by Janet Dailey
Just let her be all right. That didn’t seem like too much to ask.
Merged into six fast-moving lanes, he headed straight for the largest hospital of the four he’d tagged, a few miles from the highway. The emergency room entrance was brightly lit, marked by a red sign. He screeched the truck into a parking spot and jumped out, barely noticing the pounding rain.
The ER didn’t seem busy. Talking into a slotted metal circle set into wire-mesh glass, he gave the intake clerk a basic explanation and got the runaround.
“The paramedics had her on a spine board before they lifted her into the ambulance. B. MacKenzie. Anyone by that name brought in?” He knew his voice was agitated, but he couldn’t control it.
“I just started my shift, sir.” She pursed her lips and looked at him disapprovingly, safe in her cubicle.
“But you have to have the admit list for today and tonight.” Linc pushed his wet hair back with one hand, aware that he looked like he’d been rolling around in an overflowing gutter. No doubt that was what she was thinking. He didn’t give a damn. But he had to be nice.
“I’ll look.” She began to shuffle through papers on her desktop. Very slowly.
“Maybe she went straight into surgery. How about the ICU? Help me out here.”
The intake clerk shook her head. “We don’t give patient information to anyone who asks. As a general rule, family members are allowed to visit patients, but you said you weren’t family.”
Next time he would lie. The clerk hadn’t said in so many words that Kenzie wasn’t there, so maybe she was. Right now he was ready to slam through the swinging doors that said Staff Only and find out for himself.
A clipboard landed on the counter next to Linc’s elbow and he turned to see a youngish woman wearing glasses. The tag pinned to her jacket said her name and under that, ER Supervisor.
“What seems to be the problem here?”
The intake clerk slid a disdainful look at Linc to indicate that he was. The ER manager peered at him through lenses that made her eyes wide and owlish.
“Can I help you?” she asked him crisply.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for someone who may have been in an accident—”
“And you are?” she interrupted him.
“Her, um, friend.” He couldn’t suddenly turn into Kenzie’s brother in front of the unhelpful clerk. “My name is Linc Bannon—”
She interrupted him again. “And your friend’s name is?”
“Her last name is MacKenzie.”
“You don’t know her first name?”
“She goes by—never mind. Tell me something. How many MacKenzies do you get on an average night? Ten? Fifteen? Is she here or not?”
The supervisor kept her cool. “I’m trying to help you.”
She was. Linc collected himself. “Sorry. Look, I know I saw her crashed car on the news. Live on the scene—ambulance, highway patrol, the works. I couldn’t see her on the stretcher but they showed a close-up of the plates. It was a rollover. Maybe on 1-95 or a connecting highway.”
“Can you narrow that down a little? You’re talking about a lot of road.”
“Somewhere around here, I think. The reporter said Summer River.”
The ER supervisor nodded. “That’s not far from us. Let me check the admit list.” Linc noticed that the clerk ducked her head down when she heard that and got busy with the papers again. “Sorry. No one by that name has come in.”
“Oh, here’s my copy,” the clerk muttered behind the glass. “The day person keeps moving my files.”
The supervisor frowned at her and turned to speak to him. Linc was getting the feeling that she was on his side.
“So—you said you recognized the car and the plates, but you didn’t see her. Is it possible that she wasn’t driving?”
Her remark startled him. “What?”
“A teenager could have swiped her car for a joyride. Unfortunately, they often wreck what they steal. So do car thieves, though they’re a little more careful. Anyway, we get both now and then.”
Linc blew out the breath he’d been holding.
“Try calling your friend first, just in case. Then try the Summer River police department. They wouldn’t necessarily have been the first responders, but they can run her name through a statewide database, and also connect you to the highway patrol.”
The voice of sanity. It worked. Linc got a grip. “That makes sense. Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks.”
She nodded to him as her pager went off. “I’m sure you’ll find her.” She walked quickly away without a backward look.
Linc caught a glimpse of himself in the wire-mesh glass around the clerk’s cubicle. His hair had turned into a scruffy mess and dark stubble was putting in an unwanted appearance. The damp, wrinkled tuxedo jacket and the dangling ends of his silk bowtie didn’t help.
The intake clerk had her head down again, ignoring him. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets and walked quickly toward the wide double doors. The steel-framed glass panels opened with a hiss and out he went into the sluicing rain.
Chilled to the bone, he got back into his truck and slumped in his seat, reaching wearily for the smartphone, not seeing any messages on the little glowing screen.
Apparently his absence hadn’t been noted. No one who knew him had seen him enter the bar or leave it. No texts, no e-mails. He found Kenzie’s number and tapped the screen.
His call went straight to her voicemail. Maybe she’d shut off her phone, maybe her battery was dead. Given the uncertainty of her whereabouts, that didn’t reassure him.
Linc gave it a minute and tapped her number again. The recorded message was twice as irritating the second time around. The hell with it. He was going to drive to her place and see for himself if she was there or not.
He entered her address into the GPS search bar. It wouldn’t take that long to get there, unless the highway was under water. He sped out of the parking lot, spraying through puddles on either side.
