by Dale Mayer
She stared down at her arm and what she could see of her shoulder. The white bandages obscured most of her shoulder and part of her chest. She eyed the small room and realized there was a curtain around the bed obscuring the rest of the room. There had to be a bathroom somewhere.
Unable to sit any longer, she threw back her sheets, and being careful to not disturb Morgan – whose presence disturbed her – she slowly stood up. There were no slippers close by and the floor was cold, adding to her need to find that bathroom a little sooner. She stepped around the curtain to see six curtains in all. A typical Canadian hospital room. She walked to the end of the curtains to find a small bathroom. Yes. She used the facilities before taking a close look at herself in the mirror. Maybe it was the shock or the painkillers, but there were huge bruises under her eyes and her skin was ghostly white. She looked like she was returning from the dead.
She didn’t remember the injury being that bad, but who knew? Still, she was up and walking and the shoulder, although painful, was livable. That’s what counted at this point. It would be awhile before she got the full range of motion in her arm back, and that was too bad. But if the shot had gone any closer to the center, she could have died. She was good with this. She washed her face and slapped her cheeks, trying to put some kind of color back into them. She opened the door and stepped out, coming up against a big male chest. She lifted her gaze to see Morgan glaring down at her.
She glared back.
“What the hell are you doing out of bed?” he snapped.
“Shh…” She put a finger to her lips. “There are sick people in here.”
“And you’re one of them.” He rolled his eyes and stepped out of the way, letting her make her way back to the small cubicle and warm bed.
“I had to go to the bathroom.” She didn’t want him to know, but getting back under the warm covers felt good. She was weak, hungry, and tired, which made no sense given she’d just slept for hours. Now she was just cold from the short trip to the end of the hall.
“When can I go home?” she said abruptly.
“Not until a doctor checks you over.” He sat down in the chair beside her bed. “It’s only six in the morning. You should sleep.”
“I’m awake. Six is my normal waking time.”
“Not after being shot.”
“And do we know anything about the shooter? A random drive-by?” she asked hopefully.
“No idea. The cops were at your house, but I haven’t gotten an update.”
She nodded. “Can’t say I like the sound of that.”
“No, I don’t blame you. But you were shot. That immediately calls for an investigation.”
“Depending on how bad it is, I guess next time I should just go to Roxy’s place. She’s got extensive medical training.”
Morgan stared at her. “Really?”
She shrugged and glared at him. “I don’t want people rooting through my space. My house.”
“What about rooting through your body because you’re dead and on an autopsy table?” he snapped. “Does that sound better?”
“It was probably just a drive-by shooting,” she muttered, but that sounded horrible too.
“And what if it wasn’t?” He shook his head. “Besides, I can’t see it. They shot through the backyard into your kitchen. That’s hardly a drive-by.”
“There’s an alleyway behind the house, so that’s exactly what it is,” she said, trying hard to make it sound like she believed it. But inside, she was getting colder by the moment. “Don’t you understand? The alternative is so much worse.”
“Exactly.” He shifted to sitting on the bed beside her. “We have to assume it was targeted. There was more than one shot fired but not exactly in quick succession. More like they were looking for you.”
“Or you,” she responded quickly, not willing to let him put all the focus on her. “I had a simple life until you came back into it.”
He nodded. “And I have to consider that. Maybe this is connected to my brother’s death.”
“If that’s Billy.” She hated to see the wince of pain moving across his face. She hadn’t liked Billy much, but he’d been Morgan’s brother. She’d done what she could do to get along in that situation. After Morgan had walked, Billy had stuck around, always wanting to help her to get over Morgan’s leaving. She didn’t know when that had changed, or why, but it had.
“If that’s Billy,” he said, nodding. “What if, whoever it is, didn’t commit suicide? What if that person was murdered?”
“So…what’s that got to do with us?”
“We were there, remember? At the morgue.”
She stared at him, trying to see what he was getting at. Maybe it was the drugs making her mind fuzzy, but nothing was making any kind of sense at this point. “So what? It’s not like anyone would know we went to identify a body!” She shrugged, and then gasped in pain. “Shit.”
“Stop moving,” he scolded. “You need to rest.”
“Ha. Now you’re suggesting I rest after telling me someone tried to deliberately shoot me?” Her voice rose at the end in shock.
“Maybe tried to shoot you. Maybe… and that’s a big maybe.”
His words rolled through her head in a massive ball of confusion. First things first. “I want to go home. See what damage has been done.”
“As soon as you are released.”
She rolled over and curled up, pulling the blankets to the top of her head.
“Did you contact Roxy?” she whispered, hating the tears welling up.
“No. I’ve contacted no one.” He said it so confidently she realized he probably had been right not to. It would only panic her friends, and her parents would be horrified and blame her profession, lifestyle, and her enemies.
“I don’t want you to stay alone,” he said abruptly. “You’re hurt and shouldn’t be moving your arm. But I know you’ll struggle to take care of yourself and end up re-injuring your shoulder.”
