by Maggie Price
Halliday took in Sloan’s blood-soaked cuffs. “Think maybe you should roll up your sleeves before they walk in?”
“I didn’t even think....” Sloan scrubbed a hand across his face, wincing when he hit the welt that a well-aimed blow from Rick’s fist had left on his right cheek.
His hands shook as he unhooked one gold cuff link, then the other. “All I can think about is Julia. About how much blood... By the time the ambulance got there, she could barely breathe.”
“I guess it was pretty rough on you,”. Halliday said, watching him.
“A lot rougher on her.”
“Yeah.” Halliday flicked a look across the corridor at the nurse, then reached into his back pocket. “Maybe I can bridge the gap until you talk to the head of the hospital,” he said, flipping open a leather case to display his gold shield. “This baby works like a crowbar when it comes to prying information out of people.”
He turned, walked the few steps to the nurses’ station and held the leather case across the counter.
Hot, frustrated anger built inside Sloan as he watched the woman nod, then pick up the phone and punch buttons. She spoke, listened for what seemed an interminable time, then hung up and began talking to Halliday. The detective listened, nodding intently.
Sloan turned, expelling a heated breath between his clenched teeth. He’d relinquished his claim on Julia once and removed himself from her life, had told her just that morning he intended to do the same thing again. Why, then, had the fact that the nurse treated him with the exact status he’d chosen tear his heart out by its roots?
“So far so good,” Halliday said a few moments later when he returned to Sloan’s side. “Julia’s pretty well holding her own.”
Sloan turned, saw the guarded look in the man’s eyes. “Pretty well? What the hell does that mean?”
“The bullet nicked a major vein. She lost a lot of blood before she got here. It’ll take a while to get the bullet out, and she’ll lose more blood. They’re having a problem keeping her pressure stabilized. They’ve already pumped a couple of pints into her and will have to give her more.” Halliday shoved an unsteady hand through his blond hair. “Hell.”
A sickening combination of fear and remorse blasted through Sloan. The barrage of sensation nearly staggered him. He thought about their last moments together in the guest house when they’d fought, the things said... and those unsaid.
“I can at least give her some blood—”
Halliday caught Sloan’s arm as he turned toward the nurses’ station. “The hospital contacted the police chaplain. He’s already called out the troops. The nurse says there’s about a hundred cops downstairs waiting to donate.”
The absolute feeling of helplessness had Sloan’s hands balling at his sides.
“Word is Julia will be in surgery for a couple of hours total,” Halliday added. “All we can do is wait.”
Sloan stood silent, while the sterile scent of disinfectant thickened in his lungs. His inability to help Julia—to do something—edged control further and further from his grasp.
“Where the hell were you, Halliday?” he snapped. “Dammit, why weren’t you with her?”
A muscle worked in the detective’s jaw. “I should have been.” He looked away for a long moment. “My wife had a baby two days ago. I’m on leave.”
Sloan held up a hand, let it drop. “Sorry.”
“Forget it,” Halliday said. “I was upstairs in my wife’s room when my pager went off. It was Sam Rogers, the lead detective at the scene. That’s who I was talking to when I got down here. Sam gave me the rundown of what he thinks happened between Julia and Fox, based on the tape that was recovered. Something clued her to the fact that he killed Vanessa West. Julia used a forgotten appointment to try to get the hell out of there, but Fox didn’t fall for it. He drew down on her.”
Thinking about what Rick had done clouded Sloan’s vision with a dull red haze of fury. “I went crazy when I saw him leaning over her. Dammit, he’d shot her and still had the gun aimed at her chest. I wanted to kill him.”
Sloan flexed his right hand, only now feeling the bite of pain from swollen, bruised knuckles. “I think I would have killed him if I hadn’t had to get to Julia.”