Not slowing down until he went down the exit ramp, he pulled around the back of her apartment building a few minutes later. Her spot was empty. No surprise. The wreck wouldn’t have been towed here. He craned his neck and looked through the windshield. Her windows on the third floor glowed amber.
Maybe the ER supervisor had guessed right. But he hadn’t seen or talked to Kenzie yet.
He got out and made his way to the rear entrance. If she was there, he wanted to actually set eyes on her.
There was a long rectangle of opaque glass just above the entrance, meant to illuminate the stairwell during the day. Right now it was lit up, but not brightly. He saw a shadow move quickly down from the third floor to the second, then disappear.
No one came out.
He didn’t think too much about it. Linc pushed open the door and glanced at the security camera, an old clunker, positioned high in a corner. It didn’t move. The lens was flat black, with no gleam to its glass. Painted over, he thought distractedly, taking the stairs two at a time. No one was going to see him, as if that mattered.
He reached her floor and opened the fire door onto a long hall. Another shadow appeared at the other end, then vanished so swiftly he thought he’d imagined it.
He was dead beat by now. Tired wasn’t the word. The mad dash down too many roads and the stop at the hospital had disoriented him. Linc didn’t like feeling so off balance.
There were no more shadows. The fixtures in the hall provided even light. He heard nothing except the faint sound of water running somewhere in the building. Linc walked halfway down the hall before he realized that her door was ever so slightly ajar. A thin slice of golden light edged it.
He tensed. Had someone else noticed it was unlocked and tried it from the outside, then run away just as he’d opened the stairwell door? No telling.
His hand moved automatically inside his jacket for a weapon that wasn’t there. His fingers brushed the smooth lining of his tux. No gun, no nothing.
An
d no sound from inside. Linc shoved the door open.
He choked as an unseen arm shot around his neck and pressed against his windpipe. Linc felt like someone was climbing his back, fast. He reached up to yank the arm away but in a split second his wrist got grabbed and forced behind his back.
Gasping, he arched his back until he broke free of the steel-strong hold and—damn. Cracked his head against the door. The pain was blinding.
He whirled around, dizzy, and swung a fist. Didn’t connect. Something wet slapped his arm ... long, wet, whipping hair. His attacker was on the small side and had ducked the roundhouse punch. He stared at her, collecting his wits.
“Kenzie?”
She immediately straightened, standing with her arms akimbo and her clenched hands braced against her hips, her breath heaving in her chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “Did you pick my lock or something?”
He sucked in air, his throat swelling from the pressure she’d applied, raw on the inside.
“No. Door—was open. Thought I—saw—” He gasped the words, recovering slowly. “Somebody out here.” He waved at the hall. “Maybe running away.”
Her green eyes widened. “What?” She moved to look down the hall for herself, both ways. “There’s no one there.”
“Hope not.”
She came back in and shut the door hard, then slid the inside bolt into place. “Sometimes it doesn’t latch unless I kick it. Are you all right?”
“Maybe.”
Kenzie kept her distance, but came a little closer. He noticed, vaguely, that she was wearing something white and short. “You scared me half to death.”
He patted her shoulder, which seemed to be bare, for some reason. She smelled awfully good, but it didn’t seem like the right time to nuzzle her or anything like that. At least she didn’t pull away or whack him.
Reassured by the thought, he stumbled to her couch and dropped down heavily. “Had to come. Too bad I didn’t know your first name.” He looked up at her, still not able to think straight. His head hurt like hell where he’d cracked it. “B is for—?”
“Babe,” she replied. “My dad thought it was cute. I can’t stand it, never could. So don’t switch.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry, Kenzie.”
“Why are you even here?”
She seemed more mystified than angry.
“For a very good reason. I saw the accident on TV.”
Someone who kinda had it coming, a car thief or a stupid punk, had been taken away on that stretcher. Not Kenzie. She was right here, real as could be. He felt relief wash through him.
“What accident? You’re not making sense.” She came over and sat beside him, her bare arms folded across her chest.
Linc took a deep, rasping breath, then another. “Don’t you ever answer your phone?”
“Not in the shower.”
He finally figured out that she was wearing only a terry wrap thing tied in a knot above her breasts.
Shower. Right. So that was why she hadn’t heard him.
But that didn’t explain why the door had been cracked open. Her explanation—that it had to be kicked to latch right—didn’t do it for him. Kenzie wasn’t an airhead.
But everybody made mistakes. He’d spent most of the last hour doing just that.
Ow. He was hurting way too much to form a coherent thought. And he was distracted. The wrap was extremely short, at least from where he was sitting. Out of respect and the growing awareness that he’d made a world-class fool of himself by coming here unannounced, he did his best not to look too long at her bare legs, as slender and shapely as her arms.
No fluffy slippers for her—her feet were bare too. And recently pedicured. Golden bronze toenails, polish flawlessly applied, not a chip to be seen.
That could be why she hadn’t kicked the door. He told himself not to ask if that was the reason, for fear of sparking her self-protective instincts a second time. He forced himself to look up, all the way up. Her dark, wet hair trickled little rivers over her shoulders. Linc felt weak.
