“How’s Marcus?” Kit asked instead, changing tactics.
Again, Carly shrugged. “It’s slow going. He’s frustrated and angry, then feels guilty because he thinks he shouldn’t be feeling any of those things.” Carly paused, then rolled her eyes. “Of course, he won’t tell you any of this. He doesn’t talk about it at all. But I know him well enough to know what’s going through his mind.”
“Is he still in rehab?” Kit asked, taking a sip of wine.
Carly nodded and finished a bite of her dinner before answering. “He is. Three times a week. His knee and hip are still giving him some trouble. The skin graft is healing well, though.”
“When will he come back to Windsor?” Kit asked, feeling sympathy for him.
Carly’s lips flattened for a moment, then just as fast, her face relaxed. “I don’t know. His rehab should be done in the next month or so. But honestly, I think he’s a bit scared to come back. Not scared to be in the same area where the bomb went off or anything like that, but scared about how people will react to him being back. The last thing he wants is anyone’s pity, and because everyone in town knows what happened, I think it makes him sick to think about people stopping him all the time to ask how he’s doing.
“I also think he might still be too angry to come back. He’s feeling a lot of things he doesn’t think he should be feeling, considering he was part of the team that saved Jesse and her son. He doesn’t know what to do with those emotions, so it’s just easier not to face them.”
Kit sat back and mulled over what Carly had just said. If Carly was right in her assessment of what Marcus was thinking, she didn’t agree with Marcus’s feelings. They lived in a small town and, yes, everyone knew what had happened, but it wouldn’t be pity Marcus would receive from people, it would be genuine concern. Still, he was a young man who’d had his body nearly destroyed in a town he’d sworn to protect. Kit felt nothing but concern and affection for him, but she could see how he might misinterpret people’s reactions and chafe against the proximity of people in their small town.
“And so it’s easier to stay in Albany and be the anonymous guy with a limp?” Kit asked.
Carly nodded. “His physical therapist is up there, and with the administrative work that Ian arranged for him to take on for the Albany PD while he’s on leave, it made sense for him to get an apartment there. At least until he’s ready to come back here.”
“Do you think he’ll ever be ready? And how are you holding up?”
Carly wagged her head in indecision. “I think he’ll be ready to come back soon. Or maybe I just hope that he will be.”
“Is it that bad?”
Her friend took a long sip from her wineglass before answering. “It’s actually not that bad. It would be easier if Vic were around to handle some of the more administrative tasks.”
“Is he still leaving everything to you?” Kit asked.
Carly hesitated, then nodded. “Not everything, but a lot of things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m learning a ton about the administration of law enforcement, and it’s actually kind of interesting.”
“But?”
“But it would be nice not to have to do it all while also still running patrols, handling calls, managing accidents, and all the other stuff I have to do as a duty officer.”
“And I imagine it might be kind of nice to have someone help you learn everything rather than just leave you to figure it out?”
Carly nodded. “Anyway,” she said, laying her napkin on the table and reaching for Kit’s now-empty dinner plate. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s a small town, crime isn’t that high, and I haven’t been in this job for all that long. It’s a good opportunity and it’s not as though I have a lot of extra-curricular activities to occupy my time.”
Kit was about to point out that what Carly was going through could only be considered a good opportunity if she had plans to stay in law enforcement—something Kit wasn’t altogether sure was the case.
“Dessert time,” Carly said, cutting off anything Kit might have wanted to say. “Coffee? Tea?”
“More wine,” Kit answered with a grin. “I’ve only had one glass and if I stay and gossip for a while, I should be just fine to drive after one more.”
Carly laughed and began cutting obscenely large pieces of cheesecake. “I actually have the morning off tomorrow. My first half day off in nine days, so you can stay as late as you like.”
