Phoebe: Book One of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  In time to save me from the ever encroaching darkness which had absolutely fuck-all to do with my sight.

  “Ryker!”

  *.*.*.*.*

  “Here!” Cruz exclaimed, his head bent to the screen of his cellphone before it lifted to look around them. Seeing much the same view Ryker had, which was of a calm parking lot dotted with the cars of Phoebe’s neighbors.

  “Uh, at least that’s what her phone reads,” he offered as Ryker threw open the door and exited the SUV.

  Walking fully around her vehicle, noticing the half-opened, driver-side door Ryker swore in a mixture of both English and Spanish.

  She had to be there, just had to be because if she wasn’t…Ryker couldn’t allow himself to finish the thought.

  Sirens had chased them as they’d wound their way up every curve of the back entrance to the apartments, hounding their moves before Ryker finally skidded the SUV to a stop.

  And as he’d raced around Phoebe’s vehicle, he could hear GPD’s communications through the shoulder-held walkie-talkies each of them wore. Which gave him no new knowledge regarding where his girl was…something that made them nothing but a background noise because of their lack of assistance.

  Although the police practically crawled over her car, going over every inch both inside and out.

  “Purse still on the passenger seat,” one of the officers yelled. “And key still in the ignition.”

  “Seeing blood here, Matthews,” came the call from one of the unknown guys working the scene until the detectives and crime scene staff arrived. Making Ryker’s already beating heart ratchet up in its thrumming beneath his breast bone. “Seems to go from the driver’s door to the trunk.”

  “Hold then,” a dark-headed man in uniform bellowed, causing everyone of the police officers freeze in their tracks. “Use place-cards for any evidence, but wait for the detectives to arrive.”

  Ryker and Cruz stepped back to allow the law-enforcement men to do their work just as another two cars careened into the complex’s lot, effectively bracketing the Black Ice SUV between them.

  “What’ve we got, boys?” was the call from the tall, black haired man who exited the front-most sedan. As Ryker’s eyes took the guy in, he realized it was Ram Patel, the new chief of Police in Grantham. The one who’d taken over after the old one had been stripped of his title in disgrace and then convicted of colluding with a dirty judge when Ryker had been incarcerated.

  “A Phoebe Marquette, aged twenty-four and a nurse at GH,” the officer whose nameplate read ‘Matthews’ was reading from a tiny notebook. “Neighbors reported hearing her scream and then seeing her being manhandled by an unknown assailant. The Black Ice guys here,” the dark, curly haired officer nodded in the general direct of Ryker and Cruz, carried on. “They got a bead on her cell phone, which is here in the parking lot. We’ve discovered her purse and the keys in the ignition, but no sign of her or the phone, sir.”

  As the officer spoke, Ryker’s eyes watched as Patel walked around Phoebe’s car, his eyes traveling over every inch of it.

  But it was Jeff Trusdale, one of Ram’s detectives and one of the ones Ryker had met while working the investigations that hit his desk who spoke next. “Blood on the frame of the driver side, directly over the door. A partial bloody print just above the rear wheel-well, same side. Which ends at the bumper by the trunk, captain.”

  “Pop the fucker,” Patel demanded, his dark, inky eyes on the trunk of Phoebe’s car. Ryker’s heart swelled at the fact someone, god, anyone was doing something, goddamn anything to figure out what’d happened to his girl.

  A shorter, stockier officer in uniform stepped up and pulled the fob from the ignition before hitting the trunk release. At the sound of metallic ‘pop’, Ryker surged forward completely ignoring how Cruz threw an arm out in an attempt to hold him back.

  And Ryker heard another sound, just a whisper of a voice coming from within the depths of Phoebe’s trunk, a gratingly, raw-vocalized word as if offered up through broken glass, that sounded like his name.

  “Ryker,” it squeaked again and again, rough and unevenly.

  Unable to hold himself back, he moved, avoiding all the different police personnel as he made haste to get to his goal.

  To his girl.

