APB

by Julie Miller

  Seamus’s eyes opened as wide as the stroke would let him, and his lips fluttered with a remembered task. Clearly, there was a question there.

  But Niall didn’t have time to answer. He headed for the door before he lost his focus again. With Lucy’s penchant for being led by her instincts and emotions and not thinking things through, she could be in real trouble. “Millie will explain.”

  Keir stopped him at the door. “You want backup?”

  “No.” They still had no leads on their grandfather’s shooting—whether it was an accidental hit, or if somebody would be coming back to finish the job. And he couldn’t focus on two mysteries that hit so close to home at the same time. “I need to know these people are safe.”

  Keir pulled back the front of his jacket, tapping his belt beside the badge and sidearm holstered there. “They will be. I’ll find out what I can about the car.”

  With a nod, Niall strode from the room. When he got on the elevator, he was more certain than ever that something was terribly wrong. A crimson palm print, half the size of his own, stared at him from the closed steel door. He inhaled a deep breath to counteract the rush of unaccustomed anger that heated his blood. It wasn’t necessarily Lucy’s. The blood didn’t mean she was hurt. His gaze dropped to the number-four button and the smudge of a bloody fingerprint marking it. It was too big to come from the hand that marked the door.

  There’d been two people on this elevator. A man and a woman. And at least one of them was seriously injured.

  Ah, hell. Niall pushed the button, stopping the elevator at the next floor. When the doors opened, he stepped out. “Lucy?”

  A quick visual sweep of the people moving on the fourth floor revealed no curly-haired brunette. But two security guards were converging on the nurses’ station. Niall held up his badge as he approached the doctor standing there. “Have you seen a dark-haired woman? Thirtyish? Wearing a Royals sweatshirt?”

  The other man turned from the guards he was giving a report to. “She was here a few minutes ago. She said there was an injured man on the elevator. Last I saw she was heading—”

  Niall didn’t need to hear the rest. A second scan picked up the elongated blood drops on the tiles leading to the stairwell exit. Directional spatter. Whoever had been injured on the elevator was running—away from someone or after someone, he couldn’t tell. Logic indicated that one of them had to be Lucy.

  The blood left a clear trail down the stairs. Too much of a trail. Niall took the stairs at a jog, skipping two steps at a time, burning inside at the idea any drop of it could be Lucy’s.

  He found another bloody print on the door handle leading outside and pushed it open. “Lucy?”

  A half dozen people on the front sidewalk turned at his shout. Not her. None of them were her.

  A sprinkling of rain spotted his glasses. He looked through the drops to zero in on the next bloodstain on the opposite curb. Even with the growing intensity of the rain, thinning the spot into rivulets that washed away in the gutter, he could tell that the blood marks were getting bigger, more circular. Whoever was injured was slowing down, succumbing to his or her wound. The instinct to run to his truck and grab his kit to preserve some of the blood so he could ID its owner blipped into his brain and out just as quickly when he saw four or five people converging at the far edge of the parking lot.

  Good Samaritans running to help.

  Help whom?

  “Lucy? Lucy!” Niall stretched his long legs into a run, zigzagging between parked cars until he saw the woman on her hands and knees wearing muddy clothes and the people helping her to her feet. When she turned to thank one, he got a clear glimpse of the sticky red substance matting the hair beside that warm, velvety cheek. Niall had his badge in his hand by the time he reached the group and moved them aside. “KCPD crime lab. I’m a doctor.”

  “Niall.” Lucy reached out her hands and tumbled into him as the others stepped back. He caught her in his arms and sat her down on the curb. Why was she smiling? Was she delirious? How bad was that head wound? “I saw her. I saw Diana. She was right here. She’s alive.”

  “I’m tired of seeing you muddy and beat up. Where are you hurt? What happened?”

