Coincidences: #3 Diana & Anya

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “Shut up,” he growled softly, his hand inside his jacket and pointing the small gun at her. He sat so he could not only see them, but anyone approaching their table. “Just a nice friendly chat between friends. C’mon, ladies…look happy to see me.”

  “You aren’t a friend of mine, Carstairs,” Jane told him flatly.

  “Huh…so this is the animal from Vegas,” Chloe commented flippantly. “I’ve heard all about you. Can’t crack codes so you thought you’d steal instead.”

  “Shut up, bitch…all I want is money. So we’re going to the bank and get some,” he said with a pointed look at Jane.

  “How’d you get out of Vegas? Shouldn’t the police be holding onto you?”

  “Bail is an amazing thing…now, let’s go to the bank. Without money, I’ll just shoot your friends. Now you make the choice…”

  Anya Miller approached the table slowly, stopping at the main counter and sighing. Humans. Humans and guns. It never improves, she thought bitterly. If not one way to destroy each other, it’s another. She lifted a thick metal tray and put one of the bottles of beer on it, unopened. Her fingers raised to her lips when the woman behind the bar started to speak.

  “Shhhh…phone the police,” she told the man behind the counter. “Tell them to send a car here…now…” and she walked out of the cabana, carrying the tray like a waitress would.

  Anya moved gingerly, smiling broadly and winking at Chloe. “So which one of you requested idiot for lunch?”

  Anya’s hand was on the beer bottle, flipping it and using it as a bat. She swung wide and hard. She stood to his side, but not clear enough when his body jerked back spastically. His hand clenched the gun, the trigger snapping with his body movement.

  The loud shot ricocheted around them.

  They watched Anya’s upper body struck by the bullet and sent spinning roughly. Chloe had her foot up and on the fallen gun immediately, her other foot on the wrist of the fallen man.

  “Ice,” Anya murmured thickly, bracing herself on her good elbow, gazing up at Diana. “Get ice…front and back…”

  Diana moved quickly without pausing, bringing back a large container of ice and towels. She filled each and placed one under Anya’s shoulder, setting another one on top where the blood was spreading out in a wider and wider circle.

  “Jane…” Diana tossed her the keys to her car. “Get the car…I have Gideon’s SUV today.”

  “Phone up St. Michael’s…we’ll take her there,” Chloe instructed, stepping off the man and letting the police take over. She hastily scribbled a number on the table. “Reach me at this number. We’re taking our friend to the hospital.”

  “An ambulance…” The officer tried to stop them.

  “We are taking her now,” Chloe said flatly, holding Anya up with Jane on the other side. “He shot her. Let’s go…I’ll drive.”

  Jane had her phone out and was dialing as Chloe and Diana climbed into the front of the SUV. She watched Anya’s lashes fluttering, her mouth pulled into a taut purse. They had her propped up, holding the makeshift ice packs to her shoulder.

  “Pembrook Cameron…I’ll hold…yes, it’s important,” Jane informed the operator curtly.

  “Cameron here,” Pembrook’s voice came through the line sharply.

  “We’re bringing you a gunshot patient, Pembrook…this is Jane…Chloe and Diana are with me. Anya Miller is the patient…looks like through the left side…”

  “Where are you?”

  “Ten minutes out…not far…Chloe will bring us in the ER side of the building,” Jane spoke clearly, wincing at the groan from Anya. “She’s half in and half out…”

  “We’ll be ready for you,” Pembrook broke the connection, heading off to the emergency room on the run.

  “I’ve got to let Gideon know I’ll be a little late,” Diana looked in the mirror at her side. “You do know we have a police escort behind us?”

  “I kind of suspected,” Chloe shrugged. “Questions…always questions…”

  “Guns tend to do that to cops,” Jane murmured dryly.

  “How is she?”

  “Out…and in…breathing semi normal,” Jane kept her hand on the ice pack that was melting. “You’re gonna need the back cleaned up, Diana.”

