Dark Blue (South Island PD Book 1)

by Ranae Rose

  Hospital. It was as if he’d blinked during a nightmare, and it’d all gone away – through some trick or twist of time, he was somewhere else, with no memory of how he’d gotten there.

  No memory, and no idea how much time had gone by.

  It wasn’t like on TV, where people always seemed to wake up to find the concerned faces of family or friends hovering over them. At first, there was just the ceiling, and then he realized a voice had been calling to him for – how long now?

  Fuck, he didn’t know.

  A face clouded his vision, female and unfamiliar. Judging by the scrubs, she was a nurse.

  “Jackson? Jackson.”

  She knew his name, but he didn’t know hers, so he settled for making a sound deep in his throat.

  It felt like gargling rocks, but she seemed satisfied.

  “You’re just getting out of surgery. The anesthesia is still wearing off, but I need you to stay awake, okay? In a few minutes, we’ll move you to another room.”

  His heart slammed against his ribs in slow motion. Surgery?

  He focused on the pain in his leg and took comfort in it – at least it meant it was still there. Unless he was experiencing that phantom limb shit, or whatever it was called. Straining to lift his head, he stared down at the silhouette of his body beneath the sheets.

  He seemed to be all there.

  “Your left leg needed surgery. Dr. Moses did the operation, and he’s one of our best. You’re in good hands.”

  He wanted to ask questions, but his mind was swimming in a fog and his tongue was like a bar of lead in his mouth. He willed his mind to clear and his tongue to lighten.

  By the time he could actually hold up his end of a weak conversation with the nurse, she was moving him.

  She didn’t really answer his questions – just said the doctor would see him shortly.

  The room they moved him to looked like a standard hospital room, nothing fancy. Which he took as a good sign. At the same time, everything seemed shrouded in a dream-like fog.

  He remembered the house on Mead Avenue, the battered woman and the gunfire. And he remembered Sanders hiding somewhere in the background, the traitorous bastard. But his anger was dulled by shock and anesthesia, which combined to leave him feeling as if his head were stuffed with cotton.

  The pain didn’t help his clarity of mind, either.

  A sinking feeling settled in his chest, hollowing him out emotionally. Though his thoughts were fogged, he was fully aware that he was bedridden – his leg felt like a burning log joined to the rest of him by aching muscle and sinew. Walking was out of the question.

  How bad was the damage, though? Would the pain be a flash in the pan, or had he worked his last shift for the PD without even realizing it?

  The thought was like a physical blow. He’d worked so hard to make something of himself, and someone had literally shot his leg out from under him. Lying in that hospital bed, he didn’t feel like himself.

  His mind raced to catch up, to establish a grip on what had happened. Meanwhile, he focused on steeling himself for whatever news the doctor delivered.

  * * * * *

  Jackson’s surgery took a couple hours. During that time, Belle and Elijah sat side by side in a waiting room. They were silent most of the time – what was there to say, other than what’d been said outside, beneath the ER awning?

  Elijah’s mother came by. She was petite, blonde and looked nothing like her six foot plus son, except for a slight resemblance in the eyes. She brought homemade food, which Elijah insisted on sharing with Belle.

  It smelled good but she couldn’t taste it. She ate anyway – there was enough for at least three people, and she’d need the energy since sleeping that night was out of the question.

  Mariah came by too while on break and gave Belle a silent hug.

  When the nurse Elijah had been badgering regularly for updates finally told them they could see Jackson, Belle tensed with sudden purpose.

  She felt drawn to his room like the tide was drawn to shore, but at the same time, her dread multiplied with every step. As she followed the nurse into Jackson’s room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for the other shoe to fall – for the happiness she and Jackson had been enjoying to be cut out from under them.

  Seeing him lying between white hospital sheets sent a sharp pain through her chest. He didn’t look like himself in that bed, with a grey patterned gown draping his broad shoulders instead of his usual uniform or t-shirt. Maybe it was due to the blood loss, or just the lighting, but he looked frighteningly pale.

  The golden-tan hue was gone from his skin, and it made his strawberry blond hair seem shockingly bright above his pale face.

  His eyes were the same beautiful blue they’d always been, though – and they were open.

  “Hey man,” Elijah said, approaching the bed. “We’ve been waiting for you to get out of surgery. Hear it went okay.”

  “That’s what the doctor says.”

  Hearing Jackson speak was a relief, but Belle’s heart kept on pounding.

  “The shooter is in custody and being treated for gunshot wounds,” Elijah continued. “You stopped him. His girlfriend is here being patched up – she’s in rough shape but they expect her to pull through, thanks to you.”

  Jackson’s face was impassive. “What about that fuckwit Sanders?”

  Elijah maintained an impressively controlled expression. “He’ll get what’s coming to him, but he’s not a priority right now.”

  “I had my body cam on.”

  “I know. Like I said, he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  Elijah sounded sure. Jackson looked … exhausted.

  Belle reached for his right hand, which – unlike his left – was clear of IV lines. It was warmer than it looked beneath the bleaching hospital lights.

  “I’m so glad the transfusion and surgery were successful,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  “All right.”