  She was urging him to retreat as much as clinging to his arm for support. “We’re getting wet. Where’s your car? If we don’t hurry we’ll lose her again—”

  “Stop talking.” He quickly assessed her injuries, pushing her back onto her bottom and kneeling beside her when she tried to use him to stand again. The blood on her hand was washing away as the skies opened up and the rain began to fall in sheets around them. No cut or scrape there. But she winced as he pushed the damp curls away from her temple and saw the ugly gash in her hairline where the skin had split open. He pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it against the wound.

  “Ow. Damn it, Niall, you need to listen to me.”

  “Can you see this?” He held up a finger in front of her face and moved it from side to side, watching her green eyes track the movement.

  “Of course I can. There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight. I saw Diana. She was right there.” Since there was no obvious indication of a concussion, Niall shifted his attention, running his hand along her shoulders, elbows, hands, knees, ensuring there were no other injuries needing immediate attention. “Let me up. I’m soaked to the skin. We have to do something. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  Niall was obliquely aware of a break in the rain hitting the top of his head as Duff ran up beside him. “Oh, hell. Is she all right?” A quick glance up to his big brother asked for an explanation and thanked him at the same time. Duff understood. “Keir called me. Said there might be a problem. What do you need?”

  “Have you got a handkerchief on you?” Duff pulled a blue bandanna from his pocket. Niall wrapped it around the cuff of Lucy’s sweatshirt and tied it off, trying to preserve some of the blood that had soaked in there. Since she had no injury to her hand or wrist, he suspected it would match the bloody fingerprint in the elevator and possibly give him a name for the culprit who had cracked her head open. “Look for a silver Camaro. Someone’s been following her.”

  Lucy shook her head, dislodging the compress that stuck to the wound at her temple and moaning at the sudden movement. “No, Diana drove away in a red pickup truck. I mean, yes, there was a car yesterday. And last night. But just now...they turned north. Diana and the man from the elevator. They left together.”

  “What man?” Duff asked, pulling out his notepad and pen.

  “He warned me not to try to find Diana. But I did. They were here together.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “He was bleeding.” That made sense. Lucy’s blood was redder, fresher, than the mess he’d found inside. Niall plucked up the soiled handkerchief from the shelf of her breasts. It was already getting too wet to do much good as a compress, so he used it to dab at the bruising and swelling so he could get a clearer look at the wound there. “He warned me not to try to find her. But she was here. She saw me...and then he...” She pushed Niall’s hands away. “It’s hard to think when you’re doing that.”

  “I need to see how badly you’re hurt.”

  “It’s not my blood.”

  He held up the blood-soaked handkerchief. “The hell it isn’t!”

  “Easy, Niall.” Duff rested his big hand on Niall’s shoulder and knelt down beside him to talk to Lucy. “Can you give me a description of the truck?”

  Lucy’s wide eyes had locked on to Niall’s at his irrational outburst. But she blinked away the raindrops glistening on her dark lashes and turned to Duff. “Faded red. Rusted around the wheel wells. Small. But I never saw a license plate. I didn’t think to read it at the time, but it had words and a logo on the side of the door—like a business name.”

  Duff jotted down the informati
on while Niall tried to ignore the irony of Lucy’s calm recitation of facts when he’d been the one distracted by his emotional reactions. “And the guy?” Duff asked.

  “Black hair. Black leather jacket and jeans. Mediterranean looking. He smelled like a restaurant, if that helps.”

  Duff pushed to his feet and turned to the people who’d gathered around to make sure Lucy was all right. “Did anybody else see the truck or the man who hit her?”

  He took statements from a couple of bystanders who’d stayed to make sure she was all right. But Niall had collected his thoughts enough to understand they had little to add beyond confirming the details Lucy had shared. “Your perp has lost a lot of blood, too. He couldn’t risk coming to this hospital, but he’ll have to go somewhere for treatment soon or you’ll be looking for a dead body.”

