“Why am I in the hospital?” The question sounded slurred and spittle gathered in the corner of the man’s mouth.
Not that Matt needed to give the guy an explanation, he did so anyway. “Because you refused to blow in the breathalyzer.”
“So, you cock-sucking cop? So what? I have rights.” His head bobbed forward like he was about to pass out and then it snapped back up.
“I read them to you already,” Matt said grimly, dragging him over to an empty seat away from the majority of the waiting patients and their families.
“I don’t remember.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Matt murmured. He turned his head toward the double sliding glass doors, wondering where the hell his brother was. Seriously, it was a police cruiser; he didn’t have to park legally, he just needed to park it out of the way of the ambulances.
The guy tried to stand up and Matt jerked him back down into the seat by yanking on his elbow.
“Sit. Don’t move.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“So I’ve been told,” Matt answered, not taking offense.
Just then, he saw a tall blonde heading his direction and groaned. Even with her no-nonsense hair-do and her plain white lab coat, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. And the last thing he needed at the moment was a distraction.
Or a hard-on.
Fuck.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she approached, taking in the two of them. She inspected him from head to toe with just her eyes. “Did he get blood on you?”
Matt didn’t stand, because if he did, he’d have to release the grip on his prisoner and he couldn't risk that. He glanced up at his wet dream. “No. I’m okay.”
“Lookie, lookie. Ain’t you a tall drink of water.”
Carly took a fleeting glance at the bleeding head wound on the man, then did a quick assessing look around the room before pinning her gaze back on Matt. “It will be a bit of a wait. The ER is busier than normal tonight. It must be the moon.”
“I see that. I need to get this guy’s BAC before it starts dropping and get the head wound looked at before I take him to central booking.”
“You got those long legs that’d wrap around me—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Matt growled at him, keeping his voice low so anyone nearby wouldn’t hear him.
“You need to put that blonde hair of yours down. I bet you have some nice titties. Lemme see ‘em.”
Matt wasn’t the only who stiffened at that comment. Carly scowled.
“Is this your girlfriend, cop-sucker?”
Matt ignored him, digging his fingers harder into the guy’s arm. “Why don’t you go back to work?” he recommended to Carly, wanting to get her far away from the drunk fucker.
Her brows raised to her hairline at his suggestion. Yeah, she didn’t appear to take orders very well; she seemed more comfortable at giving them.
She planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze at him. “I’m waiting for one of my patients who thinks she’s going into labor.”
He wanted to ask her to wait elsewhere, to just get the hell away from this guy, but he knew that would go over like a lead balloon. Then the asshole jerked upward and out of his grip, lurching toward her. Before Matt could grab him, the drunk fell into her, head butting her chin. As if in slow motion, Matt saw Carly fall to the ground, blood tricking from her mouth, surprise in her eyes, and then his prisoner landed on top of her in a drunken heap.
And that was the last thing Matt saw.
Everything became a blur and then faded to black.
Matt couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t feel anything. A voice pierced his brain. Female. Panicked.
Then a male voice. Deep. Yelling commands. Almost as panicked.
His vision started to clear. At first, only a narrow opening. The little he could see appeared blurry, then as his brain tried to process the voices and who they might belong to, the pin-like opening widened and he could see a face in front of him. Purple. Also panicked.
A hand gripped the neck of this person, the fingers wrapped so tight they were white. What had this person done to deserve this?
The voices became clearer, and he could finally make out some words.
His name. They screamed his name.
He had no idea what was wrong.
Hands pulled at him. They were strong, but he was stronger.
His brother’s voice yelled commands. Telling him to stop. Something about killing someone.
Who was dying? Was it him? How could it be him? He still stood upright, so it couldn’t be him.
Matt blinked. His vision cleared even more. It was his hand around the man’s throat. His fingers held it in a death grip, and he had his prisoner pinned to the wall by his neck. The man’s mouth open and closed like a fish out of water, though no words escaped.
“Matt!” Carly’s voice. “Matt! Let him go!” she pleaded with someone.
Marc repeated the exact same words, then, “Jesus Christ, brother, let him go before you kill him!”
They were talking to him. No. Not talking. Telling him to let go. He tried to release his fingers, but they wouldn’t cooperate. It was as if the connection between his brain and his hand was missing. Then another hand gripped his, pulling at his wrist. Someone yanked at his shoulder. Someone tugged at his waist above his duty belt.
Matt blinked again. He breathed. He took a great big inhale of oxygen before releasing it. Suddenly his hand was no longer attached to the guy’s throat. He stared down at his fingers, still locked in a curled position. They didn’t seem a part of his body. They belonged to a stranger.
He had to tell himself to breathe again. He watched as if through a tunnel as someone pulled the other man away, out of his line of sight.
It became quiet. Very quiet. Except for someone coughing. The cough sounded raw, painful. He recognized that sound because he’d been there before. Once. A long time ago.
He stared at the empty plastic seat before him. Why did he just stand there? If he was in danger, he had to move. He had to take cover. He had to find his unit.