  “I’ll deal with that later. Oh crap,” she grumbled when the phone rang and the read out told her it was her husband. “I could come to hate GPS in phones,” but she applied a smile in her greeting. “Hi, Gideon…I’m going to be a little late…and I need you to make a couple calls for me, please,” she began sweetly.

  Jane waited and watched as they carefully eased Anya from the back of the SUV and onto a waiting gurney. She followed out the other door, Diana off to the side and talking into her phone, while Chloe met with the approaching police.

  Ian Sheffield and Pembrook guided the gurney together into the cubical, drapes drawn and assist staff coming in behind them.

  “I want a type match and a pint at least hung in the next five minutes,” Ian demanded without pausing. “She’s lost more blood than usual in this kind of wound…must have hit something,” Ian kept talking as he worked, reaching for scissors and goggles. “Get that portable x-ray machine in here, stat!”

  “Where’s the records I ordered up?” Pembrook stood before the large monitor, waiting for the pages and turning them on the touch screen. “She’s not allergic to anything. Get that fabric out of the way.”

  “Do we know what happened?” Ian asked tersely, scissors and fingers moving deftly. “She shouldn’t be unconscious…”

  “She is not unconscious,” Came the gravely accent from the gurney. “She is resting.”

  Tense chuckles went up around the small cubicle and even brought a crooked grin to Ian. “That delightfully dry sense of humor…I forgot just how much it kept me going,” Ian commented, probing and wincing even though her facial expression never changed. “Anya….you have a high tolerance for pain…”

  “I am here…” Her head tipped to the side, a very long, slow breath drawn into her chest. “But I am not sure for how much longer…this was my favorite shirt…”

  “We have something going in for the pain,” Pembrook promised, depressing the syringe into the IV bag.

  “Idiot humans and guns…I cannot seem to run far enough,” was the final whisper before her breathing leveled off, a damp cold cloth run over the beads of sweat on her forehead.

  “There…found it, clamps…” Ian ground out between his teeth, working behind a pair of magnifying goggles. “The reason for so much blood loss…almost a clean shot through…”

  “Almost,” Pembrook agreed, helping with the closure after helping them angle her on her side.

  Diana gave her statement to the police officer and excused herself. She was on her way home. Jane and Chloe stood at the registration desk. It was the slight groan from Jane that had Pembrook shaking her head.

  “A problem, Maria?” She asked, glancing at her receptionist and then her friends.

  “We’re trying to give her money, Pembrook,” Jane began slowly.

  “Anya doesn’t have insurance and I know she’s not flooded with cash,” Chloe further explained.

  “So we want to put down a deposit, if you will,” Jane continued.

  “Take the money and enter it as a credit, Maria.”

  “Whatever is left, donate to the hospital,” Jane added now that they were on the right track, she signed the debit slip and handed it to Maria.

  “I don’t charge that much for services, Jane,” Pembrook chuckled. Some of her friends were very much like her husband. “But me and the hospital thank you.”

  “Us board members have to be circumspect,” Jane offered with a chuckle. “Besides, Damian is managing my funds for me and tells me I can afford it…and it’s deductible…a new word I learned.”

  “Let’s walk a bit,” Pembrook suggested, moving with Chloe and Jane to a more private area.

  “Is Anya alright?” Chloe asked anxiously.

>   “She will be…how’d you two get mixed up with her?”

  “Mixed up? We’re probably friends, I guess,” Chloe looked at her oddly. “I’m hoping she’ll handle a costume shop I want to create.”

  “And I’m trying to get her to go back to work as a surgeon,” Pembrook returned with a weary sigh.

  “I don’t know a lot about her, Pembrook. Only where she began and a little of…of the type of life there was in Croatia,” Chloe said carefully. “You have to have a passion to become a doctor…so it had to be something very bad to make her stop.”

  She didn’t like it, but Pembrook knew Chloe was right.

  Jane paced the large waiting room. Chloe sat cross legged on the wide bench seat, elbows on her knees and chin resting until she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Her body unfolded hastily and shot across the floor and into the open arms of the man striding toward her. Simon held her tightly.