  Only to find her curled into a fetal position, grocery sacks snuggling her back as she scratched again and again at the pieces of plastic of the car’s rear lights with bloody fingers. Her one good eye was open and unfocused, the other swollen and covered with blood.

  “Ryker?” she called in a voice more child-like than he’d ever heard her use and the sound made his insides quell and knees turn to mush.

  “Oh shit,” Patel muttered next to him before he turned to look Ryker’s way. “You gotta hold on, buddy. We’ve got EMT’s standing by to take her to the hospital. Try not to wig out on me, okay?”

  How was he supposed to do that? To just stand by with clenched hands in pockets as others quickly moved to enclose her neck in some kind of plastic collar, wrapping her shoulder and arm in some fucking bandage thing before transferring her to a goddamn backboard as they took her out of the car and into the ambulance?

  A place he knew he couldn’t be because although while they might be building a connection, it hadn’t been cemented yet.

  “C’mon, bro’,” Cruz said from behind him and Ryker acknowledged the pressure of his brother’s fingers on his bicep as his eyes followed the gurney taking her away from him. “We’ll follow them, okay?”

  Ryker didn’t remember any of the ride to the hospital.

  Nor any of the time in the waiting room.

  Because his life only began the moment Trusdale came to stand before him and announced, “She’s asking for you. And everyone’s thinking she won’t calm and do as they want until your ass is next to hers.”

  Ryker turned to look to Cruz in question, trying to make sense of the detective’s words before his brother leaned in. “Go to your girl, Ry’. She needs you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Let’s see,” Dr. Thurston mumbled as his eyes slid over his electronic tablet. “You’ve got fifteen stitches for the forehead cut, a dislocated right shoulder, multiple cuts on the fingers of your left hand, a split lip that we closed with a butterfly patch, multiple deep contusions, the worst of which seem to be to your left orbital socket and a concussion.” He raised his head and gave me the once over as Tess Dixon plugged me into all the monitoring equipment in my hospital room.

  “Guess I’m spending the night, huh?” I knew I didn’t sound like myself and it hurt my throat to talk but for some reason I felt I needed to join the conversation since I was the one who asked Dr. Thurston to tell me all of my injuries.

  “Yep. And you might want to plan for a second night if the swelling of your eye isn’t significantly down or your headache worsens.” He was one of my favorite doctors, thorough and always willing to give it to his patients straight. “Plus, you’re going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow and we’ll need to monitor your meds.”

  I knew what he meant. They’d given me a butt-full of anti-anxiety meds in ER in order to calm me down, but their side effects and the way they interacted with other drugs, especially pain-killers and muscle-relaxers, made them tricky. And required constant monitoring.

  But as the patient in the scenario, I loved ‘em. I’d gone from sheer paralyzing terror to nothing-can-bother-me in less than five minutes. And with whatever it was they put in my I.V., my body didn’t hurt much except for the headache and scratchy throat.

  I heard Ryker shift position and turned to look his way, although the move made me a bit dizzy. Maybe it was wrong to ask him to stay by my side through all the tests and treatments but I needed him near, knowing he’d move heaven and earth to keep me safe.

  “Any more questions, Phoebe?” Dr. Thurston regained my attention and I answered with a slight head shake. “Okay, then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He and Tess left at the same ti
me, her with a light squeeze of my toes as she rounded my bed. There was a camaraderie among the nursing staff, and while we weren’t all best buddies or anything, we were friendly especially when one of our own was admitted as a patient.

  Ryker dropped into the chair next to the bed. “How you feeling, cariña? Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m good,” I mumbled. I couldn’t see him and the thought of turning my head would take some effort, so I reached out my left hand instead, the one with gauze wrapped around each finger. He took my hand in a light hold as he pulled the chair closer. “Thanks for staying.”

  “Anything for you, baby,” came his quick reply offered in his, deep, dark chocolate voice.

  We sat in silence for a time, although a hospital is never really quiet, just holding hands. I was beginning to feel sleepy and wondered if Tess was going to make me take a sleeping pill or if she’d already added something to the I.V.

