by L A Witt
“Uh…” Doctor Shahbaz looked a little taken aback by the size and noise of the group. “I understand the patient’s next of kin is here?”
“That’s me,” Erin said, standing up. “How’s Mark?”
“He got through the surgery fine.” Erin immediately hugged him, throwing the doctor a little off balance, but he straightened up and patted her on the back. “I expect him to make a full recovery.”
That was it for me. My strings were cut, my batteries had abruptly run down. I should have been paying closer attention to the other stuff Doctor Shahbaz said—it was all important, all things I wanted to know, but I just couldn’t get up the energy for it. Even the buzz of the coffee let me down now that I knew Mark was going to be all right.
I didn’t fuck it up. Thank God, I didn’t fuck it up.
“Hey.” Zach put a hand on my arm and carefully pulled me to the side. “Mark’s going to be in recovery for a while before they take him to a room,” he said quietly. “He might not wake up for hours. You want to catch a nap in the breakroom?”
“I should stay.” I was tottering with exhaustion and pain, but… “I don’t want to miss anything,” I confessed.
“I’ll be here. Erin will be here. We’ll come and get you if anything happens between now and when you wake up, promise.”
I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to pass out on my feet either. “Okay,” I finally agreed. Zach led me down a few familiar halls, up one floor on the elevator, and into the nicer of the two staff breakrooms. He helped me down onto the nearest couch, which was surprisingly squishy, and covered me up with his jacket.
“Gonna make Erin jealous ‘f you’re not careful,” I said muzzily.
“I doubt that, after the way you and Mark disappeared together at our wedding.”
Oh shit, he knew about that? I would have apologized, but my mouth had decided to disconnect from my brain. My ribs still ached, but if I rolled onto my stomach I could handle it. I crossed my hands underneath my head, closed my eyes, and tried to fall asleep.
I didn’t wake up for fourteen hours.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” I hissed to Zach for the fifth time as I hurried to Mark’s room. He’d woken up briefly in recovery two hours ago, been transferred to a private room in the ICU, then fallen back asleep. According to Erin, he was now awake again and asking to see me. “I said I wanted to know when—”
“He was high as a kite and managed all of thirty seconds awake before passing out again,” Zach said firmly. “Now he’s more lucid and you’ll actually get to talk to him instead of just staring at him like a wounded puppy.”
“I-you-puppy—”
“You heard me. Besides, you look less awful now.”
“Oh, but still kind of awful?” I snarked.
“Well, yeah. You’re still you.”
I stopped outside Mark’s room and stared at Zach for a second. He stared right back, eyebrows raised. “God, you’re an ass,” I said at last, and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “How does your wife put up with you?”
He grinned like a lovesick idiot when I said “wife.” “I don’t know. I’m pretty lucky.” He nodded at the door. “So’s he.”
Lucky to be alive. It was true, but I didn’t want to think about it. I knocked on the door, then entered after a second. It was one of the hospital’s nicer rooms, south-facing, so there was sunshine coming in all day. The natural light illuminated Mark’s face and made him look… actually, not too bad. I tried to ignore the bulky bandages covering his abdomen as I came over to his bedside. There was no colostomy bag, at least. His eyes were closed, but he opened them once my shadow blocked his light.
I tried to smile. “Hey. How are you feeling?”
“Mmm, like I’m on lots of pain medication,” he said, slurring the s in “lots.”.
“Yeah?” I automatically started to reach for his chart, but he fumbled a hand off the bed toward me.
“No,” Mark said, looking me right in the eyes. “Don’t be a doctor right now, Ryan. Not to me.”
What else could I possibly be? Being a doctor was all I was good at… except at the moment I wasn’t even much good at that. I sat down next to him in a chair that smelled a little like Erin’s perfume and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Mark’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Fuck.” I ran my hand down my face, wincing when I forgot to ease up over the bruised parts. “I’m sorry I made it so easy for Russel to use me, I guess. I’m sorry I didn’t fight back harder, or fire on him sooner. It’s my fault that he—”
“No it’s not.” I was surprised at how tightly Mark was able to squeeze my hand. “No,” he repeated slowly once he knew he had my attention. “It’s not. You’re a doctor, not a cop. It’s not your job to fight Russel off, or shoot him.” He squeezed again. “I’m sorry you had to.”
I smiled weakly. “One more thing for me to tell my therapist, huh?” Because it was clear to me that I was going to have to see one, for a while at least. Apart from personal concerns about my mental health, the hospital admin was probably going to require it now that I’d had to shoot my stalker. Jesus Christ, what is my life.
“Me too.”
“Yeah.” I lowered my forehead to the back of Mark’s hand and closed my eyes for a second, then kissed his knuckles. “You should get some more rest.”
Mark grimaced. “I’m sick of sleeping.”
“You’re talking to someone who just slept more than half a day, I get you,” I said emphatically. “But your body needs it.” I straightened up and rested my back against the chair before my ribs decided to revolt. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I might never go home again, if I had my way. The thought of being alone in that house after everything that had happened… It made me sick with unease. But that was a problem for another day, and definitely not one I needed to broach with Mark right now.
He was already falling back asleep. I watched his eyelids move, and listened to the machine monitoring his heartrate, and never let go of his hand.
Chapter 23
Mark
One more day in this pastel hellhole, and I was going to lose my mind.
I was pretty sure it had been… I mean, I knew it had been at least a few days, but… Fuck it. I’d lost track. I just knew I was sick and tired of literally everything except for the man who’d been here with me more often than not.
Nurses coming in to cheerfully tell me we were “going for a walk” around the ward? Done with it.
Food that tasted like discount airline rejects? Done with it.
Tubes sticking out of everything, and the people who insisted on messing with them every five minutes? Done with it.
There’d been a bit less tube tweaking after I’d transferred out of the ICU, and the food had improved slightly, but there’d also been more walking, which was bullshit.
My head was clearer now, which was a mixed bag. Conversations were easier to hold on to. Thoughts weren’t quite so slippery. In the beginning, at my somewhat slurred request, the staff had mostly updated Ryan on things, and he’d given me the Cliffs Notes version during my more lucid moments. More and more, as I eased off the pain meds and got some energy back, I could follow what people were saying, even if my medicalese was a bit shaky.
As yet another doctor left after making her rounds, I grumbled, “Could one of them just get to the point and tell me when I’m getting out of here?”
Ryan laughed and gently patted my arm. “You say that like it won’t be ten times more miserable at home.”
I glared at him. Or, well, as much as I could when my head was still vaguely light from the last hit of painkillers. “Why’s that?”
“Well, for one thing, stairs.”
“Okay. Point taken.”
“And at least here, you don’t have to worry about Harley bounding onto your stomach while—”
“Shit!” I jumped, which hurt. “Oh God, she’s by herself, and—”
“And the Ruffn
ers are taking care of her.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your place is on their way home, so Darren stops and checks on her in the evening, and Erin runs by in the morning.”
Okay, I knew these drugs were strong, but I was pretty sure Ryan had just told me that Andreas Ruffner’s husband was going into my apartment and taking care of my cat.
“Don’t worry.” Ryan patted my arm as I relaxed against the pillows. “Your cat is being duly spoiled while you’re gone, and since you’re here, she’s not stepping on your stitches.”
I shuddered. “All right, all right. I’m convinced. But man, I am so sick of being here.”
“I know.” He ran his hand up and down my forearm. “On the bright side, the nurses said I can start bringing you food from the cafeteria.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “You want something?”
I considered it. “I don’t even know what they have down there.”
“Well, I can go down and send you a picture.” He gestured at my phone, which was charged and within reach on the small tray table. “If something looks good, let me know.”
“You have a lot of faith in my ability to type right now.”
He laughed. “I’ll make it multiple choice and give everything a number.”
I chuckled. Sobering a bit, I studied him. “How are you doing, by the way?”
His humor faded and he dropped his gaze. “I’ve, uh, got a lot of material for that new therapist, let’s put it that way.”
“Yeah?”
He looked at me through his lashes. “First session is tomorrow. We’ll see how that goes.”
Nodding, I said, “Good. Hope it helps.”
“Me too.” He smiled, then pushed himself to his feet. “I could stand to eat something myself. I’ll text you with options.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, rocking on his feet, and then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. He let it linger for a moment, and that gentle touch was more dizzying than all the pain meds I’d been on. God knew when we’d be in a place where we could pick up where we’d left off at the wedding, but I was pretty sure now that he wanted to.
He drew back, and our eyes met. He blushed, and he cleared his throat as he gestured toward the door. “Anyway. Um. Food.”
“Right. I’ll, uh…” I gestured at myself. “I’ll be here.”
“Unless the nurses come to take you for—”
“Go.”
Ryan laughed, that boyish smile making everything hurt just a little bit less, and he winked as he headed for the door.
I still felt like I’d fought with a Mack truck and lost, but knowing Ryan and I were on the same page about a few things? I’d take it.
Two days later—I thought—I had a visitor besides Ryan.
There’d been others. Erin had come by almost daily. Zach had swung in whenever he was on a break. Even Darren and Andreas had shown up a few times, and Darren had produced proof-of-life photos to reassure me that Harley was doing fine without me.
So I hadn’t had a shortage of visitors.
I just wasn’t ready when Lieutenant Bridges showed up. Though I was pretty sure she’d been here at least once or twice during my hazier moments, the rigid expression on her face told me this was not just a visit to see how I was healing.
“Detective,” she said with a nod.
“Lieutenant.”
She turned to Ryan, and her lips tightened. She probably wasn’t thrilled about seeing him—a key witness in the case against Russel and DeMarco—at my bedside in the hospital, but she let it go. In fact, I thought I vaguely remembered some discussion about it while I was tripping on painkillers. Something about Ryan sharply telling her he’d given up more than enough in the name of not compromising the case, and that if she had a problem with him being here, he’d be happy to have security escort her out. Apparently she’d let it go.
She wasn’t looking quite so charitable today. “Listen, Mark, I know you’ve still got a lot of recovering to do, but I think we should talk.” Her eyes flicked toward Ryan. Then back to me.
Ryan huffed impatiently. “Is that my cue to step out so you two can talk privately?”
Her jaw worked.
I squeezed his hand. “It’ll just be a minute.” I looked at my boss, raising my eyebrows in an unspoken “Right?”
“It won’t take long,” she confirmed.
Ryan didn’t seem thrilled, but he got up. “You want anything from the cafeteria?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” If I’d been hungry, my appetite had vanished in favor of nausea the second Lieutenant Bridges had come into the room.
He nodded. “All right. I’ll be back.” He squeezed my arm, but didn’t go for a parting kiss. Probably just as well.
Once we were alone, I met the lieutenant’s eyes. “So what’s going on?”
“Well.” She took the seat Ryan had left and sat straight with one leg crossed over the other. “The higher ups aren’t thrilled, but we’re starting an independent audit of civilian shootings by police officers over the last ten years. Possibly farther back if a pattern emerges.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“The commissioner and the mayor are going to be cranky about this for a while. About the only thing that’s calming them down is knowing that we’re bringing in feds to perform the audit.”
It took my brain a second to catch up. “Because the feds are paying for it.”
Bridges nodded. “This will get expensive enough if the city has to pay out settlements to victims and families. And if any lawsuits result, which they undoubtedly will.”
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “But I’m sure their top priority is doing justice, taking any dangerous cops off the street, and making sure wrongdoing is punished, right?”
She pursed her lips. “Of course everyone wants that. But money is a somewhat limited resource, and you’ve already recommended several expensive changes. Do you have any idea how much it’ll cost to put body cameras on every officer in the city?”
“Don’t know.” I eyed her. “Maybe run those numbers past the family of Martin Fredericks, and then—”
“Detective.” She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. Then she dropped her hand onto her knee and glared at me. “Look, this is a very delicate and precarious situation. People could lose their jobs.” From the way she inclined her head, the “including you” didn’t need to be said out loud. As if my job hadn’t already been on the line. First as the overzealous investigator. Now I could ironically get fired for being exactly the kind of cop I was meant to investigate.
I swallowed again, my mouth suddenly dry. I reached for the bottle of water on the tray table. “We’re supposed to be held to a higher standard.” I paused for a quick swallow. “If that means we go down when we fuck up, then…”
She watched me for a long moment. Finally she took a deep breath and straightened even more. “All right. Well. I just wanted to keep you abreast of the situation. You’re still on medical leave until your doctors clear you to come back to work, but the auditors may want to speak to you when you’re up for it.”
I nodded slowly. “All right. Have them call me. Or…” I gestured around the room. “They know where to find me. If I’m not here, I’m at home.”
Her features hardened. “Or at your doctor friend’s house, I assume.”
I glared right back at her. “I assume the crime scene has been released?”
“It has. And the clean-up team has already been there.”
“Good.”
She seemed to be waiting for more of a response. When I didn’t give it, she exhaled. “Dating a key witness in one of your investigations might not be a wise move at this juncture, Detective.”
“I’m not dating a witness,” I growled. “The man I was already dating became a witness. My involvement with him has in no way tainted my judgment or this investigation.”
“Oh, I have no
doubt that you believe that. It’s the auditors who might be a bit more skeptical.”
“Is that a threat?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Just proceed with caution.”
“I do everything with caution.”
“Mmhmm.” She rose. “Well. I won’t keep you from your recovery. We’ll be in touch.”
“Yeah. Sounds great.”
We exchanged cold looks, and then she left the room.
Alone, I closed my eyes and pressed back against the pillow. Fuck.
I wasn’t worried about Bridges. We butted heads sometimes. It was what it was. Though neither of us would say it out loud, I’d have bet my pension she was just worried about how this audit would proceed, and didn’t want any of her detectives—me or anyone else—getting swept up in a dragnet if we didn’t actually do anything.
I wasn’t concerned about that. It was the part where it might turn out that we had done something—that I’d done something—that had my stomach turning.
Footsteps broke away from the steady traffic in the hall, and so help me, if someone wanted to take me for a walk, I was going to break something.
It was Ryan, though. His brow was pinched as he sat down and put a new bottle of water beside the one I’d mostly finished. “So, uh, how’d it go with your boss?”
“Eh. It went.” I took another swallow from the other bottle. “Shit’s about to get shaken up in my department.”
“Yeah?” His eyes widened with alarm. “How so?”
I put the water bottle aside and explained everything Bridges had told me. It didn’t take long, but I was exhausted by the time I’d reached the end. “So, the feds are going to come in, comb through every shooting for the last decade, and…” I shrugged weakly. “We’ll see what happens.”
Ryan chewed his lip. “That sounds nerve-racking.”
“Just a bit. And it… To be honest, it makes me want to be sick.”
He cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because the whole reason I went into IAB was to bust dirty cops.” I moistened my dry lips. “I set my sights on this job so I could take down cops like my dad.”