  Jane felt hot stinging behind the dark lashes at the same time she turned. The figure was blurry a few feet away, but her instincts told her it was sanctuary. Booted feet made it three steps before she was enveloped and held tightly, Damian’s palm stroking soothingly over her head.

  “It’s okay, babe…” He whispered, his voice shaking a little. He’d got the story from Diana on the ride over, secretly grateful he wouldn’t see Carstairs. He held her tight, listening to the soft tears falling.

  “She’s hurt because of me, Damian,” Jane’s voice came out raggedly, her palm up to accept the hanky from him with a sniffle.

  “She’s hurt because of Carstairs,” he knew this would be an issue, guiding her to a corner and sitting with her. “Jane…listen to me…Anya isn’t the kind to sit back and let anything happen. She gets involved. There’s no telling what the idiot would have done if she hadn’t taken steps to stop him.”

  “Logic will hit me later…I know that…” She sniffled and raised her eyes to his. “I need money transferred to my checking account. I paid for the hospital. She doesn’t have insurance…or much of anything…you met her before, didn’t you, Damian?”

  Damian pulled his phone out, fingers tapping over the surface. He showed her an amount a few seconds later.

  “Another zero,” Jane said, dragging in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

  “I met her a couple times outside Zagreb,” he admitted with a shrug. “But it’s not surprising that she didn’t recognize me or Gabe. When you’re decked out in Kevlar and camo, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”

  Pembrook approached slowly, one hand holding an iPad, the other tapping out instructions. Felt like she was on a star ship, she thought with a chuckle.

  “Jane…Chloe…” she looked at the men at their sides. “Simon…Damian…”

  “Anya? Is she okay?” Chloe burst out, clinging tightly to Simon’s palm.

  “She’s been shot but she’s doing good. Caused a bit of bleeding, but we found the problem, closed it and she’s being sutured. She’s okay, Jane,” Pembrook put her hand on Jane’s with a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll let you know when you can see her.”

  Jane exhaled slowly, welcoming the arms around her from behind.

  “I’m going to go home,” Chloe hugged Jane. “But I’ll work on what we talked about and get back with you. See you tomorrow morning…and it was not your fault,” she said firmly, knowing the words alone wouldn’t absolve her conscience.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian Sheffield escorted the gurney to a private room at the end of a corridor, checking monitors and connections and nodding to the attending nurse.

  “I’ll be here for a while,” he told her, aware of the strange look before the woman left the room. He pulled one of the sleep chairs close to the bed, sat back with his feet on the railings and leaned his head back.

  Anya Miller groaned softly. Humans and guns, her mind intoned. Another scar, the feminine part of her chided. Dark lashes fluttered. The room was dim, not dark, with a soft stream of sunlight breaking through the drapes. It was barely noon when she went to meet Chloe for lunch. No telling what time it was now, she thought. At least this room seemed to have color, she thought, noticing the slight gold color to the walls as more and more of her eyesight focused.

  “Welcome back,” Ian straightened in the chair with a low groan, his palms up and massaging his shoulders heavily. He never did master chair sleeping. He lifted his glasses from the nightstand and checked the monitor. Blood pressure wasn’t where he’d like but it was acceptable for now.

  “Hello is usually an acceptable greeting,” Ian said when there was nothing but silence. “No one here but us, Anya. It’s safe to talk.”

  “Hello.” Anya felt her insides quake. She couldn’t say she was happy, but she had been content. She had finally put things neatly into a little box and stopped the nightmares.

  “Where have you been, Anya? Why did you run? I searched for you…I had friends searching…” His voice was raw in the memory.

  “I did not want to be found,” Anya turned away from him, angry at herself when hot moisture filled her eyes. “I needed time alone.”

  “I understand that, Anya,” he said gruffly. “But we were friends. Will was my friend, too. They tried to find you…tried to…you were his widow and should have been…”

  “Will was not in that…in what was left of him,” she exploded angrily. “Will was inside me, in my heart and mind! And there was nothing either of us could do for him! We were useless!” Her voice cracked, maybe the final crack that broke the dam locked away for years.