And stay she did. Not too late, but it was close to midnight when she made her way out of Carly’s apartment. Having caught up on all sorts of topics—from friends to the town’s current events—Kit was smiling as she made her way down the stairs to the parking lot, keeping a wary eye open for any leftover ice. The weather was starting to warm up a bit during the day, but winter hadn’t yet loosened its grip entirely.
“You’re letting all the cold air in, Carly. Close the door,” Kit said as she paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to see her friend standing in the doorway of her apartment waiting for her to reach her car. “I’m fine, Officer,” Kit insisted. Finally, she heard Carly grumble something and shut her door.
Turning back toward her car, Kit began to pick her way across the gravel lot, then paused as a train whistled in the night. A gust of cold air buffeted her body; she hunched her shoulders and continued on. This was the time of winter she didn’t like. The in-between time when everything just looked brown and dead.
Shaking her head at her macabre thoughts, she imagined her warm bed and big, picture windows and picked up her pace. To her right, she heard a shuffle of gravel being kicked up and her head jerked up in surprise. Peering into the darkened corners of the parking lot, Kit told herself to get a grip. It was probably a cat and she was just letting her imagination get to her.
Gripping her keys, she made it to her car, unlocked the doors, and popped the trunk. Carly had insisted that she take some leftovers and after she placed them in the back and shut the trunk, she glanced around one more time and let out a small sigh of relief when she saw no one; nothing out of the ordinary.
Pulling her scarf and jacket tighter across her body, she made her way toward the driver’s door. She was so focused on getting into the warmth and safety of her car that she never saw the man—or the knife—coming.
CHAPTER 23
“YOU’LL FINALLY BE GONE, bitch,” Kit heard a voice say as she felt a strong arm grip her from behind and something slash across her throat. Pain seared its way through her body even as adrenaline shot through every fiber of her being. Stunned, she dropped to the ground near the door, her hand going automatically to her neck.
She didn’t have time to think; she only knew she was in a dark parking lot and someone was attacking her. Ignoring the pain at her throat, she rolled over to see the man who had assaulted her. He was standing over her, wearing a ski mask, and holding a knife. A knife with blood on it. Hers.
That thought registered and it was all she needed to catapult her out of her stunned state.
She screamed.
For a moment, he seemed just as surprised as she was to hear her voice tear through the quiet winter night. Then he was on her.
But she was ready for him. Or as ready as she could ever be to fend off a man with a knife.
She kicked out at him and wrenched away as he came down on top of her. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she felt the tip of the knife hit her upper arm as she scrambled toward the back of her car, out of the shadows, and toward the open part of the parking lot. Fumbling for anything to help her, she scraped up some gravel and threw it over her shoulder into what she hoped was the man’s face. He had a mask on, but his eyes were exposed, and judging by his sudden blast of curse words, she figured she’d at least made some contact.
Distantly, she recognized her name being called. She thought it was Carly, was pretty sure it was Carly, but didn’t have time to confirm or to answer her.
As she clawed her way toward the back of her car, the man caught her foot with his free
hand and tried to drag her back into the shadows. She felt a burst of panic when she realized that, unlike her bulky winter coat, her jeans would prove to be little help in stopping a knife. And no sooner had the thought entered her mind than she felt something slice across her calf. Instinctively, she recoiled, trying to pull her injured leg toward her chest, but he held firm. Struggling and knowing she didn’t have much time, she reached one more time for a handful of gravel and threw it at her assailant. She didn’t hold much hope that it would stop him, or even stall him, but she had to try something as she started to crawl once again toward the lit part of the parking lot where Carly would be able to see her.
And then, suddenly, he was gone.
Just like that.
She didn’t stop to question where he was or what he was doing. She only knew that his death grip on her leg was gone. She shot forward, still crawling on her belly, until she finally reached the end of her car. When no hand reached for her and no knife found its way into her body, she paused and turned around.
He was gone. Just simply gone.
“Kit!” Carly called.
Dazed, Kit looked toward her friend’s apartment and noted absently that Carly was standing three steps up from the parking lot, her gun in hand.