“Kenzie—ah—you do have a helluva chokehold.” His voice was coming back but he stopped to breathe. She was alive, even if she’d half killed him. That was good. “I seem to remember you telling me you aced hand-to-hand back in basic.”
“Yes, I did. And I still practice.”
“Good for you.” Linc coughed. “But you need to work on recognizing friendlies. Make yourself a chart or something.”
She got up again and tugged at the wrap. Was it slipping?
“How was I supposed to know it was you, Linc?”
“God, I’d hate to be your enemy.” He blinked. “Now I’m seeing sparks.” He forced his eyes closed, but the sparks didn’t go away. “Blue sparks. Wow.”
She seemed unimpressed. “How much champagne did you have at the reception?”
He didn’t answer the question. “It was fun. But I kept thinking about you.” He rubbed his eyes, then his neck. “Ouch. Those nerves are waking up. You know how to hang on.”
Bare, bronze-polished toes tapped impatiently on the carpet. “I’m waiting for an explanation. Right now would be a good time.”
“You bet. Here goes.” He launched into a fast recap of his search for her, starting with the news report.
“That can’t be—” The rosy glow left her face and she stopped him before he could finish. “Linc, I loaned my car to my friend Christine.”
“What?”
He could see her struggling to stay in control. What was going through her mind right now, he couldn’t imagine.
“You heard me. That was her you saw on the stretcher. Unless—”
She didn’t crack. But she avoided his eyes. “Damn it, where’s my cell phone?” Suddenly she was frantic, searching over and under every surface. He didn’t see a landline.
“I left mine in my car.” He got up, feeling rocky.
Ugly twist. Not a joyrider, not a thief—a friend of hers had been at the wheel. Another possibility that hadn’t occurred to him, and he had been trained to think outside every box there was. But Christine had survived. As far as he knew. “I’ll go get it.”
“No! Stay here!”
She grabbed a pair of jeans that had been slung over the flatscreen TV and shook them upside down. A small cell phone bounced on the carpet and she scooped it up, flipping it open and staring at the messages listed on the tiny screen. “Two texts. Nine voicemails. Oh no.”
She pressed the key for call return and got one of Christine’s parents almost immediately. Linc saw her shudder and dash away tears. She turned away from him after that. “Critical condition—I understand—Mrs. Corelli, I am so sorry. I just found out—no, from a friend—and picked up your message. Where is she? Where are you?” She grabbed a pencil and notepad and jotted down the replies. “I’m on my way.” Then she looked at Linc. “Yes, I have someone who can come with me.”
“She’s so pale,” Kenzie whispered.
Christine’s mother smiled sadly and didn’t respond right away. She sat at the head of the bed where her daughter lay unconscious, her husband standing at her side.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly,” Mrs. Corelli finally said. Her voice was no more than a whisper. “The police called us from the scene. They told us it was your car. I was worried when you didn’t answer.”
“I—I was working with a new client and I went out for a run when I came back. Then I took a shower. My cell was in my jeans. I didn’t even look at it.”
“You didn’t know,” Mrs. Corelli soothed.
“I just wish I had. How long have you been here?” Kenzie asked the Corellis.
“Since ...” The older woman looked up at her husband. “When was it, dear?”
“We got here after dark,” Alfred Corelli said.
Linc took Kenzie’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.
She was fighting back tears as she looked at Christine’s badly bruised face. Her friend�
��s eyes were shut and her lashes were wet. There were wires connected to her scalp and neck, running to machines that registered her every breath and heartbeat.
A doctor came in, glancing first at Christine, then at her parents. Then at Linc and Kenzie. He got the idea instantly: They weren’t supposed to be in the ICU. The doctor didn’t make a point of saying so.
“Kenzie, this is Dr. Asher, Christine’s neurologist,” Mr. Corelli said. “Kenzie is Christine’s best friend. They’re like sisters. I’m sorry, young man, but I don’t know your name.”
“Linc Bannon.”
“Thank you for bringing her,” Mrs. Corelli said simply.
The doctor acknowledged both Linc and Kenzie with a slight nod and a brief hello as he studied Christine’s charts and the readouts, swiftly absorbing information. “No substantial change.”
“Is that bad?” her mother asked almost inaudibly.
“It means her condition has stabilized. Considering the severity of her injuries, that’s a good sign.”
Mrs. Corelli looked anxiously at her daughter. “Can she hear us?”
“Actually, she can,” the neurologist replied in a measured voice. “But the heavy sedation makes it impossible for her to respond or remember. However, her reflexes are there—pupil function, touch sensation—and she reacts to the usual stimuli as well as can be expected.”
Linc knew the drill. The motorcycle accident that had left him with no more than a scar on his face had been a lesson learned the hard way. He’d been lucky, relatively speaking. Christine seemed much worse off.
“The immediate problem is controlling brain swelling.” The doctor addressed both Corellis as he spoke. “Her CAT scans show a skull fracture, and right now we can’t predict exactly what will happen. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
“I see.” Mrs. Corelli’s voice was dull.
“How long will she be unconscious?” Christine’s father asked bluntly.
“I can’t give an exact date. But we will bring her out of the deep sedation as soon as we can safely do so, Mr. Corelli.”