Without warning, sounds crashed around him and he winced, clapping his hands over his ears. He dropped to the ground in a ball in an attempt to make himself a small target.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to sort through the sounds, figure out what happened. Where he was at.
“Matt.” The voice sounded feminine, familiar. Carly again. She repeated his name several more times. “Come back. You’re okay. I’m okay. It’s safe.”
He pushed himself slowly to his knees, his back still toward the voice. “Where am I?”
“The hospital.”
Then everything hit him at once. He remembered why he was here, who he was with. And the reason he had blacked out.
Grabbing the seat of the plastic chair, he pulled himself up and turned around to look at the woman before him. Her blonde hair fell in disheveled waves, no longer in a neat bun. Her face appeared pale and a thin line of blood ran down from the corner of her mouth over her chin.
That motherfucker hurt her.
His prisoner hurt his woman. He glanced around and couldn’t find the drunk anywhere. His brother wasn’t anywhere to be found either.
Then his chief stormed through the ER’s entrance, his face a mask of displeasure, pure anger. As soon as he spotted them, he beelined over.
He glanced at Carly, nodded his head once at her, then pierced Matt with his gaze. “What the fuck, Matt?”
When Matt didn’t answer him, Max turned back to Carly. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s private?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, follow me.” She escorted them through the automatic double doors leading deeper into the hospital and, at the first hallway, bore right down an empty corridor. Three doors later, she used her key card to swipe. The lock clicked and she pushed it open.
Max shoved Matt through the doorway and then spun on his heels to stop Carly fr
om entering. “Thanks, Doc. You need to have someone take a look at that.”
Even standing behind Max, Matt could see Carly didn’t want to leave.
“I’m fine.”
“You probably are; however, I’d feel better if you get checked out.”
“Max—”
“Look, I thank you for finding this room. We won’t be here long. But you need to go about your business. Please.”
Carly stared up at Max for moment, hands on her hips, then her gaze dropped behind him.
Matt forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m okay,” he assured her. “Go take care of yourself. And your patient.”
Obviously, she didn’t believe he was okay. She frowned, then looked at Max again. “Don’t do anything stupid in here. Don’t make me regret letting you use this room.”
Max nodded. “I won’t.”
She sighed and left. Max shut the door and turned on Matt.
“What the fuck was that all about? I need answers. And I need them now. Jesus Christ, Matt. Shit like that can’t happen. I took a risk putting you back on the force after your medical discharge from the Marines. I told you, one of the requirements were that you had to attend therapy. Are you doing that?”
Max’s anger appeared carefully controlled, even though Matt could see the conflict on his brother’s face. Max was both his brother and his chief. Even though he may be personally concerned with Matt’s reaction, he realized he had to handle it like his boss.
A tough call and he understood the dilemma. Though he felt sorry he put his brother in that situation. “I don’t know what happened.”
“I realize that. That’s the scary part.” Max scrubbed a hand over his short hair. He blew out a ragged breath and began to pace the tiny room that only had an empty desk and two chairs in it. It took Max only a couple strides before he had to turn and head the other direction.
“I can’t let this go, baby brother. I can’t.”
Matt nodded. “I know.”
“Hell, you’re already on probation. I can fire your ass right this second.”
His eyes tracked Max as he moved like a caged lion. “I know. I’ll understand if you do.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
He swallowed back bile. The whole situation was already bad, but it was made worse by Max having to make difficult decisions about his own family. “I know.”
Max stopped suddenly in the center of the room, turned on him, crossing his arms over his chest. A mirror image of Matt’s own eyes studied him. “Did this happen because it involved the doc?”
Matt dropped his gaze and stared at this brother’s boots. “I’m not sure.”
“You’ve got five days on the street. Five. We’ll be having a deep discussion before you go back on patrol. During those five days, you must go to the therapist every day. I’m going to ask for a detailed report and you will give him permission to give it to me.”
Matt’s nostrils flared and he sucked in air. He hated going to therapy. He didn’t want to “share” his feelings. He didn’t want to take medication. He didn’t want anyone trying to fix his broken brain, fiddling around in his mind.
Matt closed his eyes. Of course, he wanted to be better. He didn’t want to lose control. He didn’t want to black out. He didn’t want to have flashbacks.
No one in their right mind would.
He opened his eyes and looked at his oldest brother. His boss. And then he simply said, “Okay.”
Even though it shouldn’t have felt like defeat. It did.
“Brother or not, if this happens again, you’re fired,” Max warned. “No second chance. I should take your gun and badge right now, but…” He shook head. “I’ll leave your dignity intact by allowing you to keep them until you get back to station. When you get there, leave your stuff in your locker. Put your locker key on my desk and go the hell home.” He sighed. “I’ll stay here and try to clean up the mess you made.” Max yanked the door open and said, “Let’s go.”
Matt followed him out into the hallway and saw Leah talking in a low voice to Carly. She jotted something in her notebook, so most likely she was questioning Carly on what occurred. Both looked up and at him with concern. His fingers clenched into fists automatically at the sight of Carly pressing a square white cotton pad to her bloody lip.