  A rapping on my room’s door broke the moment of peace Ryker and I were enjoying. “Ms. Marquette?” I looked up to see the detectives who I’d met with after the package incident at Diana’s house, enter my room. I struggled to remember their names.

  “Know its late, Ms. Marquette, but we need to get your statement about what happened while it’s still fresh in your mind.” Detective Bell was the blonde one but I couldn’t quite recall the darker one’s name.

  “That is if you’re up to it,” the other one added with a small, professional grin.

  “Sure,” I replied and reached for the control to lift the head of the bed up. “Before we start, can I get some water? My throat is pretty raw.”

  Tess bustled in at that moment, bearing a small plastic pitcher and tumbler. “Already on it, Pheebs. I even got you the good ice and some straws from the cafeteria.”

  “Thanks, honey.” After I’d taken a long, delicious swallow of the cold water, I looked to the detectives again. “I’m ready now.”

  Both men produced notebooks this time and wrote as I talked, step by terrified step through my ordeal. At first, I felt tendrils of panic start again as I related what I’d been through just a few hours earlier, but armed with the anti-anxiety meds I was able to push it back. Every now and again, they’d stop me to ask a question or for more clarification but it didn’t take that long to retell what had happened.

  “So you never got a look at them?” Detective Bell asked, flipping through his notepad.

  “He was behind me.”

  “What about height then? How tall do you think he is?”

  I thought for a minute. “Taller than me, I think. But I can’t give you anything more specific.”

  The other detective (Trusdale! That was his name!) gave me a long look. “Do you think this is the same person who sent you that box? The one named in the TOP you filed?”

  Ryker had been making small movements in his chair after I’d given my recap, but at the mention of the Temporary Order of Protection he went still as stone. Taking a long sip of water, I felt a blush bloom. I hadn’t told him about the package or about the filing, unwilling to go into it at the time, since I hadn’t made the decision about sharing my secrets or hearing his. But even then I somehow knew if I was going to tell him, it had to be the whole of it, not just bits and pieces.

  Just as I’d want from him when he disclosed his past.

  Rather than give a verbal answer to the detective, I simply shrugged. Detective Bell glanced at Ryker then back at me. Closing his notebook, he sighed. “Guess we’ve got enough and will let you rest. Thanks for your time.”

  Detective Trusdale gave me a nod before leaving and just as the police cleared the doorway, I sighed and hit the button to lower my bed back down, exhausted and shaky after having to put my experience into words.

  But now? Now I’d never have to think about it again.

  *.*.*.*.*

  “…so, from what I can see, everything’s healing well and there’s no sign of infection.” Ryker heard what the doc said but his entire focus was on Phoebe, wondering how she felt about being told she could go home. “I’ll get the release papers started but I don’t want to see your pretty face down in ER for at least another week.”

  Phoebe grinned at the man but Ryker caught the way her chin trembled and she plucked at the sheet. Didn’t she want to leave the hospital? Because Ryker was sick of the place with its constant noise and the continual in-and-out of the staff checking this or changing out that. Plus Ryker had his doubts she was well enough to actually go back to her place.

  Not so much because of her physical injuries, but about what was going on inside her head. He didn’t think her insistence on having every light in the room, including one over the unoccupied bed closest to the window, on twenty-four seven and her demand to have every door open at all times, even the closet and the bathroom ones, were within the area of ‘normal’.

  The doctor patted Phoebe’s knee and for the first time in the two days of her stay, directed his words to Ryker. “Hope you have help coming because it’s going to take multiple trips just to take all the bouquets and balloons with you. Our Nurse Marquette is pretty popular around here.”

  Ryker looked around the room and knew the old guy was right. They’d started coming the morning after her attack and hadn’t stopped although he was over the fucking moon that the biggest, most lavish arrangement was from Black Ice Investigations. “I’ll call someone,” Ryker answered as he shook the medico’s hand. “Thank you for all your help.”