“Sounds like you did okay,” Halliday commented. “According to Sam, Fox has a broken nose, two black eyes and a busted lip—that’s just the injury to his face. A couple of uniforms took him by the county hospital. They’re on the way downtown now to book what’s left of him. It will be my personal pleasure to make the bastard talk once I get him into interrogation.”
The sudden rush of footsteps on the hard, polished floor had both men turning. Hands gripped, Fred and Georgia Cruze raced frantically down the corridor, both looking as if they’d entered their own private hell.
“Travis, how’s my baby?” Georgia asked, her voice thin and desperate. The oversize white lapels on her tailored navy suit made her already pale skin seem ghostlike. “Where’s my baby?”
“She’s in surgery,” Halliday said, sliding his arm around the woman’s trembling shoulders. “I just talked to the nurse. She said Julia’s doing fine. Just fine—”
“Fred said she’s been shot.” She clenched a hand sparkling with rings on Halliday’s arm. “What happened? My God, where was she?”
“At my building,” Sloan said quietly.
Two pairs of eyes slashed his way, one red-rimmed, one raw and dry-eyed.
“What was she doing there, Sloan?” Fred Cruze asked, his voice steady and low.
It was Halliday who answered. “Julia was following up a lead on a case—”
“Who shot her?” Georgia insisted.
“We’ve got a suspect by the name of Rick Fox in custody—”
“Rick Fox?” she asked, whipping her gaze back to Sloan. “Your friend Rick Fox?”
“Yes—”
“The man whose shoulder Julia cried on when you walked out on her?”
Sloan stared into eyes filled with a combination of antagonism and tears. “Yes.”
Georgia lifted her chin. “You’re responsible for this, aren’t you?” Although delivered in a shaking voice, the question lashed out like a whip. “You’re always responsible. Whenever you’re around, Julia gets hurt. Just the other morning I warned her to stay away from you. And now, because of you, my baby might—”
“She’s going to be fine,” Sloan said, taking a quick step forward. “She has to be all right ”
“Actually,” Halliday interjected in a mild tone, “it was Mr. Remington who subdued Fox. Then he called for help and administered first aid to Julia until the ambulance arrived.”
For the first time, Georgia seemed to take in Sloan’s appearance. Her tear-filled eyes settled on his bruised cheek. Seconds passed, then her gaze lowered, taking in the rumpled white shirt that showed spatters of crimson on the pocket, the loose collar with no tie beneath it, the dark stains on his black slacks.
Her lips trembled; tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she turned to her husband. “We...need to call Bill. It doesn’t matter that Julia broke off their engagement. I know she’ll want him here when she wakes up.”
“Use this.” Halliday slid the cellular phone from his pocket and handed it to Fred Cruze. “The waiting room is empty right now. You’ll have some privacy if you call from in there. I need to check a few facts with Mr. Remington, then I’ll be in.”
Arms entwined, the couple leaned heavily on each other as they disappeared into the waiting room.
Sloan rubbed a hand across the knots in the back of his neck. “Hell,” he mumbled.
“Did I hear Georgia right?” Halliday asked. “Julia broke her engagement?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
Halliday’s eyes narrowed. “When?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m just trying to get something clear in my mind.”
“She told him sometime yesterday.”
The detective nodde
d. “So, I figure you’re the reason I couldn’t get hold of Julia when I called her place until 2 a.m. this morning.”
Sloan matched the detective’s gaze and said nothing.
“Right.” Halliday nodded as if he’d received confirmation. “Julia made her choice and I’ll respect that. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my say,” he added, lowering his voice as he leaned in. “From day one, I thought you murdered Vanessa West. My thinking didn’t change until I got that call from Sam Rogers about twenty minutes ago.”
Halliday paused while a gaunt, dark-haired man in a redplaid bathrobe shuffled by at a snail’s pace, leaning on his IV pole like a cane.
“What Julia thought about your guilt—or lack of—is a different matter,” the detective continued. “I doubt she ever really believed you’d pulled the trigger. And because of that, she put up with a lot of grief from me.” The hard lines etching the corners of Halliday’s mouth eased slightly. “She told me why you walked out on her.”
