by Norah Wilson
~*~
They kept Grace overnight for observation.
Ray stayed, planting himself in the single chair by her bed. Once he dozed off, waking when the night nurse came in for yet another check. At eight o’clock, he left Grace to her breakfast and went down to the lobby to find a pay phone.
He was a fool, plain and simple. He knew it, but knowing didn’t seem to help. He was going to take her home anyway.
Of course, it wasn’t like he had a helluva lot of alternatives. He couldn’t send her home to her mother, that frozen excuse for a human being, even supposing Elizabeth Dempsey would take her daughter in. Grace’s father had died two years ago, completing the retreat from an imperious wife which Ray figured must have begun minutes after Grace’s conception.
No, there was no place for Grace to go. Not in her current condition.
Ray dropped his quarter and punched in the number, kneading the tense muscles at the back of his neck as he waited for his Sergeant to answer. It was likely to be a short-lived arrangement anyway, having Grace back home. When she didn’t show up for her rendezvous, no doubt lover boy would come looking –
“Quigley.”
“Quigg, it’s me.”
“About time you checked in. How’s it going?”
“Grace is good. Concussed and sore as hell, but okay.”
“Yeah, I’ve been getting regular updates. But that’s not what I meant.”
Ray bit back a sigh. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask what you did mean?”
“Last night you were ready to let her rot in the lockup.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Pain shot up to the base of his skull, and Ray massaged his neck again. “Biggest favor I could do for the motoring public, with that lead foot of hers.”
“Except you don’t know how to be mean to Grace. Leastways, not before yesterday.”
“Yeah, well.” Ray rubbed at a scuff on the tiled floor with the toe of his Nikes. There was a pause at the other end of the line, no doubt so Quigg could digest that pithy comment.
“I think you should take some time off,” Quigg said at last.
“That’s actually why I’m calling. I’ll need a day or so to get Grace settled.”
“I was thinking more in terms of weeks.”
“Weeks?” The idea of spending days at home with Grace as she recovered her mobility—and her memory—filled him with cold dread. Not that it would take long. Even if nature didn’t cooperate, Grace’s paramour was bound to show up to hurry the process. Ray had been counting on putting in long days on the job, both before and after Grace’s veil of forgetfulness fell—or was ripped—away.
“I can’t take time off. You’ll be short-staffed.”
“Not for long. Woods is three days away from rotating in.”
“He’ll need orientation….”
“He’s been here before,” Quigg said. “Couple of days, it’ll be like he’s never been gone.”
“But what about Landis?”
“I’m pretty sure our small-town bad guy will be here when you get back.”
“There’s nothing small-town about that bastard, and you know it.” Ray knew he was letting the simmering fury of his domestic disaster leech into his voice, but he didn’t care. That puke Viktor Landis was a worthy target for it. “He’s got his fingers into every dirty deal that goes down in this town.”
“And some day you’ll catch him at it, but not this week. And not next week.” Quigg’s agreeable tone turned hard. “Compassionate leave, Razor. Two weeks, starting now. The work’ll be here when you get back. It’s not going anywhere.”
“But I only need a few days, not weeks.”
“Take ’em anyway.”
A definite command. Ray gripped the receiver tightly. Dammit, how could his friend do this to him? He needed to work.
“Get away from the station house,” Quigg said, his voice softer now. “Spend some time with Grace. Chrissakes, Ray, you haven’t taken a real break since your honeymoon.”
Quigg’s words stopped the retort on Ray’s tongue. Had it been that long since he’d taken a vacation? He was passionate about his job, but four years? Why hadn’t Grace said something?
“What do you say, buddy? You gonna take the time or do I have to suspend you?”
Before his promotion last year, Quigg had worked right alongside Ray in the detective bureau. Hell, he was the best friend Ray had in the world. But it wasn’t going to make any difference here. Quigg meant business.
Ray put his hand on the phone’s switch hook, ready to break the connection. “A week.”
“Two.” Another command. “And Ray? I know you’re not in the market for unsolicited advice, but I’m gonna give you some anyway. Whatever you need to do to get straight with Grace, do it. She’s a keeper.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. She’s a good –”
“I meant about the unsolicited advice.” With that, he replaced the receiver.
He stood staring at the telephone for a few minutes. Then, feeling like a man condemned, he turned on his heel and went in search of the doctor to see about getting Grace discharged.
