by Abbie Roads
Kent heaved an impatient sigh. “I followed the wet footprints that led up the steps.”
Thomas lowered the weapon and set it on the floor next to him.
“What happened?” Kent scooped up his own gun, reholstered it, and walked into the bathroom.
“She”—Thomas canted his head in the direction of the woman still passed out against the wall—“shot Helen. I was out back when it happened. I don’t even know who she is or why she’d try to hurt Helen.”
Kent turned and ran out of the room.
“Where you going?” Thomas yelled at his back. What use was the guy if he took off the moment he knew what was going on?
But then Kent was back, holding a wad of clothes he must’ve found in Thomas’s bedroom. He shoved the clothes over Thomas’s hand on Helen’s wound. “Here. Let me.”
There was no way in hell Thomas was letting go of her. He could still feel himself flowing into her. Healing her.
“You’ve got to stop the bleeding.” Urgency hardened Kent’s tone.
Thomas didn’t listen.
“Listen, man, it needs pressure.”
“No. She needs me.” The words came out in a snarl of sound. He clutched Helen closer. Kent backed off, hands in the air as though Thomas had the gun on him again.
The only thing that mattered was that sensation of himself entering Helen. The logical part of his brain realized how fucked up it sounded that he thought he was healing her by touching her. The other part of him recognized the unbelievable, unexplainable, unimaginable truth of it all.
The sirens that had seemed so far away a minute ago pulled into his driveway, then cut off midwail. That’s when Thomas noticed that Kent had moved to the woman slumped on the floor and was checking her over. “She’s alive. Looks like she just got conked on the head.”
Thomas stared down at Helen’s pale face. “You make sure every charge in the book gets slapped on her.”
“I’ll see to it.” Kent walked to the bathroom door and then paused. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Malone, does it?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“I didn’t think so, but I had to ask. I’m gonna go show the boys in.” Kent headed out of the bathroom.
As soon as he was gone, Thomas whispered to Helen. “You’re gonna hate this, but there’s no getting around it this time. You’re going to the hospital.” He paused, waiting for some reaction from her. But she kept breathing, and her heart kept beating, and that was enough for him. “But don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time. You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I promise.”
With his free hand, he arranged the wad of clothes Kent had brought in over Helen’s body. If she hadn’t wanted him to see her scars, she wouldn’t want anyone else to see them either.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase, then treaded down the hallway toward them.
“She’s in there.” Kent said from in the bedroom.
Two EMTs entered the bathroom. Thomas didn’t look at them; he just kept his attention on Helen. Her color was better, and he knew in the way-down-deep parts of himself that she was going to be all right.
“Dddaaammmnn…” One of the EMTs stretched the word out long and low.
Thomas’s attention snapped up to the guy. What the fuck was he…
The guy had his gaze glued to Helen’s face. “That’s Helena Grayse.”
Thomas knew that name. Everyone in Sundew, Ohio, knew the name.
He looked back down at Helen. She looked so fragile and damaged. Nothing like a murderer.
Chapter 7
Worry shivered through Thomas’s guts. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. The lighting in the little alcove bathroom of Helen’s hospital room did no favors for the scar on his face. The thing looked better in black and white. At least in a monochromatic world, he’d been able to fool himself into believing the damage wasn’t that bad. In full color, the shiny pink skin shocked him. But his face was the least of his concerns.
Helen wasn’t waking up. Her vitals, her blood work, X-rays, MRIs, and some test where they looked at her brain waves—all normal. The diagnosis—sleeping. She was sleeping. And he had a hard time believing it.
He bent down and splashed cold water against his face.
Nobody slept that deeply. But then none of this situation resided on the normal scale. How on earth had she been shot in the chest, lost so much blood, then ended up not even needing stitches? The answer tickled his mind. He’d healed her. But that sounded illogical and utterly impossible.
He dried his face without looking at it in the mirror again, then left the bathroom.