  “I’ll put a call out to notify area hospitals and clinics. I’ll check in when I know something.” Duff pulled out his phone and punched in a number as Niall pulled Lucy to her feet. “You’ll get her to the ER?” Niall nodded. “Sorry this happened, Luce. Stay strong. We’ll find him. And don’t let this guy scare ya too much.”

  Duff jogged away while Niall wrapped an arm around Lucy’s waist and pulled her to his side, shielding her from the rain while keeping her close enough to hold the compress to her temple. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Although the man in him was certainly aware of her sweetly rounded curves pressed against his body, the doctor in him was concerned about the chill he felt through the wet clothing where denim and cotton rubbed together. He tried to quicken her pace, but he had to shorten his stride when he felt her fingers dancing at the right side of his waist looking for a place to hold on to for balance. Finally, she slipped her cold thumb beneath the waistband of his jeans and latched on to a belt loop. “You know, sometimes I forget you’re a cop as well as an ME. With your gun there, I’m not sure where to put my hand.”

  “You hang on anywhere you can. I’ve got you.”

  Three more steps, then a hesitation to blink the rain from her eyes, then another step. “Why would your brother think I’m scared of you? I’m not, you know. I mean, I get frustrated...” She tried to laugh, but the sound ended up more like a groan and she stopped, laying her hand over his on her forehead. “Okay, I guess I am hurt.”

  “Could we keep moving?” he suggested.

  They made it past the next row of cars before she stopped again. “Wait a minute. Where’s Tommy? Is he okay? That man knew about him. He said not to let Tommy out of my sight. And I don’t even know where he is.”

  “Tommy’s fine. He’s with Keir and Millie. He’s meeting Grandpa. He’ll be safe with them.” She smiled, and he took a little more of her weight and pulled her into step beside him again.

  “That’s sweet. And Millie got to see Seamus. A visit like that will make all three of them feel better. Thank you for listening. And taking the time to come help me. Again. I know I said I’d be right back, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to learn something about Diana. Oh, wow. You don’t even have your jacket. You’re getting so wet.”

  Chatty woman. Sometimes, he enjoyed the melodic sound of her voice filling up the silences he was far too accustomed to. But was there anyone she wasn’t going to mention before she started taking care of herself? Or was the rambling an indication of some undetected head trauma?

  Barely missing a step, he reached down behind her knees and swung her up into his arms, knitting bag and all. “Too much talking and not enough walking.”

  “Put me down.”

  He ignored the protest of her hands pressing against his chest and quickened his pace, carrying her straight to the hospital’s main entrance. They could reach the ER through the lobby. “Put your arm around my neck and keep pressure on that wound.”

  Instead of obeying his instructions, she squiggled against him, trying to free herself from his grasp. “I can’t afford to be an invalid, Niall. You do realize that I’m the only family Diana has. I mean, we can’t exactly count Tommy when it comes to helping out. We’re not like your family where your dad and your brothers and Millie and all your lab and cop friends jump in and help out. It’s just me. I have to be there for her.”

  So what was he in all this? Who was ignoring the breast squeezed against his chest and the rain smearing his glasses to keep her from bleeding until she fell unconscious? Who’d rescued Tommy from hours alone without food or attention, or torn a hole in his UCM sweatpants saving her from that speeding car last night? Who’d agreed to team up with her for the baby’s sake? How was she alone? “I swear to God, woman, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to kiss you again, just to keep you quiet.”

  “What? I...oh.” Her struggles against him ceased. “Yes, Dr. Watson. Sorry to inconvenience you.” Her arm crept around his neck, and she moved the wet compress back to her temple. “Shutting up now.”

  The receptionist at the front desk was on her feet to meet them. An orderly with a wheelchair joined him halfway down the long hallway that led into the emergency wing. Niall was aware that Lucy had stopped talking, doing exactly as he’d asked, except to give brief answers to the medical staff attending her. With her skin so pale and her eyes refusing to make contact with his, Niall made the decision not to prompt her into conversation, partly because he didn’t want to upset her further and partly because he had no idea what he had done to make her shut down in the first place. Well, he had a good idea that he’d let his frustrations get the better of him and he’d said the wrong thing.

  But was she mad at him? Hurt? Tired? Did she not see he was doing what needed to be done in order to keep her safe so that she could be there for both Diana and Tommy?

  Niall gave a quick account of his assessment and what he’d done to treat Lucy’s injury to the attending staff, then phoned his brothers to report on Lucy’s condition and find out, as he’d expected, that there simply wasn’t enough information yet to pinpoint the owner of either the silver car or the rusted red pickup. Was that why she had her nose out of joint—that he’d had someone to call on for help in a difficult situation? Didn’t she understand that his family was helping her, too? And why, why, why did Lucy McKane get in his head like this and fill it up with so many unanswered questions?

  He desperately needed to lose himself in the provable logic of his work and restore the equilibrium inside him. While Duff and Keir continued to make calls, Niall put on a dry shirt from his go bag and got his ME kit from the SUV to take pictures and secure blood samples before the hospital cleaning staff disinfected the elevator and stairwell. Whatever evidence might be outside had already been compromised by the rain, so he focused his attention on the evidence he could collect.

  Lucy sat propped up on an examination table in one of the ER bays, wearing a hospital gown and shivering beneath the heated blanket draped over her lap when Niall returned nearly an hour later. He stood back for several seconds, watching her study her own toes wiggling fretfully beneath the edge of the blanket while an intern on the stool beside her tied off another stitch in her scalp. Did the woman have an inability to truly be still? Or was that her way of coping with the pain and discomfort she must be feeling?

  The younger man acknowledged Niall as soon as he set his kit down on a chair just inside the curtain. “You were right about there not being a concussion, Dr. Watson. Looks like whatever he hit her with was small and the injury was localized.”

  The edema surrounding the wound gave a clear impression of the instrument used in the attack. Aware of Lucy’s green eyes shifting from her purple-polished toenails to his every movement, Niall pulled his camera from his kit and snapped a few pictures before the intern put in the last two stitches. He enlarged the image on the camera screen. “Looks like a weapon about an inch wide, with a distinctive ridge pattern to it.”

  After tying off the last stitch, the intern placed his suture kit on a rollin
g stainless steel tray and ripped open a package of gauze with his sterile gloves. “Maybe the butt of a gun?”

  Lucy tugged on Niall’s wrist, pulling the camera down so that she could look at the image, too. “Or the handle of a knife?”

  No comment on the puffy swelling beside her right eye or the gray-and-violet bruise that marred her pale skin? She was an expert on wound markings now? Niall adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a cut. Blunt-force trauma split the skin open.”

  She opened her mouth to explain her comment, but the doctor was giving her directions to care for the wound. “When the anesthetic wears off, you’re going to be pretty sore. It’s okay to use an ice pack for the swelling, but don’t let the stitches get wet. And no aspirin or ibuprofen for twenty-four hours or so.” Young Dr. Shaughnessy, according to his name badge, peeled off his gloves and tossed them onto the tray as he rolled it over to the counter, where he typed something on to his laptop. “Since your tetanus shot is current, I think we can forgo the antibiotics. But if you do see any signs of an infection setting in, give us a call or contact your personal physician.”

  “I’ll monitor her recovery,” Niall assured the younger man.

  With a nod, the intern picked up a plastic bag and handed it to Niall. “We bagged her clothes like you requested. I wouldn’t leave them in there too long or they’ll start to mildew. I took the liberty of labeling it and signing my name to preserve the chain of custody. I start my forensic rotation next month,” he added with a slightly boyish enthusiasm.

  “Thanks.” Niall scanned the sealed bag and quickly scrawled his name beneath John Shaughnessy’s. A pointed glare from Lucy seemed to indicate that something more needed to be said. She was still putting someone else before her own well-being. Niall frowned, but acquiesced to the silent demand. “Good luck with that.”