  Just as the doctor left, a nurse bustled in. “Okay, Pheebs. Thurston says you’re being released this morning. So do you want me to disconnect you and re-do the dressings first or do you want to wait until after breakfast?”

  At the word ‘breakfast’, Ryker’s stomach reacted with a loud growl. That was the other thing. Since she’d been hospitalized, both his sleep and his meals had been taken on the fly since she hadn’t wanted him away from her side. Shit, he’d even snuck out when she was sleeping in order to make quick trips back to his mom’s house for food, showers and clean clothes.

  Although he’d gotten breaks whenever her girls came to see visit.

  The first ones to arrive had been Diana Polson, who Ryker’d met the same day Phoebe moved in and another lady who told him she was Carmen Munoz, Phoebe’s former CPS case worker. But as his girl sobbed in the arms of Diana before turning to Carmen (something she hadn’t done with him although she’d cried a lot—just not in Ryker’s arms), he knew the women weren’t only ‘friends’ but more like family members. He’d had to leave at that point since the scene at her bedside was a bittersweet hurt. And as he’d aimlessly walked the halls of the hospital, he tried to figure out why. It was great Phoebe had them in her life, but he was dismayed she seemed to find more comfort with them than with him.

  But if having just the two middle-aged women visit was a pain, having the rest of her girls (the one he secretly referred to as Phoebe’s Posse) was just goddamn hell. Not only were they loud, a couple of them actually sneered, sneered when Phoebe’d done the intros, although she’d called him, ‘my Ryker’. One of the girls, the blonde heavier one with Hispanic eyes, even swore at him under her breath in Spanish before she immediately turned her back and ignored him before he could escape.

  What the fuck was up with that?

  Unable to answer his own question, Ryker clued back into the conversation between the nurse and his girl. Who were, at that moment, looking at him in question. “What?”

  “I just asked if you wanted to step outside while I get our Pheebs ready to leave,” the nurse recapped with a tiny smile, shooting a roll of her eyes Phoebe’s way.

  “I’ll just…ah, start clearing out all the flowers and stuff,” Ryker mumbled, causing both women to giggle. Piling as many of the flower arrangements as he could carry, he quickly left the room, only to hear the nurse’s loud whisper.

  “Aww…did we make the poor, hot guy uncomfortable?”

  Another chorus of giggles erupted and chased him down the hall.<
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  When he returned for the second load, the two women were sitting side-by-side on the edge of the bed, their backs to the door.

  “I really think you should call Dr. Ballesteros or even Dr. Snyder, honey,” the nurse was saying. “After what you’ve been through, you’re gonna need some help in sorting out the shit in your head. And we all need help sometimes, you know?”

  Phoebe’s face was pointed at her lap, her shoulders slumped. “I guess,” she sighed on such a note of resignation, Ryker’s heart fell. The Phoebe he knew was more upbeat than not, a girl who usually looked on the bright side so to hear her sound so defeated was just…wrong.

  After he got her back to her apartment and settled on the couch, with the remote in hand and a glass of juice by her side, Ryker decided it was time they talked a few things over. Especially since she’d been so quiet on the ride home.

  So after bringing in all the flowers, the stuffed animals and balloons, Ryker went to the other end of her couch and, lifting her feet, he sat before repositioning them in his lap. He stared at the TV as she scrolled through the onscreen guide, trying to gather his thoughts. “Cariña?”

  “Mmm-hmm?” She didn’t even spare him a glance which bothered him probably more than it should.

  “While the doctor said you’re better and can start trying to use your arm,” he started. “You’re still gonna need help for the first couple of days.”

  That got her attention and she turned her head to look at him.

  “I’ll be here at night, you know, after work but do you have someone in mind to assist during the day?”

  She blinked but didn’t say anything.

  “You know like one of your girls or someone from the hospital who can help you shower and dress, make you food and stuff?”

  Phoebe turned back to the TV. Why didn’t she say something?

  “I’m sure, if everyone else is busy, I can call my mom. She even offered when she came to see you in the hospital, remember?”