She sighed. He was right, but that didn’t mean she’d to agree with him. “I’ll stay with Roxy.” Her friend would want her to stay there. To look after her.
“Not a good idea,” he said firmly. “You’ll put her in danger if the shooter was after you.”
Damn. She stared at him in horror over the sheet. “They’d have to find me first.”
“If you go underground, they are likely to look at your friends and family first. So where will they start looking?” When she didn’t answer, he filled the gap. “At Roxy’s.”
She curled up into a tighter ball. What had just happened to her normal, happy, finally-getting-it-together life? Dry-eyed, she lay there and willed the world away.
*
Morgan waited until she drifted off to sleep. Good. She needed more rest. As he settled back to close his eyes, the nurse walked in.
“She’s still asleep, is she?”
“Just back to sleep. She got up and made her way to the bathroom and back again with no trouble.”
“Excellent.” The nurse looked undecided, then said, “I’ll leave her to rest a little bit longer.”
He appreciated that. “Any idea when the doctor will be around? She was asking to go home.”
The nurse grinned. “Good sign. The doctor will be back in a couple of hours. I’ll come back in a bit, before breakfast, then if she’s lucky the doctor will be in soon after.”
Morgan nodded. He pulled out his phone and contacted the cop he’d spoken with. He figured the man would be asleep but should get the text when he woke up. Jazz has woken up, back asleep now. Looks like she might be released this morning. Can she go back to her house?
The answer was almost instant.
I’ll check and see if they are done.
That was as good as it was going to get.
Now if only he could convince her that staying alone wasn’t a good idea. He half-hoped that she wouldn’t be able to go back into her house as then he might be able to convince her to stay with him.
Not that she knew he had a house just out of town. Then again, it had been a long year, and he’d devoted a lot of it to fixing up the property and turning the garage into a bike shop. It wasn’t much in the way of an income, yet it was what he enjoyed doing. Besides, he knew hundreds of other bikers. Most liked to tinker on their own machines, but he liked to work on them all. That he was good with money was an added bonus.
As he stared down at Jazz, he had to wonder how different his life would be had he stayed a year ago and told his brother to go to hell.
He still couldn’t believe he’d left. Not when he loved her. Although, he’d not necessarily come to that conclusion until he’d ridden away and the loss had hit him so hard. His brother had been so convincing…
He loved his brother, and Jazz had already chosen Morgan. God, what an ass he’d been. His brother knew it. Had taken him for a ride and left him thinking he’d been the interloper. Instead, his brother Billy had been the interloper. He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. He didn’t need all this guilt and remorse again. Not now. Not a year later.
Yeah, an inner voice said, but you might have a chance to fix this. To make up for what you did. For what Billy had you do.
His phone rang. He answered to hear the cop he’d texted earlier.
“You can go in. Honestly, if this was targeted, you might want to take her away somewhere until we can follow up on this. A few days can make all the difference. But if it’s gang related, then you know how tough they can be.”
Shit.
“You think someone was after her?”
“What do you think? This is not L.A. We rarely – and I cannot remember ever – have drive-by shootings and even more rare, random shootings. She was targeted. The shooter missed killing her and if he is following the news, he knows she’s in the hospital and might survive.”
“So he’s likely to try again?” Morgan asked sharply.
“If you were planning on killing someone and failed on the first attempt, what would you do?”
Morgan glared at the bright sunshine out of the window. “I’d come back for a second try.”
“Exactly.” The cop paused. “Of course we have to look at whether the shooter only planned this as a warning. Telling her to stop doing something or to show her they would make good on a threat. Until we can talk to her, we won’t know.”
“She’s sleeping again.” He considered the information. “I highly doubt she’s in trouble. She has always had more friends than enemies. Her business is going well and she has a great partner.”
“Doesn’t matter. The industry often has a darker side.”
“Any industry does,” Morgan snapped.
“True. So we’ll need to check hers out very carefully.” The cop’s voice hardened. “And yours.”
Chapter 9
When she woke the second time, Jazz was disappointed to find she was alone. After a moment of adjusting to the pain, she managed to sit up just as a nurse walked in.
The nurse smiled. “Your boyfriend has gone to get you a coffee. He seemed to think that was an important part of your morning ritual. I offered him one from the nurses’ station, but he said you were a bit particular.”
Relief and irritation warred inside. She was particular about her coffee. She did need it as soon as she woke up – or rather, she enjoyed it then. She didn’t necessarily need it. Although, the others who worked with her thought she did. Morgan knew that. Unerringly, the memories of waking up to Morgan’s magical touch filled her mind and heated her blood.
He’d been the sweetest morning lover. As if he’d gone all soft and gooey while sleeping and could show how much he cared before the harsh realities of life settled into place for the day. He’d always brought her coffee when he could as well.
Sadness filled her. Why was he here now? What was he up to? What brought him back and why?
Billy.
She frowned, her fingers pleating the sheets absentmindedly. The nurse bustled around her doing whatever nurses did while she lay in the bed, her mind full of Morgan and worse…his brother.