“Leaving was the right thing to do,” Sloan said evenly.
“Yeah, well, you’re entitled to an opinion, but I don’t happen to agree.”
“I don’t care—”
“Let me clue you in on something, pal. You may have more money than the mint itself and own a house big enough to have its own zip code, but that doesn’t make you smart. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have left her then. And you damn sure wouldn’t consider doing it again.”
“Look, Halliday—”
“No, you look, Remington. Julia may be tough, but that doesn’t mean she’s invincible. In the six months we’ve been partners we’ve gotten so close we can damn near read each other’s minds. She never mentioned your name in the whole time, never even said she had an ex-fiancé. Even so, I knew there was something there, some pain she carried around deep inside her. That pain is you, pal.”
“Dammit, I left to keep her from getting hurt.”
“Well, I don’t like the idea that history may repeat itself. Maybe you haven’t thought past right now, but that’s exactly what you ought to do. Julia’s going to be weak as a kitten for a while. In my mind, weak translates to vulnerable. What she’ll need when she wakes up is support, not added misery from you. If you’re still planning on taking off for D.C., I suggest you do it now and save her the goodbyes.”
“When she was on that floor bleeding,” Sloan began, forcing the words past the knot in his throat. “she asked me not to leave her. I promised I wouldn’t. I can’t leave her now.”
“You really think she was talking about things on a short-term basis?” Halliday asked as he slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I’ve had my say. What you do is up to you. I’m going in to sit with Frank and Georgia. You coming?”
Sloan stared into the waiting room. Georgia had just finished her call and turned to her husband in the chair beside hers.
“Bill’s out of town,” she said, her knuckles white as she clutched the phone to her heart. A mix of despair and fear played in her face. In contrast, Fred’s expression was bleak. Closed.
Sloan looked back at Halliday. “Later,” he said. “I’ll be in later.”
The detective nodded, then walked into the waiting room. He settled into the empty chair beside Georgia, leaned forward and began talking to the couple in soft tones. At one point, Georgia glanced up; Sloan could feel the heat of her gaze boring through him.
I wasn’t the only one who got hurt when you left.
The memory of Julia’s words settled like lead weights on his shoulders. He knew he deserved her parents’ recriminations. Had expected them. What he hadn’t counted on was the pain that came with them.
None of it mattered, he reminded himself, then took a deep breath and walked into the waiting room. He settled into a chair near the door, rested his elbows on his knees, then pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. Nothing mattered, as long as Julia survived. God, please let her live.
Two hours later, the small waiting room had filled to capacity. The police chaplain sat with the Cruzes, lending support with words of faith and cups of strong coffee. Julia’s boss, Lieutenant Michael Ryan, and his wife, A.J., had joined in the seemingly endless waiting, along with a number of Homicide detectives and uniformed officers.
As he had every five minutes since he’d arrived at the hospital, Sloan checked the time. Julia had been in surgery almost three hours. Three hours. Thinking about all the blood she’d lost, the shocked paleness of her skin, her labored breathing, made his body ache with fear.
“I have a few things to say to you.”
His chin jerked up. He had no idea Georgia had left her husband’s side. No idea she’d settled, spine as stiff as a knife blade, into the chair beside his. Her unlined face was delicately pale. Now it was a reluctant understanding, rather than tears, that filled her reddened eyes.
Sloan straightened in his chair. He knew it had not been easy for her to cross the room to him. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve spent the past two years despising you, Sloan Remington.”
“I gave you good reason.”
“When you left, you nearly destroyed my daughter. You hurt Fred and me. I hated you for what you’d done to my family. Sometimes, I wished you dead.” Her breath shook as she let it out and drew in more. “I’d always thought you were crazy in love with Julia. And then you just left...” Her clenched palm opened to reveal a wad of white tissue. “I couldn’t understand how you could do that. It was beyond my comprehension how we could have all been so wrong about you.”
