by Sharon Sala
“Take it easy, Jessie. You’re going to be all right.”
Jessica blinked and then groaned. That voice and those wide, imposing shoulders were all too familiar. She looked up into stormy gray eyes and let her gaze wander to that stubborn square jaw before she looked away.
Stone knew she had no idea he had followed her as she’d been moved from the trauma room, or that she’d been parked in the hallway, waiting to be taken upstairs. She also had no way of knowing, nor did Stone think she would have believed, that he’d refused to budge from her side until someone came to get her.
“Bat barf,” she muttered, and missed seeing his grin.
If it hadn’t hurt so bad, Jessica would have glared.
“I’m bleeding,” she muttered inanely, and reached toward her head.
Stone’s expression gentled as he caught her hand. “Not anymore, Jessie. You’re going to be all right.”
“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered.
Stone frowned but didn’t have time to answer, as the long-awaited orderly finally appeared, moving Stone aside as he grabbed at the foot of Jessica’s bed.
“Sorry, sir, but they’re admitting her. You can see her tomorrow during visiting hours.”
Stone turned Jessie’s hand loose and felt a sense of panic as the orderly wheeled her away. The need to say something more was choking him, but all he could manage was, “Hey, honey, take care of yourself, okay?”
Jessica felt him patting her knee as she was wheeled away.
“I am not your ‘honey,’” she mumbled, before falling back asleep.
* * *
Someone yanked at the sheet beneath Jessica’s right leg and then rolled her onto her side. With an audible groan, she opened her eyes and grabbed for the bed rail. A pair of nurses-in-training were changing the linens on her bed.
“We’re sorry, Miss Hanson, but this won’t take long, and you’ll feel so much better with clean sheets on your bed.”
Jessica looked at the name tags on their uniforms, then gritted her teeth and hung on. She could have used a painkiller, and she was fairly certain that the clean sheets A. Wren and S. Dexter were determined to give her wouldn’t do a thing for the throb in her temples.
Wren rattled the ice in Jessica’s pitcher and then set it down, satisfied that there was an ample supply.
“Isn’t that a shame about Mrs. Stuart,” she said.
Jessica’s heart kicked out of rhythm as Dexter tucked the corners of her sheet tightly into place. Memory was coming back in swift and sudden flashes. Olivia had been attacked right in front of her eyes! Guilt flooded her conscience. How could she have been so crass as to forget such a thing?
Dexter nodded. “It’s so sad for her son, Hal, too. Imagine having your own mother suffer a heart attack on the day of your wedding!”
Jessica frowned. They had it all wrong. It wasn’t a heart attack. Someone had stabbed Olivia. She’d seen it happen. She touched Wren’s arm and started to argue.
“But, I saw…”
Wren, not to be outdone, patted Jessica’s arm and continued with the story as if Jessica hadn’t uttered a word.
“They said someone found her on the floor by her kitchen table. When they brought her in last night, she was all dressed for the wedding.”
Jessica closed her eyes. Teal. The dress was a teal-colored silk. Her head was swimming. None of this was making a bit of sense.
“It wasn’t by her table, it was by my…”
For all the good it did to say it, the two women were still ignoring the fact that Jessica was trying to speak.
Dexter thrust her arm beneath Jessica’s neck, then slid a fresh pillow beneath her head.
“Here you go. Easy does it.”
Wren poked a thermometer in Jessica’s mouth and began to take her pulse. Once again, Jessica found herself unable to say what was on her mind.
Dexter picked the bloodstained sheets from the floor where they’d been tossed and waited while Wren yanked the thermometer out of Jessica’s mouth and made the necessary notations on the patient’s chart.
“Have you seen where the Stuarts live?” Dexter asked. “I swear, some people have all the luck. That house is fantastic. I always wanted one like that.”
Wren stuck her pen back in her pocket and patted Jessica’s arm. “Yes, well, that house won’t do Olivia Stuart any good anymore. You can’t take it with you, you know.”
Jessica was too shocked by what she was hearing to respond. How could they have found Olivia in her house? She was in my office, I saw her!
Dexter’s voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. “They said Dr. Jennings and Dr. Howell worked on her forever and it was just no use.”
Jessica gasped, and this time when she grabbed at Wren’s arm, she got their attention.
“She’s dead? Olivia Stuart is dead?”
Wren and Dexter glanced nervously at each other, suddenly realizing they’d been gossiping about hospital business in front of a patient.
“Are you a member of the family?” Wren asked.
“No, but—”
Relief spread over both of their faces. “Just rest. It’s the best medicine for what ails you.”
Having dispensed their opinions, Dexter and Wren quickly disappeared, leaving Jessica in a state of confusion. Olivia wasn’t in her kitchen. She was in my office, and she didn’t have a heart attack. Someone tried to kill her. Then she gasped. Someone hadn’t tried to kill her. If Olivia was dead, then the attack had been successful.
But the more Jessica thought about it, the more confused she became. The nurses would have no reason to lie, and it didn’t make sense that someone could attack Olivia in one place and then move her body clear across town and dump it in another place without being seen. Granted, there was a blackout, but the lodge had been crawling with guests.