Billy had been a manipulator. A back-talker. A bullshitter. Someone who would talk up the girls, take them to bed, and then tell everyone else what kind of lay they were. She’d not heard it directly, but some of the guys joked about his rating system. That made him the worst of men in her books. She’d never gone to bed with him, but he’d been working on her for months until they had had a big argument and he ripped into her.
That had been a horrible ride and had given her some incredibly nasty insight into his character. She’d had nothing to do with him since.
Now look where she was. Because of him again.
Asshole.
No, he was dead – might be dead – but so what if he was? She’d have a hard time mourning him. Good riddance more likely. But that wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. Talk about keeping her walking a higher road to avoid becoming a female version of him.
Morgan was the opposite. The guy had been the big brother, bending over backward to make life easy for Billy. And Billy had always abused the damn relationship. She and Morgan had fought only once, and it had been about his kid brother.
A fight she’d never forgotten.
Now his brother was likely dead, Morgan was stuck in limbo, mourning a deep loss and needing to find a way forward.
What the hell was she going to do now? About Morgan? About going home? About a killer who apparently was targeting her?
Random shootings never happened in town – not that it meant they never would, but this was too big a coincidence.
So what was her next step?
She didn’t intend to go home where her shooter could get a second chance. In a pinch, she’d stay at the shop. But if the guy found her at home, he’d find her there, too. So why hadn’t he?
Cancelling the day of work was hardly an option… Roxy could handle some of it, but not all.
Roxy! Shit.
She searched for her cell phone and realized it wasn’t beside her. Damn. The nurse had left as quietly as she’d arrived, so Jazz couldn’t ask about her phone either. She swung her legs over the bed and hopped off.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Morgan walked in, holding two large takeout cups of coffee.
“Roxy. I never called Roxy and told her what happened.” She waved her arm at the empty cubicle. “Is there a locker here? My clothes? My cell phone?”
“Here, use mine while I look.” He tossed his expensive model on the bed beside her.
She snatched it up and quickly dialed Roxy’s number. It rang and rang. “Shit. Why isn’t she answering?”
“Maybe she’s sleeping,” Morgan said. “It’s not seven yet.”
She spun around to stare at him in shock. “What? It’s not?” She glanced down at the phone and read 6:48 am in big bold letters. She’d only had a short nap this second time.
“And she doesn’t know my number, so maybe she wouldn’t answer anyway.” His muffled voice sounded on the other side of the curtain. She pushed the heavy waves of hair back off her face and sighed. It was early. Roxy rarely woke before her starting shift and would never have called herself a morning person.
“I think I’ve got your stuff.” He appeared around the corner with an open paper bag, her jeans half out of them.
“Ugh.” The jeans were bloodstained and dried to a stiffness she couldn’t imagine putting on. “That’s not nice.”
“But your phone is here.”
“Yay.” Dumping the jeans and the rest of the contents of the bag, she reached out for her phone, thankful she always kept it in her pocket. Quickly she called up Roxy again.
Again, no answer. She sent her a short text telling her friend to call her back when she got up. Then dropping her phone on the bed, she proceeded to struggle into her stiff jeans without using her injured arm. Finally aware of an odd silence, she turned to face Morgan. Realizing she’d not treated him as a stranger but as a lover, getting dres
sed in front of him. Tough. If he was uncomfortable, that was his problem. Deciding to act normally in spite of there being nothing normal about this situation, she searched through the rest of the bag and realized her shirt was missing. “Did they cut the shirt off me?” She groaned. “Damn it. How am I supposed to get out of here without one?” Her cami knit top was there and she struggled into it, but it hid nothing.
“Maybe you should wait until you see the doctor,” Morgan suggested, slipping his jacket off his shoulders and offering it to her.
She brightened and snagged it up. It was excessively big, hanging down well past her hips and wrists, but it was warm and comforting. Her actions slowed as she considered that. He’d been gone a year and had treated her badly to begin with. So why the hell was she so comfortable around him? It was as if the last year had not happened.
But it had. And it would again. She’d do well to remember that.
He wasn’t here for her. He was here for his brother.
As she zipped up the front of the jacket, she heard noises from the other side of the curtain. It was opened up with a heavy swish, and two people stood there. A nurse and a man with her, presumably the doctor.
“Perfect timing,” she said with a bright smile and more energy than she was feeling. “I was just about to check out.”
“And you can,” the doctor said smoothly, “As soon as I check that wound over.”
She studied his face, then switched her gaze to Morgan’s. She caught the relief in his gaze and relented. “Fine. Let’s make this quick.”
It was quick. And painful as hell. When the doctor and nurse departed, she sat on the bed, desperate to hold the tears in and failing miserably.
Somewhere between being all fired up to go and the doctor leaving, she’d gone from energetic to bawling like a baby.
Strong arms gently enfolded her, tucking her up against a muscled chest. She burrowed her face against Morgan gratefully and let the hurt flow.
When the storm abated, she rested, his heart gently pounding against her ears. So strong. So steady.