A man in a cheap, baggy suit leaned over Helen, his shadow looming dark and dangerous as a storm.
In two long strides, Thomas was at her bedside. The man’s shadow reached out, invading Thomas’s space. Heat radiated from the mass… Was it really the fires of hell he could feel in the presence of a bad shadow? All he knew for certain was that the guy wasn’t a good fellow.
With both hands, he shoved the man away from her. As the guy stumbled back a few steps, Thomas inserted himself in front of Helen. The asshole would have to get through him before he ever got close to Helen again. “Stay the fuck away from her.” The words were heavy with the threat of mortal danger.
The guy’s expression morphed into something vicious, and Thomas instantly recognized him.
Hal Haskins. Childhood bully extraordinaire. Hal’s hair had receded from his forehead, and he carried extra weight in the middle that made him look like he was ending his second trimester, but he stood there like the king of the hospital—entitlement and attitude radiating off him. It didn’t help that he’d grown up to be one of Malone’s boys.
“Boy. You need to be careful. I’m Hal Haskins with the—”
“Boy?” Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re calling me ‘boy’? Seriously? That might work as a humiliation tactic if you were twenty years older, but since we’re the same age, it makes you sound like an idiot.”
Hal paused, stared at him, then the light bulb in his brain fired up. “Tommy!” A joviality brimming with bad intentions seeped into his tone. “Tommy Tree Face. I didn’t make the connection that you were Thomas Brown until now.”
Tommy Tree Face. The childhood nickname didn’t hurt. Even the memories of Hal and his friends holding him down and spitting in his face until he cried didn’t hurt. What did hurt was remembering how it felt to be absolutely powerless. Something he’d finally gotten over when he got big enough, strong enough, and fast enough to defend himself. “You’re almost thirty. Name-calling as an adult makes you desperate and pathetic.”
“Aww… No.” Hal held his hands up in a show of innocence. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a nickname.” His gaze flicked over Helen. “So, wow. That’s Helena Grayse. I expected her to look more…you know…white-trash-skank-bitch-hoe. She’s actually kinda hot.”
Thomas shifted where he stood, blocking Helen’s face from Hal’s sight. “I don’t care if you are the damn pope riding in on a unicorn, you will treat her with the respect she deserves.” He packed a ton of promise into that sentence.
Hal’s features wrinkled as if Thomas’s words were a bug he wanted to flick off his arm, but his lips carried a smarmy smile. “Oh, I am. In case you don’t know, she’s a felon convicted of murder. She doesn’t deserve respect.” He reached into his suitcoat pocket and withdrew a notebook. “I need to get your statement about what happened. Let’s step outside so we can talk.”
“No.” The word shot out of Thomas’s mouth, hitting its mark when it reached Hal.
The man cocked his head to the side as if working to translate the meaning of no. “Okay. I guess we can talk here. I just thought you wouldn’t want to disturb—”
“No.” Thomas wasn’t wasting his time on one of Malone’s good ole
boys.
That I’m-going-to-pretend-to-be-nice-just-so-you’ll-let-me-get-close-enough-to-pound-on-you smile from when they were kids found its way to Hal’s lips. “It’s not exactly policy, but seeing as how we’re old friends, I could get your statement over a few cold ones.”
Did Hal seriously think Thomas would want to spend time with him? “I’m gonna spell this out for you, since you seem to be having trouble translating the meaning of the word no. I don’t want to talk to you about what happened.”
Hal’s face paled, then pinked up, then turned an unattractive shade of red. He looked like a toddler about to throw himself on the floor and have a tantrum worthy of an ass-whipping. “You don’t want to talk to me about what happened, then I’m gonna think you’re hiding something.”
“Don’t threaten me and think it’ll work.”
“All right.” In a leisurely movement, Hal unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I can have you arrested for obstructing an investigation.”
“Rreeaallly?” Maybe he shouldn’t antagonize the guy. Thomas gestured a come-and-get-me motion with his hand. “Try it… Try to arrest me.”