Wordlessly, Sloan stared into her shadowed, reddened eyes.
“Now I understand we weren’t wrong.” Georgia looked across the room to where Halliday sat. “Travis told Fred and me why you left. You were sick, and you wanted to protect Julia from the same fate as your mother.”
“I’m not looking for redemption, Georgia. Under the circumstances, I did what I thought was the right thing. I won’t apologize for that.”
“I believe you had my daughter’s best interests at heart.” She stared down, fumbling with the gold watch on her wrist. “God, how much longer?”
“Soon,” Sloan said quietly. “It has to be soon.” He didn’t tell her he’d asked himself the same question a hundred times since he settled into the chair by the door.
Georgia shuddered visibly. Sloan could feel her despair, thick and heavy. He had the urge to reach out and take her hand, then caught himself. He doubted the gesture would be welcomed.
“I don’t agree that your cutting Julia out of your life was the best way to handle the situation,” Georgia said, wadding the tissue tighter in her fist. “But I understand why you did it.”
She paused to dab an errant tear from her cheek, then looked over at Sloan, the edges of her mouth lifting slightly. “I was delighted when Julia was born because I thought I had a little girl I could have tea parties with and dress in pink, frothy dresses. As it turned out, she preferred denim and a good game of cops and robbers.”
Her voice broke, and she shook her head before going on. “Julia was tough from the start. She never let the class bully get away with picking on the weaker kids, and for that she sometimes came home all scraped and bruised. In that sense, she never needed protecting—never wanted it. My tough little girl grew into a strong young woman. I’m wondering if you realize just how much inner strength she has.”
Sloan closed his eyes, fighting the pressing need to wrap his arms around Georgia in an attempt to give comfort as well as receive it. “My mother was a strong person, too, but in the end that strength didn’t do her a bit of good,” he said. “There’s only so much a person can take—Julia’s no exception. I couldn’t chance her getting hurt. I just didn’t want her...”
To die.
He dragged in a breath, unable to say the words for fear they might come true. “Today, I couldn’t protect her. Couldn’t do a damn thing for her.”
“But you did.” Georgia inclined her head toward a corner
of the waiting room where a group of police officers were gathered, talking among themselves in soft tones. “The detective who worked the scene is here. The paramedics told him Julia would have bled to death if you hadn’t done what you did. You kept her alive, Sloan. Fred and I thank you for that.”
“I don’t want your thanks. I just want her to be okay.”
The slap of crepe-soled shoes on tile brought both their heads up. A tall, lanky man dressed in sweat-drenched green scrubs stepped into the waiting room.
As they rose, Sloan placed a hand beneath Georgia’s elbow to steady her. Fred Cruze hurried over to join them, accompanied by Travis Halliday. The quiet murmur of voices that had filled the room for the past hours ceased, replaced with a collective, breath-holding silence.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cruze, I’m Dr. Averey. Your daughter is out of surgery. She’s stabilized, and her prognosis is good.”
“Thank, God,” Georgia said, her voice a raw whisper. The tissue she held to her mouth had deteriorated to a damp lump. “Thank, God.”
“The bullet nicked the subclavian vein, which lies across the chest,” Dr. Averey continued. “That’s why she lost so much blood. The surgery was lengthy because we had a lot of tissue damage to repair. Her blood pressure dipped several times.”
“But she’s all right?” Georgia asked breathlessly. “She’s all right?”
“She will be,” the man said in a reassuring voice. “She’ll experience quite a bit of pain at first, and she’ll be weak—very weak—from the blood loss. We transfused her with three units. She may need more later. Your daughter is young, healthy and strong. A month from now, I expect her to be almost good as new.”
Throughout the room, the silence transformed into sighs of relief.
“When can we see her?” Fred asked, his expression relaxing for the first time since he’d arrived.