  “Sure… Make sure you tell the doctors and nurses the truth, okay?”

  “No promises – they might keep me here longer.” His lips twitched – he wasn’t quite smiling, but it was something.

  “So what? You’re exactly where anyone who’s just been shot is supposed to be.”

  “Not looking forward to the hospital food.”

  “My mom came by with food while you were in surgery,” Elijah said.

  “Rub it in… Bastard.” Jackson’s lips twitched again.

  “I’m sure I can talk her into bringing you some tomorrow. You know her – she’s probably cooking right now.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  The exchange seemed to exhaust Jackson – Belle could practically see his eyes sinking deeper into the dark circles beneath his lashes. The nurse returned to check on him, and Belle and Elijah kept out of her way. Afterward, Belle didn’t want to wear him out with too much talking.

  Questions chased themselves in circles inside her head, but she kept her worries to herself. Elijah provided a sense of solidarity. Concern for Jackson, anger toward Sanders and disbelief over the whole thing – as Jackson’s friend, Elijah had to be experiencing that cycle of emotion too.

  It was probably way past visiting hours, but the nurse left without telling them to do the same. Presumably, Elijah’s uniform went a long way.

  “I can tell we’re keeping you awake,” Belle said. “I want to stay here for the rest of the night, if that’s okay with you. I’ll let you rest.”

  She couldn’t stand the idea of walking away and leaving him alone.

  “You don’t have to do that. Go home and get some sleep, Belle.”

  Elijah took a step toward the bed. “It’s her or me, man – your choice. You shouldn’t be on your own this soon after surgery.”

  For a second, Belle was afraid Jackson would choose Elijah.

  “Who’d choose your ass over her? No offence.”

  Elijah nodded. “I’ll come by in the morning with break
fast. Sound good, Belle?”

  “Sure.” Morning was only a few hours away. “Any chance you could bring coffee?”

  She probably wouldn’t get any sleep, although there was a chair that looked as if it might fold out into some sort of cot.

  “It wouldn’t be breakfast without coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  Elijah seemed to sense Jackson’s fatigue and left without fanfare, promising to return after sunrise.

  Alone with Jackson, Belle gave his hand a squeeze and turned, preparing to settle down in the seat against the wall.

  Jackson squeezed back, stopping her before she could take a step. “Belle.”

  “What is it?” She eyed the button beside the bed that called the nurse’s station.

  “Thanks for coming. If you get tired, go home – you don’t have to stay and watch me sleep.”

  “Fat chance. Don’t waste your energy trying to get rid of me, Jackson.”

  “Stubborn.” His grip tightened a little more around her fingers.

  “That’s right. Now get some rest – I’ll be here if you need me.”

  She settled into the chair – which didn’t fold out after all – and the vinyl squeaked as she slumped into a semi-comfortable position. Jackson drifted off in what seemed the blink of an eye.

  She had a harder time resting. Though she was mere feet away from Jackson, she felt a non-physical distance between them – a void of worry and uncertainty.

  It wasn’t that she felt any differently about him – not at all. It was that the future she’d been looking forward to with him had been threatened, and that had shaken her to her core. Watching him sleep deeply in that hospital bed, she realized how tightly she’d been holding onto the expectation of a happy future with him.

  What she felt for him was serious and deeply-rooted. The intensity of her pain now matched the intensity of the happiness she’d grown accustomed to over the summer.

  There was no question that he’d made her happy. Bits and pieces of the past couple months rushed back to her, and it felt like looking back on a honeymoon. A heavy, oppressive gloom settled over her as she tried to imagine how different the fall would be than the summer.

  Jackson would suffer physically and obviously wouldn’t be able to work. Then there was the matter of Sanders, who she now thought of as “that fuckwit,” as Jackson had so appropriately referred to him.

  No matter how well his wounds healed, Jackson was in for a shitty season. As for the possibility of his leg healing badly – that didn’t bear thinking about.

  She’d gotten to know him well enough to realize that his job meant a lot to him – that he equated it to his worth as a person. There was no way being sidelined was going to sit well with him.

  The salty taste of blood kissed the tip of her tongue, and she realized she’d been biting her lip.

  She sighed, careful to keep her breath hushed.

  Sleeping was the last thing she wanted to do. Her arms ached with the desire to be wrapped around Jackson, and she fought the almost irresistible urge to touch him. She wanted to hold him, to tell him that she’d never been more afraid than when she’d been told he’d been shot.

  She wanted to tell him she loved him, but there was a time for everything, and now wasn’t it.

  CHAPTER 28

  Even after she woke up, it took Belle a few seconds to realize she’d fallen asleep. Her dreams had been fragmented and confusing, as uncomfortable as the chair she’d spent the night in. Even more uncomfortable, though, was the realization that she was the last one awake.

  Somehow, Jackson had woken up and Elijah had entered the room without her noticing. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she stretched quickly and rose from the chair.

  The entire room smelled like bacon.

  Elijah raised a brown paper bag with a Tempest Café logo stamped on the side. “Morning. I brought breakfast for you both – your coffee’s right here, Belle.”

  She nodded, inhaling deeply. “Thank you so much.”