Hal stepped forward on the verge of giving it the good-ole-boy try.
Bring it. Thomas was ready. He’d been ready for decades. It would be fun for Hal to be on the receiving end for once.
A sharp knock on the door drew their attention. Kent stood there, a fat file folder under his arm. “I was just looking for you.” He aimed his words at Hal and moved into the room, coming to stand next to Thomas, the two of them creating a barrier between Hal and Helen.
Thomas didn’t know Kent very well, but the guy was depositing trust into Thomas’s account.
“What do you want?” Hal’s tone was designed to talk down to Kent, which only highlighted the bully’s defensiveness.
Kent looked down at his shirtsleeve, picked at an imaginary piece of lint, then casually let the invisible material fall from his fingers. “From here on out, BCI will be handling the investigation.” He spoke with a nonchalance that had to infuriate Hal.
Thomas laughed. Out loud. In the guy’s face. Seeing Hal put in his place was the only shiny spot on this shitty day.
“Wait. What?” Hal’s voice rose a few decibels too high for proper hospital etiquette. “This is our case. You have no jurisdiction here.”
“Was your case. Now it’s ours. Easy come. Easy go. I suggest you step outside and call your sheriff to ask him.” Kent theatrically tapped his chin with a finger. “Oh shoot. I forgot. You don’t have a sheriff anymore. He ran off because he’s being investigated for dozens of crimes. And everyone who worked under him will be investigated too. Including you. That’s why it’s our case now.”
Thomas smiled a big, goofy grin that felt weird on his face but oh so right. Yep. Kent was turning out to be a good guy.
Hal opened his mouth to say something else but then clamped his lips closed. At least the guy was smart enough to know that his behavior was gonna be under the microscope. He turned and left the room. Kent hung back for a few seconds, then followed him.
Thomas sat on the edge of Helen’s bed. “Wake up. Come on. Show me those beautiful eyes.” He shook her shoulder. Nothing.
His gaze fastened on the clock over Helen’s hospital bed. It was 5:45 p.m. Each tick-tock was a countdown to the moment he needed to leave for his sister’s wedding. He couldn’t miss it. They were each other’s only family, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her down on her special day. Especially after everything she’d been through.
He’d only be gone an hour, two at the most. So why the hell did he feel as if leaving Helen was flat fucking wrong? Maybe because there was a selfish reason why he didn’t want to leave her. In the bustle of her being whisked away in the ambulance, of her having to go through tests, he’d discovered something astounding: When he was near her, he saw color. When he wasn’t around her, he had the same monochromatic existence as always. Not to mention simply being in her presence made him feel whole. It was more than seeing color; it was her filling up all his empty places. Her bringing him to life after he’d been dead inside for years.
He reached out and stroked her hair, the strands soothing underneath his fingers. The cut across her forehead that had looked so pink and angry yesterday was healed, leaving only a thin, pink scar. For it to have mended so quickly was as impossible as the gunshot in her chest not needing stitches.
He settled his hand over hers. Her skin cool and soothing—a breeze on a hot summer evening. Just touching her made him different, better, stronger.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
When she remained asleep, he turned over her hand and examined the place where the deep, bloody gash had resided. Gone. Just another scar. He shook his head, having trouble assimilating the message his eyes sent. She was healed. The entire situation was a mystery. One he didn’t want to examine too closely. Fear of looking a gift horse in the mouth and all that.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the tops of her knuckles. “Helen…come on… I need you to wake up. I need to look in your eyes. I need to see you to know that you’re okay.” As stupid as it sounded, he held his breath, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t.
Kent walked back into the room and shut the door behind him. “I just talked with the charge nurse and hospital security, informing them that Hal Haskins is not permitted in this room.” He moved around to the other side of Helen’s bed. “Still no change?” True concern dominated his tone.
“Not yet. The doctor was in a bit ago. Said everything was normal and that she’s just sleeping.”
