, but his phone number wasn’t one of the few I had memorized. “No, thank you, but can you do me a favor on your way out?”
“Sure,” she said as she accepted the phone.
“There’s a patrol car sitting across from my driveway. Can you tell Officer McCollum that my personal phone is broken, and my SWAT phone is still in my patrol car? Also, ask him to let Sergeant Essex know.”
“Essex. Got it.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you? I really don’t have anywhere to be.”
I forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I wrote my number on the whiteboard calendar in the kitchen. Not that it will do you much good tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“If you need anything at all, just holla.”
I smiled and followed her to the front door. “I will. I really appreciate all your help tonight, Bess.”
She turned with a hopeful smile. “Does this mean you won’t give me a speeding ticket?”
I laughed, sending a wave of pain through my head. “Not tonight, but slow it down out there.”
“I promise. It was really nice to meet you, Officer Nyx.”
“Just Nyx. It’s what my friends call me.”
She beamed. “Okay.” She waved and walked out.
I closed and locked the door behind her, and fell the hell apart.
Chapter Five
The next morning? Evening?—I wasn’t sure—my doorbell rang. Disoriented, I looked at the clock on the nightstand. 8:19 a.m. My arms flailed across the cool sheets. I was, mind and all, still in my bed.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and trudged barefoot to the door. Looking through the peephole, I saw Essex in the breezeway wearing civilian clothes. Jeans and a fitted black tee.
I gingerly ran my fingers through my hair and pulled open the door. He held up two paper cups of coffee from Sapphire Java. “I come in peace.” He offered one to me.
When I took it, I stepped out of the doorway. “Morning.”
“Morning,” he said as he walked inside. “How’s the head?”
“Kinda feels like I drank a bottle of tequila and played drums on my skull with a hammer.”
He grinned. “That good, huh?”
With a moan, I closed the door and led him to the kitchen. I squinted against the bright sunshine coming in from the sliding-glass doors to the balcony. I crossed the living room and closed the blackout curtains, shrouding the room in precious darkness. I left the corner open so I could see to walk. “What are you doing here?”
“Doubted you should be driving yet, so I thought I’d give you a lift to your interview.” His eyes fell to my sweatpants. “That is, if you’re still going.”
“Yeah. I’m still going.”
“And . . .” He angled to the side and pulled my SWAT phone and some rolled papers from his pocket. He handed me the phone first. “Figured you might need this. I got it out of your car this morning.”
“Thanks.” I checked its battery level before dialing my personal cell phone number. “Is my car totaled?” I asked while my voicemail picked up. I pressed the pound sign to check my messages.
“No, they can fix it. Said they’d call me later today with an estimate of how long it will take.”
“God, I hope I don’t have to drive a pool car.” I punched in my voicemail code.
“You have one new message,” the robot voice said. “New message received at seven-sixteen a.m.” Beep. “Hello, Corporal Nyx, this is Warden McCain from the Nevada State Penitentiary. Please call me back at your earliest convenience. We have an update about your father. Thank you.” He left a phone number.
I stared at the phone in my hand. Elias was dead. No doubt about it.
“Everything OK?” Essex asked.
I put the phone on the counter. “Fine.” I pointed to the papers he was still holding. “What’s that?”
He handed them to me. “I thought you might want a copy of your accident report.”
“Why?”
“Read it. Specifically, check out the statement from the guy who hit your car.”
I skimmed the typed notes. Driver reported that he saw a man standing in the middle of the lane. He swerved to miss the man, striking Officer Nyx’s patrol car. When he looked toward the road again, the man had vanished. ‘Like a ghost.’ I shook my head. “So now we’ve got ghosts to worry about? Great.”
Essex chuckled. “Did you see a ghost?”
“I saw headlights coming at my face. If there was a ghost, I was too busy trying not to die to notice.” I opened the cabinet above the stove and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen.
“Didn’t the doctor give you a prescription?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to get it filled?”
“No.”
He shook his head and sipped his coffee.
“What’s the maximum dosage on this stuff?” I poured a handful.
“Not that many,” he said with worried eyes.
I funneled a few into my mouth before leaning over the sink to drink straight from the faucet. Bending over was a bad idea. Lights twinkled around my vision when I straightened. I pressed the ball of my hand against my forehead and groaned.
“Maybe you should go back to bed.”
I leaned against the counter. “I’m fine.”
He grinned over his cup. “Looks like it.”
The last thing I wanted was to go back to bed. I’d fought to stay awake most of the night for fear of leaving my body again. Sometime in the early hours, I’d lost the battle, but my nerves had probably kept me from REM sleep.
“You OK?” Essex asked, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah. Head’s just a little foggy.”
Understatement of et
ernity.
I wished I could talk to him—to anyone—about what had happened in the tub, but my head was way too messed up to cross that bridge rationally.
“You made the news,” Essex said.
“What?”
“Yeah. Small blip about your accident.”
“Great,” I said with a groan.
“It was buried in all the Ryder Stone coverage, but some people might mention it.”
“Awesome. I’d better call my grandfather.”
“Probably should.” Essex looked at his watch. “What time’s your interview?”
“Ten. I’ll call Paps and jump in the shower.” Even though I’d cleaned it the night before, I could feel the blood, water, and antibiotic ointment caked onto the side of my head again.
“Take your time.”
“All right. If you hear a thud, come running.”
“You still dizzy?”
“Only when I stand up, turn around, or think too hard.”
“No problems with the last one, at least.”
Laughing, I carried my work phone to the bedroom and flipped on the light. It burned my retinas and seared through my skull. As my eyes adjusted, I sat on the edge of the bed and dialed my grandfather’s phone number.
Paps didn’t answer, but he responded immediately with a text message. JUST WRAPPED UP A TENNIS MATCH, ABOUT TO SHOWER. CALL YOU LATER?
Paps couldn’t communicate if it wasn’t in all caps. I messaged him back. I need to talk to you before you watch the news.
My phone rang immediately. “Hey,” I answered.
“I already heard about Ryder Stone.” Of course he’d heard. Paps loved the whole Stone family. “Is it true? Was it really him in that fire?”
“I think so. They’re waiting on official word from the medical examiner, but that’s not why I called.”
“Oh, what’s going on?”
“Two things, actually. I was in a small accident last night. You might hear about it on the news. I’m OK.”
“What happened?”
“A car hit my cruiser when I was doing a traffic stop. I was hit by some flying car parts. Tore up the side of my head pretty good.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I didn’t want you to see it on TV and worry. Celise patched me up at the hospital last night.”
“OK.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe I should come over.”
“No, don’t. I promise I’m fine. Besides, I’ll probably be pretty busy the next few days because of all the Ryder Stone stuff. I need you to keep an eye on Ransom.”
“Ransom? Why?”
I lowered my voice. “I think Elias is dead.”
Silence.
“Paps?”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“He visited me last night and said it would be soon.”
“I really think we should come over.”
“I’m about to head out to my interview, so I won’t even be home. But I’m supposed to see Ransom this weekend. You should come too.”
“That’s right. Your interview is today. Good luck, not that you need it.”
“Thanks, Paps.”
“Remember, I’m here for you, Saphera. You don’t have to be so tough all the time. I promise I won’t tell anyone if you need to fall apart.”
I smiled. “I love you, Paps.”
“I love you, sweet pea. Let me know how the interview goes.”
“I will.”
I ended the call before my emotions got the better of me. I sent a text to Ransom. This is my work phone. Use this number until you hear otherwise.
Ransom: 10-4. How’s the head? Empty as usual?
Me: