Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  He hesitates before answering. “Dad pushed me into you. I’m fine.”

  Shooter be fucked, I need to see him. “Get off me.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “Get. Off. Me.” I manage to push myself up, dislodging him, and I catch his grimace as he rolls onto his side. “Where is it?” Unable to wait for an answer, I run my hands over his chest and around to his back. When I skim down his right leg, he grunts.

  “What?”

  “Think I split some stitches.”

  It’s been five days since Nick was shot. The danger of the skin splitting should have been past. The sirens are closer. I hope one of them is an ambulance. “Don’t move. Do you want me to call Simon?”

  He ignores the question and twists around. “Where’s my dad?”

  An excellent question. Andreas was on the other side of Nick as we hit the sidewalk, but I’m all turned around from being pushed to the ground. Street side is to my left, so I scan the curb first. Two other people are lying on the ground, but only one has someone hunched over him. Dread pools in my stomach as I crawl over. The man leaning over him looks up as I approach. “Can you put pressure on the other wound?”

  I hover over the body and finally get a look at the man’s face. It’s Andreas, and he’s still awake. Barely. His eyelids keep doing this weird fluttering thing. He was shot twice, once high on his left side, hopefully missing the heart, the other lower on his chest through the bottom of his rib cage from the looks of it. My hands shake as I pull off my sweatshirt and wad it up. I press it to the wound on his shoulder.

  Andreas’s lips move, and his gaze latches on mine. I lean in, barely catching his words. “Where’s…Dominic?” His breath rasps out.

  “Behind me. He’s okay, thanks to you. Thinks he may have pulled some stitches. You’re going to be okay too.” He will be. He has to be. “Did you see the shooter?”

  “Car. Dark…sedan. Dark…win…dows.”

  If he’s having this much difficulty speaking, the bullet in his abdomen must have done some damage. Possibly nicked a lung. “Okay. Just hang on and don’t talk.” He rasps out another breath, and his eyes shut completely. I lean in and focus on the slight rise and fall of his chest, each breath reassuring me that, for now, he’s alive and fighting to stay that way.

  “Cass? Dad? Dad.” Nick drags himself toward us. “How many times?”

  “Twice. Once near the shoulder. Looks like the other might have gone through the bottom of his ribs.” Nick can’t stop the groan of pain as he stretches out his injured leg. I frown. “Hey. Be careful. Don’t hurt yourself any more than you already have.”

  “Thank you,” he says to the man applying pressure to the chest wound. He nods in response. Nick motions to my sweatshirt. “Let me,” he murmurs.

  “I’m good.” Are the sirens louder? Please let them be louder.

  “No, you’re not.” He points to my hands. My hands shake, even as I attempt to staunch the bleeding. His are steady as he takes my place, scooting on his ass to get into a more comfortable position.

  The front of Andreas’s shirt is almost completely soaked in blood. It spreads down his stomach to the hem, then up across his chest. The only unmarred spot is his right shoulder. I can’t stop staring. The loss of that much blood doesn’t bode well for his survival.

  A siren shuts down with a whoop, the lights strobing over the people on the sidewalk. A car door opens, and I tear my gaze away from Andreas’s prone form to see the siren belongs to an ambulance. I scramble to my feet. “Over here!”

  One of the paramedics jogs toward me. “Two gunshot wounds, one to the left shoulder, the other to the abdomen.” Nick’s calm. Too calm. It’s that glassy, dazed sort of serenity that comes from shock. Fear surges, and I shove it down. The paramedics need room to work, and any attempts to comfort Nick would only get in their way.

  He’ll have to hold on until we get to the hospital. We both will.

  Chapter 18

  Nick’s hands look rusty. We’ve been here long enough his father’s blood dried on his skin. We need to get to the hospital to get Nick’s stitches checked out, but the wound isn’t serious enough for an ambulance to take him right away, if at all. For now, the paramedics are letting Nick sit on a gurney while they check the remaining victims.

  And ever since Nick pointed out my hands are shaking, they won’t stop. The second I think I have it under control, I get another glimpse of all that dried blood, and it starts again.

  “He’s not answering his phone?”

  “Huh?” I struggle to focus on Nick. He looks at my hands, and I glance down. I called Constantine a moment ago to see if he might be able to drive us to the hospital, since neither of us are capable at the moment. It went straight to voicemail. I scrunch my brows together. Reaching his voicemail immediately when he’s preparing for a product launch trips all the wires and alarms, especially since he’s been on Nick’s ass about remaining in contact. “Oh. No. Straight to voicemail.”

  “Try him again.”

  I dial without thinking and get the same result. Some of the fog clears away, and I pull up the number for a cab company. When the dispatcher answers, I step away from the ambulance. “I need a pickup at the corner of Century Park West and Constellation Boulevard.”

  “Century Park West?” Some clicking, and the dispatcher’s tinny voice comes through. “Ma’am, that entire area is blocked off. Emergency responders only.”

  Great. We’re stuck here unless we can convince an officer or a paramedic to get us out. I mumble a “thank you” to the dispatcher and hang up. When I turn back to the ambulance, one of the paramedics is shutting the doors. “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “Taking him to the hospital. The wound on his leg’s reopened.” She moves to shut the other door, and I catch a glimpse of Nick seated on the stretcher inside.

  They’re taking him? How am I going to get there? They’ve already checked me over and confirmed I wasn’t injured. The scrape on my cheek and the ones on my palms were cleaned but not bandaged. They wouldn’t have stayed on anyway.

  I stand there like a dummy, unable to move or form the words to ask if I can ride in the back with Nick. The ambulance pulls away. I drop my phone. The screen cracks, and I stoop to pick it up, stumbling back and forth as my legs start shaking as badly as my hands. I sit on the curb and rest my head on my knees, waiting for my strength to return.

  I want to curl into a ball and wait for my mommy to make it all better.

  Mom’s in Montana, though, checking in at four PM like she said she would. I didn’t answer yesterday, and when I didn’t answer today, she called again. Just a few minutes ago, actually. I should call her back. Tell her everything’s all right. I don’t want her walking into this fight. Not when she’s finally starting to sound better.

  “Ms. Turner?”

  Who knows my name? I raise my head and find Officer Gregory watching me with a bland expression on his face. “Hi.” The word comes out steady, surprising me, since I haven’t managed to stop trembling.

  He holds out a hand, and I stare at it, not sure it won’t bite. We don’t have the best history, and I’m pretty certain he thinks I had something to do with the break-in at my old apartment.

  He’s not exactly wrong.

  Since I doubt I can get up under my own power, I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. “Do you know when they’re going to open the streets again?”

  “Likely in a few hours, once they’ve cleared the scene.” I forgot how tall he is. Officer Gregory is a moose of a man. Nick’s taller than me by a solid couple inches, but the officer towers over me.

  “Cabs aren’t doing pickups.” If I thought I could drive without crashing the car, I would have followed the ambulance, provided they allowed the car out of the cordoned-off area. I’m clutching Officer Gregory’s hand hard enough to fracture bones, and it takes a lot of effort to keep my teeth from chattering.

  His
expression softens slightly. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  It occurs to me he might just want a chance to talk to me further about the shooting. I don’t care. “I don’t think I’m okay to drive, and I need to get to the hospital. The ambulance that just left had my boyfriend in it. His dad was shot.”

  Both brows shoot up. “Andreas Kosta?” I nod, and he mutters, “Should have made the connection earlier.”

  Well, yeah. We are standing outside Nick’s office. “I don’t know what hospital they were taken to.”

  Someone hails Officer Gregory, and he calls out a response. “Most likely Cedars. I’ll call into dispatch and double check.” He shifts his hold to my arm and starts toward a patrol car. “Surprised they didn’t take you in the ambulance as well.”

  The remaining ambulance inches away from the curb, lights flashing over the darkening street. The streetlights came on some time ago, and for the first time since the shots were fired, I take a look around.

  Dark stains mar the concrete. Yellow crime scene tape is strung around a large section of the sidewalk, little plastic placards scattered here and there. Evidence markers, I think. They’re emblazoned with bold, black numbers, and I automatically count them. Ten. Ten shots. Ten shots fired. How many people were hit besides Andreas? A sheet-draped body is sprawled on the pavement. I suck in a breath and turn my head away.

  I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the coldness, the edge, that calm under pressure I’ve relied on for weeks to get me through each day. Before Turner’s death, the sight of a dead body wouldn’t have bothered me in the least. This one will give me nightmares.

  He opens the back door to the car, and I duck inside before my legs give out completely. Andreas was breathing when they left. It was labored, and he needed an oxygen mask, but he was breathing. He’s not going to die. They’ll stitch him up, and he’ll be good as new. Better than. He’ll be pissed that someone shot him and finally stop treating me like I’m the enemy.

  My fingers are fat and clumsy as I poke at my phone, and dried blood flakes onto the cracked screen. I need to call my mother back. I don’t want her to worry. It refuses to light up, and I press the power button to restart it.

  “Ms. Turner?”

  Startled, I drop the phone on the floor between my feet. “Yes?”

  “Is there anyone you want to meet you at the hospital?”

  Liana might already be on her way, and I don’t want to drag Denise into this. “No. What hospital are you taking me to? Did you find Nick and his dad?” Shit. Dinner. “Has someone called Malena? That’s Nick’s mom. We were going to have dinner with her. Her and Andreas. We tried to reach his cousin because he works in the building but his phone was off.” I pause for breath and realize I’m rambling like Denise when she’s nervous. Officer Gregory just waits patiently for me to finish.

  “Dominic and Andreas Kosta were both taken to Cedars-Sinai. Someone likely has already reached out to Malena.”

  “Oh.” Of course they would have. She’s next of kin. I tuck my hands between my knees, uncaring that I’m transferring blood onto my jeans. “Okay.”

  I spend the short drive to the hospital staring out the window to avoid Officer Gregory’s increasingly skeptical looks and trying to wedge myself into the emptiness I’ve inhabited so easily in the past. As we pull up to the doors, I think I’ve succeeded. My hands no longer shake. They’re not even trembling. I scoop up my phone from the floor and wait for the officer to open the door.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say, climbing out of the car. “Can you tell me anything about the shooter? Did anyone see him?” Cool evening air washes over me, and I suppress a shiver.

  The skepticism is gone, replaced by the bland expression he had when he first approached me. “We have a description of the car. Only a vague description of the shooter. I understand the car windows were quite dark.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t see anything. I was in the middle of telling Andreas where my parents live when the first shot was fired, and then I was on the ground.” My phone vibrates in my hand, the screen lighting up. A notification pops onto the screen, fractured by the crack running through it. Voicemail. Probably my mother. I lift my gaze and meet Officer Gregory’s straight on. “I need to get inside.”

  After another long, considering look, he steps aside. “Take care, Ms. Turner.” He gets in the car and drives off.

  I listen to the voicemail as I walk toward the entrance. The sign for the emergency room is weird; some of the letters are yellow, while others are red. It’s also small. If it weren’t for Officer Gregory and all the other exterior signs pointing in this direction, it’d be easy to overlook the entrance.

  “Hi, Cass. It’s Mom. You didn’t answer yesterday…or today. I hope everything’s all right.” Mom leaves it at that, short and simple, and I wonder how much more she wanted to say and chose not to. Besides, what would I have said if I had answered? Sorry, I was in the middle of a breakdown? I was trying not to get shot?

  I have to press twice as hard to get the touch screen to recognize my request, but the call rings through just fine. I lean against the wall several feet away from the entrance and wait for Mom to pick up.

  “Cass? Is everything all right?”

  Strangely, the concern in her voice helps me center, holds me firmly in the middle of the emptiness. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I missed your call yesterday. I was taking a nap, and Nick didn’t want to wake me.” Lie. I was passed out from crying. “There was a shooting outside Nick’s office this afternoon.” Truth. “I left my phone in his office and couldn’t get to it when the building was on lockdown.” Lie. A complete, total, bald-faced lie. Mom might hear about the shooting, but there’s absolutely no reason for her to know I was on the street when it happened.

  “There was a shooting?”

  Shit. Shit shit shit. I hate the smallness of her voice, the hesitant question. “Yeah. Nick and I are fine. A drive-by. Police are searching for the car and the shooter, but we had an escort out of the area.” Sort of true. “How’s Montana?”

  She doesn’t respond for the longest time, and when she does, I can tell she’s retreated inside herself. Rather than drag the conversation out, I tell her I love her and end the call.

  The check-in desk blocks the view of the emergency room. The desk is manned by a smiley-faced brunette, who cheerfully informs me that yes, Dominic Kosta was brought to the emergency room and points to a hallway behind her.

  It should be illegal for someone that chirpy to work in an ER.

  The hallway leads to the main part of the department. A set of sliding double doors is to my right, and I stumble back when they whoosh open and a gurney powered by a paramedic and three scrub-wearing people races by. They run down a short hallway separating the waiting area from the double rows of beds partitioned by curtains. Someone starts barking out orders, calling for blood bags.

  Only about a quarter of the beds are full. I twitch aside a couple of curtains searching for Nick, and then back away quickly before anyone can notice me. I finally find him halfway down the row. Someone brought him one of those open-backed hospital gowns to change into, and it gapes around his neck like he can’t be bothered to tie it properly. The same dazed look covers his face, and it takes a second for him to recognize me. “Cass.”

  I shove my phone into my pocket and hurry to his side. The coldness dissolves as I take his face in my hands and kiss him hard. He curls his hands around my wrists, holding me in place as he breaks the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have let them leave you.”

  Leave me? Oh. I press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I don’t know that they would have allowed me to ride in the ambulance with you anyway. It’s not like I was badly injured or anything.” He releases my wrists, and I climb up on the bed beside him.

  “How did you get here? I know the streets were blocked off. Did you talk to Con?”

  I shake my head. “When I tried him the second time, it s
till went straight to voicemail. I got a ride over with one of the officers at the scene. Officer Gregory? The guy who questioned me about the break-in at my old apartment? He dropped me off a little while ago.” I gesture to his right leg. “What’s up with your leg? Stitches split?”

  He flips the blankets aside. A thick white bandage covers the wound, dotted with bright red blood. “The ones on either end are fine. The ones in the middle came apart. I’m waiting for them to come back with a suture kit. The doctor went to see if he could get any information on my dad’s condition.”

  My hand trembles as I take his. “He was awake when the paramedics arrived.”

  He squeezes hard enough I think my bones might break. “He’s tough. He’ll make it.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, so I keep my mouth shut. If Andreas is anything like Turner, he won’t give up easily.

  So much blood.

  I shut my eyes, and that only makes it worse. Turner’s face going slick and red as the shot rings out. Andreas’s shirt turning dark and damp as blood seeps from his wounds. “It could have been you,” I whisper shakily. It so easily could have been Nick. I open my eyes, see all my worry and fear mirrored in his. “Nick… Where’s Constantine? Where’s your cousin?” Why isn’t he answering his phone?

  Nick opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it, shuts it again. The fear’s replaced by something I don’t recognize, something hard, something reluctant.

  I don’t think we’re going to like the answers to those questions.

  Chapter 19

  I hate waiting. I hate the not knowing, the helplessness, the hope that rises and falls each time someone looking vaguely authoritative approaches and then passes me by. I hate the doubt that creeps a little closer with each passing minute.

  I squirm in the hard plastic chair. A doctor who didn’t look old enough to be practicing medicine came and mumbled something about redoing Nick’s stitches, then stared at me until I moved to the other side of the bed. No one’s stopped to give Nick an update on his father, and when I tried to ask the doctor, he gave me a blank look and went back to snapping on his gloves.