Kent whistled a low sound. “She went through something today. Maybe it’s her body’s way of dealing.”
Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe it was something more. Like what had happened last night when she hadn’t been able to move. He should’ve mentioned that to the doctor. Why hadn’t he thought about it until now?
“I’ve got some updates. You want to talk in here, or do you want to step out into the hallway?”
“Here’s fine.” As pussy as it made him sound, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He moved across the room, out of Helen’s earshot.
Kent held a thick folder out to him. “What’s this?” Thomas flipped open the folder and began leafing through the copied pages. Newspaper articles pulled from the internet. Court documents. Transcripts. Police reports. All about Helena Grayse.
“I thought you said this had nothing to do with Malone.” The look Kent gave him was innocuous, but the guy’s tone carried suspicion, curiosity, and wariness.
“It doesn’t.” Thomas fired back.
“How much do you know about Helena Grayse?” Kent asked and leaned against the wall next to the door.
“’Bout the same as anybody.” He rattled off the random bits that stuck in his memory. “That she was emotionally stunted because her grandparents had homeschooled her and had supposedly sheltered her from social interactions with anyone her own age. At trial, all her character witnesses had been her grandparents’ elderly friends. The court of public opinion condemned her as odd. Odd enough to have committed a murder. Supposedly, she killed her boyfriend—the only person her own age she’d ever interacted with—when he tried to break up with her, because she couldn’t handle rejection.”
“Yeah. Those are the highlights. But you left out the part about Malone.”
Thomas’s gaze snapped to Kent. “Malone’s involved?” The name tasted sour on his tongue. “What does he have to do with Helen?” Thomas searched his mind for any link. Came up empty-handed.
“Look whose name is on all the police reports.” Kent pointed toward the folder. In neat, almost girlish writing was the signature—Robert Malone. “The highlights: Malone witnessed her getting out of Rory Ellis’s car and thought she was acting suspicious. He checked on Rory. Found him dead. The rest of the evidence against her i
s slim-shady, circumstantial, and let’s-make-a-leap. It’s damn clear the only reason she was convicted was because of Malone and his testimony against her. There was no reason for the jurors not to eat every word he fed them.” He paused only long enough to draw in a breath. “You realize that every case Malone has ever testified in is going to file an appeal. Helena’s won’t be the only one.”
The stone in Thomas’s heart grew into a boulder. “That man has ruined too many lives.” Mine. My sister’s. My mother’s. And now Helen’s.
He glanced at her sleeping peacefully, face devoid of worry and pain. The woman she would’ve been—if Malone had never touched her life—so close to the surface, he could almost see her. Almost. Not quite. Because he knew what lay beneath that hospital smock. Scars.
“You saw…” He paused, not sure how to say it. “All her scars.”
Kent’s mouth pinched tight. “Yeah.”
“They’re from…prison?” His heart was full of tears for what she’d endured.
Kent sucked in a large breath as if what he was about to say was going to take some serious air. “I put a call in to Fairson. Haven’t heard back. Not sure if they will talk to me without a lawyer and a warrant.” He met and held Thomas’s gaze. “Elaine Ellis—the lady who shot Helena—has Arnold Holbrook living with her. He’s a corrections officer at Fairson. He was downstairs with her in the ER but pulled the attorney card for both of them when I identified myself.”
“She’s been arrested, right?”
“Yeah. But she’ll bond out either today or tomorrow. No record of violence. First offense. It won’t matter that she tested positive for gunshot residue or that the gun had been fired. There’s been no bullet found and no bullet wound on Helen. You know how this is going to turn out.”
Thomas did, and it chafed his balls. “She shot Helen and is going to get away with it.”
“There’s no evidence of Helena being shot.”
Kent was right. There was no use arguing about it. “I don’t want that woman even thinking about Helen. If she gets anywhere near her…” He trailed off, smart enough to realize he shouldn’t be making a threat in front of an officer of the law.