A fresh wave of pain moved from Jessica’s head to her neck and shoulders. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and closed her eyes. And the longer she lay there alone, the more convinced she became that the blow to her head must have caused her to suffer hallucinations. It was the only explanation that made sense.
She refused to let herself examine the fact that about the same time she was having the hallucination, Olivia Stuart was suffering a heart attack on the other side of town. The coincidence of it all was mind-boggling, but she hurt too much to sort it all out.
Settling back against the pillow, she took a slow, deep breath, trying to convince herself it was going to be all right. In the midst of her thoughts, the door to her room flew open, banging against a nearby chair. She opened her eyes and stifled a groan.
In all her tall, blond beauty, Brenda Hanson burst into the room carrying an armful of wilting flowers. “Jessie, darling! Are you all right?”
Jessica had no time to answer before her sister leaned across the bed and gave her a kiss, unintentionally squishing the IV fastened to the back of her hand and poking the stem of a gladiola up her nose.
“Ouch,” Jessica muttered.
“Ooh, sorry,” Brenda said, frowning as she straightened, then staring at the apparatus they’d stuck in her baby sister’s body. The frown deepened as her gaze moved from Jessica’s hand to her head.
“Ooh, yuck, they shaved off part of your hair, didn’t they.”
Jessica’s hand flew upward in a fit of panic. Slipping her fingers beneath the edge of the bandage, she felt bare skin, then groaned and let her hand fall to the bed with a thump.
“Dog fleas. As if I’m not invisible enough already.”
Brenda sighed. She loved her younger sister dearly, but was of the same opinion their parents had been before their untimely death some years earlier. With regards to looks, fashion sense and her worth on the open market with men, Jessica was clueless. Brenda was all for subtlety herself, but not at the expense of style and looks.
Brenda poked her finger near the edge of the bandage with a sympathetic tap. “I’m sure it will grow back in no time.”
Jessica’s chin quivered. “With my luck, that’s not necessarily a given.”
Brenda ignored her remark and moved on to a different topic, waving the drooping flowers under her sister’s nose. “They’re a little wilted, but you must remember it’s the thought that counts. The power is still off, and Marcel’s Bouquet was letting everything go at half price.”
In spite of her misery, Jessica had to grin. Leave it up to Brenda to find a bargain in a blackout. She brushed her fingertips across limp lavender petals.
“They’re very pretty, but I don’t have anything to put them in.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Brenda said. “Grand Springs is on water rationing until the blackout is over.”
Jessica snorted softly. “It’s been raining for days and we’re now short of drinking water?”
Brenda laughed and waved her hand above her head with a flirty flip. “You know the old saying, ‘Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.’”
Jessica closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain rolled up her back to the top of her head.
Brenda’s lighthearted expression faded as she stared at the stark white bandage on her little sister’s head. She set the wilting flowers aside and brushed a hand lightly across Jessica’s forehead.
“What happened, sweetie? About an hour ago I got a call from someone telling me you’d had an accident. When I found out you’ve been here since last night, I started to pitch a fit. But I suppose with all that’s been going on, we’re lucky they called at all.”
Brenda’s sympathy was too much to handle. Tears trickled from the corner of Jessica’s eyes as Brenda patted at her arm.
“I fell in my office. Against the file cabinet, I think.”
Brenda glanced at Jessica’s head again and winced. “Poor dear.”
Jessica had the distinct impression that Brenda’s concern was more for her missing hair than the wound she’d suffered.
“Oh, did you hear the news about Olivia Stuart?” Brenda said, suddenly changing the subject.
The room started to turn, and Jessica was thrust into the past with a swiftness she wouldn’t have believed. She was only vaguely aware of her sister’s voice droning on somewhere in the background, as her attention had become focused on an entirely different scene.
Rationally, she knew she was in the hospital, but her mind seemed removed from her body. The room went dark, and, unable to fight the overwhelming sense of being out of control, once again she found herself witnessing Olivia Stuart’s attack. And then the image disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving Jessica weak and shaking and gasping for air.
Concerned for Jessica’s sudden pallor, Brenda grabbed her sister’s hand. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”
Jessica closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. “No, whatever it was is gone.”
“Still,” Brenda muttered, “I think I should let them know that you’re not quite up to par.”
Jessica tried not to glare and wondered what it would be like to be beautiful and dense, then decided it wouldn’t be a good trade-off. She liked being able to balance a checkbook, as well as a job and a life. She rolled her eyes at Brenda’s inane remark.
“Of course I’m not up to par. I have stitches where my hair used to be.”
Brenda’s laugh tinkled like crystal chimes in a gentle breeze. Jessica snorted softly in response and both sisters smiled at each other. There was some truth in the old saying that blood was thicker than water.
* * *
Stone Richardson walked into the precinct, his steps dragging, his expression lined with fatigue. He’d slept in his car in fits and snatches, and dried blood stained the toes of his boots, remnants of the time he’d spent in ER last night.
Erik Chang, an officer on the force and one of Stone’s friends, looked up as Stone walked in.
“Your ex-wife called, and the chief’s waiting to see you,” he said.