He was a fucking monster. Tonight proved it. The best thing Carly could do for herself was to stay out of his life.
He hadn’t wanted their relationship to be more than sex for this exact reason. And his blacking out when she got hurt made him realize it may be developing into something else.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter 11
It had been days since that night at the hospital and she couldn’t help but grow concerned since there was still no sign of Matt. All right, not just concerned, a little freaked out. She worried he’d do something rash. Like hurt himself. Or worse.
After the first twenty-four hours, she contacted Max, who then told her about his five-day suspension. However, his older brother hadn’t seen him either. He told her at that point he wasn’t concerned and that Matt was probably holed up in “that goddamn tent of his.”
When Carly didn’t see hide nor hair of him on day two, her worry went into warp speed. No use of the kitchen, no use of the bathroom. He could be either in his tent dead…or he simply disappeared.
The first option scared the shit out of her.
So, she called his parents. She called Marc, Amanda, and even stopped by Teddy’s salon. No one had seen him.
She even went back to the police department to talk to Max a second time, who simply stated “he’ll turn up eventually,” causing Carly to shoot him a nasty glare and stomp out in frustration.
Now three days after her last visit with Max, Matt still hadn’t returned. She stood over the kitchen sink, staring out of the window at the sand-colored monstrosity in the middle of the yard.
She didn’t want to invade his privacy. She wasn’t family. Not even his girlfriend. She really had no right to go into his tent. However, she had to put her mind at ease that he wasn’t in there. Or maybe he left a clue to where he went.
Something. Anything.
Although, she feared what she might find. She could call one of his brothers to come over to check the tent. She could call Manning Grove PD and have them do a welfare check. But again, Max just might squash that, thinking she worried over nothing.
Or she could just take the matter into her own hands, and screw what anyone else thought.
Before she could change her mind, she dug through the kitchen junk drawer and snagged a flashlight, switching it on to make sure it worked. Even though it was daylight, she wasn’t sure if he had any lighting inside. She doubted there was any electricity at all in there since not even an extension cord ran to the tent.
After blowing out a nervous breath, she strode with determination out of the house to the front entrance of the canvas tent. Staring at it for a few moments, she tried to work up the needed courage to just go in and deal with whatever she might find. Her heart pounded hard enough she could feel it in her throat.
She was a doctor; she could do this.
Doctor or not, she’d never found one of her lovers dead.
And she never wanted to.
She sniffed the air, making sure she smelled nothing funky first. Only the odd odor of canvas hit her, but her stomach still did a little flip as she stared at the metal zipper tab.
“Fuck it,” burst from her as she reached for the tab and unzipped it enough for her to peek inside.
Dark as hell. Which is what she suspected. She sniffed again. Nothing smelled as if decaying, which was a good sign and a bit of a relief.
Shining the flashlight quickly around the interior, the light bounced off a few things, but that was it.
Without unzipping the whole flap, she slipped through the opening. A myriad of emotions ran through her. Guilt for trespassing into his private domain, relief of not finding
a body, fear she still didn’t know where he was. As well as shock on how he lived in his so-called “quarters.”
Besides a foot locker, some lanterns, a green cot with a sleeping bag, the rest of the over-sized tent appeared empty, even though it was large enough to fit a small Boy Scout troop if the cots were lined up just right.
A couple of compact collapsible tables were set up near his cot. One held a small battery-operated radio, the other a few books, though she couldn’t imagine reading in the dim interior. Some shoes were lined up along the one canvas wall like good little soldiers.
It was all very minimalistic. Extremely orderly. Neat. Precise.
Even the books appeared stacked perfectly and in alphabetical order.
She pointed the beam of the flashlight into the corners just to make sure she didn’t miss anything. She saw no sign of where he could have gone. No indication of when he was here last.
Nothing.
With a sigh, she sank onto his cot and the feeling of dread remained inside her. She leaned over to brush her fingers over the spines of the books, reading the titles. The pile included a couple of autobiographies as well as three works of fiction from authors she’d never heard of. He probably never dog-eared the corners of the pages to keep his place. One shifted out of alignment and she quickly lined it back up.
Did he have the OCD before the PTSD? Or had it been caused by the trauma he’d been through?
She couldn’t even imagine being in his head and was certain it had to be overwhelming at times. If not all the time.
Her eyes burned at the thought that she didn’t know how to help him. And there may never be a way to help. It was possible he would never get better.
How can you see the tragedy you’ve seen year after year, war-torn country after country, and simply forget it? Not relive it over and over. Not have it affect your dreams, your sleep patterns.
You couldn’t.
Even in the dark of night, with just the reflection of the moon and the distant street lights, something felt different. He stood outside his quarters studying the tent flap carefully. He didn’t leave it like this because he knew better than to leave as little as an inch of the zipper open. Mice didn’t even need that much room to get in. And rodents could wreak havoc in a short period of time.
Brothers in Blue: Matt Page 9