  Ian cursed softly, perching on the edge of the bed and very carefully gathered her against him. Mindful of the weak struggle and tubes, the front of his white smock absorbed the tears that were probably never set free from five years before. Her body was slender and wracked with unspent grief. This had not been his intent, he heard himself lecture. What did you expect when you confronted her?

  “You know I don’t understand all the words when you speak Croatian,” he murmured, gently stroking over her head. “I…I’m sorry, Anya…”

  “They…they would not even let me be at his service,” she whispered painfully, the morning flooding back to her, making her gulp frantically for air.

  Ian frowned. That wasn’t what he had been told. The information from Will’s relatives had been far from complimentary where Anya was concerned. He had questions. Too many questions.

  “Ian?” Pembrook stepped into the room, one brow up curiously. “The nurse was concerned about the spike in her stats. Everything okay in here?”

  Anya pushed against him, groaning at the pain to her shoulder. Her hand went up angrily to swipe at the wet cheeks. “I am fine. When can I leave?”

  “I’m not signing release papers for at least another day,” Pembrook answered dryly, lifting the chart and scribbling over the form. “You were shot and it did some damage, Anya. Lay back and get some rest. Let your body heal.”

  “Another bullet hole…it will heal,” she said tonelessly, her face turned toward the window. Thick, damp lashes closed tightly. “I am sorry, Pembrook. I was never a good patient.”

  Pembrook scowled at Ian and jerked her head toward the door.

  “Yeah…I understand. Get some rest, Anya,” she ordered and left the room, waiting with hands in pockets. She led the way down the corridor. “So…should we talk?” She demanded curtly.

  “I didn’t mean to…” Ian stopped talking, pacing the narrow hall. Even in his own mind he couldn’t come up with an excuse for his behavior. “It’s personal, Pembrook. But I deserve a swift kick for bringing it up now….and upsetting her. Damn it, she…” he put his hands on the wall, his head hanging down. “I don’t want her to run on me again,” he said quietly and slowly.

  “So you think having a captive audience will help things along?” She sighed, too familiar with the look in his eyes. “Ian…she needs to heal…maybe physically, mentally and emotionally, but…I can’t have you causing a glitch to that. If you can’t maintain
a professional stance with this, tell me now.”

  “I’m okay with it and I can be professional, I assure you.” Was his stiff answer.

  “Whatever you’re angry about…work it out on someone else, Ian. If you need to talk to someone, you know where I am,” Pembrook left him leaning against the wall, head back and eyes closed.

  Anya stared sightlessly out the window, groaning as she worked to shove the blankets aside and push her legs over the side of the bed. Her good hand closed on the stainless steel railing, fingers clenching tightly and not loosening for several long minutes. She heard the door open and wanted to throw something but only managed another frustrated groan. With only one good hand, it would be difficult to hold onto the rail and throw something at the same time.

  A sling held her left arm close to her body and useless. She wore one of the hospital gowns on top and had her own jeans on, a soft breeze from the open door striking her skin.

  “Escaping is a little tough when you can barely stand up,” Ian was across the room, going to her right side. “Where are you trying to go?”

  “Bathroom.” She ground out between her teeth, dark eyes narrow slits beneath the thick lashes as they looked at one another.

  Ian removed the monitor probes and lifted her good arm. His hand went to her waist, half lifting her against him as she finished the slide to the floor.

  “Slow, Anya…slow…”

  “My shoulder is immobile…my damn feet should work,” she grumbled in frustration, clinging to him despite her independent streak.

  “The sedative hasn’t totally worn off yet…takes time…” Ian got her to the open bathroom door, frowning when she pushed against him. “Anya…”

  “I will manage this part on my own,” she informed him flatly, holding to the rails on the wall at her side.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” he answered. “Another dressing down from Pembrook, I do not need today. Leave the door open….” Ian half understood what she said next. “Privacy is an illusion.”