  Her tongue felt like a moss-covered piece of sand paper. With any luck, hot coffee would help.

  The dark circles beneath Jackson’s eyes didn’t look quite as pronounced as they had the night before. Maybe it was just the morning light, but it was encouraging.

  Elijah lifted to-go boxes from the bag. “Brought your usual, Jackson. Same for you, Belle.”

  The food smelled great, but… “Are you sure you should be eating something so rich so soon after surgery?”

  “It’s fine,” Jackson said.

  He and Elijah exchanged a glance.

  “Hurry up and eat before the nurse comes back,” Elijah advised. “Just in case.”

  Jackson ate his way around the container, alternating between pieces of bacon and beignets, as if he were afraid he’d be interrupted and wanted to make sure he got to both before that could happen.

  Belle didn’t say anything else about it. If he had an appetite, that had to be a good sign.

  “Did you get any sleep last night, Elijah?” Belle asked. He seemed alert enough, but he had to be tired.

  He looked up. “Are you kidding me? I can’t fall sleep until my roomie comes to bed. Last night was brutal – I laid awake for hours.”

  Jackson exhaled, rolling his eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Belle.”

  Belle bit her lip, surprised by the smile that crossed her lips.

  “Didn’t he tell you we share a one bedroom place?” Elijah asked. “It’s just so much more affordable than a two bedroom.”

  “Not true.”

  Elijah flashed Jackson a grin. “Aw, look – the color’s coming back into your face. You don’t look half-dead anymore. The hospital should put me on the payroll.”

  Jackson met Belle’s gaze as he swallowed a bite of beignet. “We have separate rooms.”

  Belle couldn’t help it – she laughed.

  Jackson didn’t, but he did put away two and a half beignets before slowing down.

  He looked up at her and dusted sugar from his fingertips. “You look like hell, Belle.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Still beautiful,” he said, “but tired. You’ve got purple circles beneath your eyes.”

  “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

  “Better than last night.”

  “The nurse came in about twenty minutes ago with medication,” Elijah added.

  Belle felt mildly guilty for having slept through it. Nodding, she toyed with another beignet. She was just about to ask whether the nurse had said when the doctor would be in when a knock came at the door.

  It was swiftly followed by the creaking of hinges, and a slim forty-ish woman with blonde hair down to her shoulders walked inside, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. Her look was casual, but there was something about the way she moved that wasn’t.

  “Calder,” she said, approaching the bed. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  Jackson and Elijah both looked at the woman as if she were a female Lazarus, risen from the dead.

  “Not a bad time, Lieutenant,” Jackson eventually said. “Don’t you have more important places to be than here, though?”

  So, this was Lieutenant Aldred. She had fair skin and a jaw that was accented by a scar running along the edge.

  “I called in a favor with a friend – she’s with my mother now. Do you know when the last time an officer in my platoon was shot was?”

  “No.”

  “Three years ago, and the bullets only hit his vest. He walked away with a couple cracked ribs.” She lowered her gaze to where Jackson’s left leg rested, elevated above the other one. “This concerns me, especially given the uncertainty surrounding Sanders and what he was or wasn’t doing when you were shot.”

  Her jaw tensed almost imperceptibly – Belle only noticed because her gaze had drifted back to her scar.

  Jackson’s expression darkened, lines scoring his brow. “I had my body cam on during the entire encounter, Lieutenant. It should be a pretty good record of
what happened.”

  “I know – I’ve already watched the footage.”

  His eyes widened, momentarily erasing the lines above his brows.

  “I don’t like what I saw. I know you need rest, Calder, but I want you to know that I’ll be following the investigation as closely as I can while I’m on leave. I hope to be back in a couple weeks.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry you were shot,” she said, “but you likely saved a life. I hope your recovery goes smoothly – I want you back at work. You’re a good officer.”

  His expression was unreadable. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Some other officers will be by before long to ask you some questions. I know you’re hurting, but it’s important.”

  “Right. They can come by whenever; I’m not going anywhere.”

  Lieutenant Aldred’s lips thinned in what might’ve been an attempt at a smile, and her gaze drifted to the takeout box displaying bacon, eggs and half a beignet. “You’re eating this greasy crap already?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She nodded. “Seems like a good sign. Enjoy.”

  She left, and the hospital room was cloaked in sudden silence.

  “See?” Elijah said after a few seconds. “Told you Sanders would get what’s coming to him. The video must make him look bad – she seemed pissed.”

  “She already disliked him,” Jackson said. “Others might not see it the same way.”

  Elijah moved his shoulders, as if shrugging off the notion. “He didn’t do a damn thing while those bullets were flying. And it wasn’t just you he hung out to dry – it was the female victim, too. You took out the shooter from the floorboards, with bullet holes in your body. How much sooner could Sanders have stopped him if he hadn’t had his head up his ass?

  “He was hiding below the porch,” Jackson said, his brows drawing together. “I remember that pretty well. He almost didn’t even approach the house with me – he wanted me to Sam out the call without checking to see whether things were okay.”

  Elijah nodded. “Big surprise.”

  “What will the consequences be for Sanders if it’s determined he purposely endangered you and that woman?” Belle asked.