Stone’s eyebrows rose, and he thrust a hand through his hair, spiking the short, thick strands. He hadn’t heard from Naomi in years. Why now? he wondered.
“Well, they’re both going to have to wait,” he muttered, and reached across his desk for the coffee cup on the other side of a stack of files.
“There’s no coffee,” Chang said.
On his way to the break room, Stone stopped, then pivoted. The frown between his eyebrows deepened as Chang added, “Because there’s no power, remember?”
Stone’s expletive was brief and to the point. He glanced down at the half inch of yesterday’s coffee coating the bottom of his cup, considered his jangled nerves and tossed it back like a dose of bad medicine.
Chang shuddered and looked away so that no one would see him gag. For a cop, he had a remarkably weak stomach.
Stone dropped his jacket on the back of his chair as he headed for Frank Sanderson’s office. He knocked once, then went in without waiting for an invitation.
The chief looked up, took one look at the drawn expression on his detective’s face, as well as his blood-splattered clothing, and frowned.
“Were you hurt?”
Stone looked down, only now realizing how he must look. “No, it’s someone else’s blood.”
“Then, go home and get some sleep. Come back when you can think straight.”
Stone’s right eyebrow arched. “Why, mother, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Shut the hell up and do what I said,” Sanderson ordered. “This blackout isn’t over yet.”
Stone’s attitude shifted. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “But it was one hellacious night.”
Aware that his men had worked without routines or orders, filling in where they were needed most, Sanderson asked, “Where were you?”
“Vanderbilt Memorial.”
Sanderson thought of Olivia Stuart. She’d died there last night. God knows how many others had followed her exit. Glancing at the blood splatters on Stone’s shirt, he repeated himself. “Do what I said.”
Stone’s shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. “Yes, sir.”
He shut the door quietly behind him and picked up his jacket on the way out of the precinct. His stomach growled—more from hunger than the cold, stale coffee he’d tossed down moments earlier. And he kept remembering the blood in Jessica Hanson’s hair and then, later, the lost, frightened expression on her face as they’d wheeled her away. He wanted—no—needed to know if she was all right. And as soon as he got a couple of hours’ sleep he would go back to the hospital and see for himself.
Chapter Two
Jessica watched with a wary eye as the nurse who was accompanying Dr. Noah Howell on his rounds removed the IV from her hand.
“Just take it easy when you get home,” Noah said as he signed off on Jessica’s chart.
Jessica glanced at the dim, flickering light in the hallway. Since she’d been admitted, she’d spent most of her time sleeping and was still confused about the time that had actually passed.
“Is the power still off?”
He nodded. The last few hours had been chaotic, and it would seem there was no end in sight.
“Yes, we’re still operating on generators, although I’m told that the crews are out in full force, but the mudslides keep knocking new poles down. I’m sure it won’t be long before power is restored. For now, all you need is a bed.”
Briefly fingering the small white patch of gauze above her right eyebrow, she winced. “That and a new head of hair.”
“We didn’t cut away all that much,” Noah said.
Jessica tried to smile. “That’s easy for you to say.”
He smiled and patted her on the knee. “It’s not so bad. And it will grow back. You’ll see.”
She sighed. “Sorry. I don’t usually whine. After all, what’s a little missing hair compared to everything else that’s been happening.”
The smile disappeared from Noah Howell’s face as he thought back. Olivia Stuart. No matter how hard they’d tried, it hadn’t been enough to s
ave her, and somehow, that still surprised him. Just before she died, she’d whispered the word “coal.” Soon afterward, they’d lost her. Masking his weariness, he tried to focus his concerns on the patient before him.
“You have the instructions the nurse gave you. I’ll see you back in my office in a few days to remove the stitches, okay?”
A few days. What else, Jessica wondered, could happen between now and then? She nodded. “Okay.” Then she added, “These phones aren’t working, I don’t have my cell, and I need to call my sister so she can come get me and take me home.”
Dr. Howell handed her his phone. “Use this.”
The line was busy. “I’ll have to try again after I get dressed.”
Moments later, she was alone. She glanced at the clock. It was close to five p.m. She thought of going home to a house without power, without refrigeration—possibly without a means of communication since her phone was still on her desk at work. She looked down at the wad she’d made of the covers and tugged at the neck of the hospital gown she was wearing. While the aspect of those discomforts was disheartening, the idea of crawling into her own nightgown—and into her own bed—was enough to make it all worthwhile.
She sat up and looked out the window. On the surface, everything about Grand Springs seemed the same. The lush green of the majestic mountains marking the skyline of the city were capped by low, overhanging clouds, but for now, the rain had stopped. The sky was dark and overcast. Night would come early.
Dusk was near. Normally, streetlights would be coming on and people would be closing down businesses and hurrying home for the evening meal. But not tonight. The streets were eerily empty, and the lack of vehicles on the roadways seemed an ominous sign of impending doom.
Suddenly, she wanted to be home. To find the familiar within her own house before dark. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and went to the closet. Brenda had brought her clean clothes as well as the discount flowers. At least she wouldn’t have to go home in torn and bloody clothing.