“Kit! Are you okay?” Carly called again.
Kit reached for the bumper of her car, steading herself as she tried to pull herself upright. Adrenaline was still coursing through her body, but the pain was starting to scream and claw at her.
“I’m here,” she choked out. It hurt to talk and she coughed in response. Tears shot to her eyes and she gritted her teeth against the pain. Taking a few deep breaths, she pulled herself all the way up, keeping her weight off her injured leg.
“Kit.” At the alarm in Carly’s voice, panic lanced through Kit one more time as she took a few steps toward her friend. Her friend who was vigilantly scanning the parking lot. Her friend with the gun.
“I’ve called the police. Backup will be here in a minute,” Carly was saying soothingly as she slowly made her way toward Kit. “I’m coming to you, Kit. Just hold on one sec for me, can you do that?”
Kit took a few more steps away from her car toward Carly, toward the safety of Carly’s apartment, then stopped and nodded. Her friend was doing her best to make sure whoever had attacked her wasn’t still around; she was making sure they were both safe. Because they needed to be safe before Carly could put her gun away and help her.
She felt exposed standing in the parking lot and her body was shaking so much she considered taking the few steps back toward her car just so she could lean on the trunk to keep herself from collapsing. But the sounds of the sirens in the distance gave her some courage; she locked her knees and waited for Carly to give her the all clear.
“Talk to me, Kit,” Carly said as she made her way quickly around the parking lot. “Are you okay?”
Kit could feel the blood streaming down her calf and her blood dampened jacket clinging to her arm. She tried to talk again, but then just decided to nod. Which was a joke because she wasn’t okay. And she knew Carly knew that. But Kit needed that connection, that human connection to someone safe, and Carly seemed to know that too. Carly kept talking as she swept the rest of the parking lot. It felt like it took ages, but Kit knew that, in reality, it probably took less than a minute. Still, she was glad when she saw her friend lower her gun and start to come toward her.
Relief hit her like a ton of bricks and Kit sank to the ground. The pain, the fear, the anger, and the shame of being caught unaware choked her injured throat. She didn’t want to cry because she knew it would hurt. But knowing it would hurt, and why, made the tears come even faster.
“It’s okay, Kit. I have you,” Carly was saying. Kit was dimly aware of Carly checking her over, cataloging her injuries. When she started to remove the scarf from around Kit’s neck, Kit shrank back and closed her eyes against the flood of tears the pain commanded.
“Try to relax, Kit. I won’t touch the scarf again. Just lay back. The police and EMTs will be here any second now.” Kit felt her head being lowered down onto her friend’s lap, and like a child, she curled up and soaked in the reassuring feel of Carly. Shutting down her thoughts about what had just happened, Kit focused on trying to control the pain that was battering through her body. It wasn’t easy, but after a few beats, she got her breathing under control and found that, as long as she inhaled and exhaled steadily and shallowly, the pain roared through her body rather than pierced through it.
She was so focused on her own breath and willing herself to release some of the tension she’d been feeling that she nearly shot up when she felt the muscles in Carly’s thighs tense beneath her.
“Oh shit,” she heard Carly say as her friend abruptly pulled away.
Confused Kit opened her eyes.
To the sight of a car headed right for them.
Kit registered the sound of the tires on the gravel, the feel of Carly’s arms coming under her own, and the tug and pull of her own body being dragged.
And then everything stopped.
CHAPTER 24
GARRET FELT the rough weave of the hospital blanket dig into his forehead. Ignoring it and focusing on the smoothness of Kit’s skin, he rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand, then tightened his grip.
There was nothing. No response.
Blinking back his frustration and terror, he raised his head. Caleb sat sprawled in a chair on the other side of Kit’s hospital bed. His pose was deceptively casual, but he was staring at his sister’s face in much the same way he had been since he and Garret had arrived over twenty hours ago.
Kit was in a coma. And they didn’t know when she’d come out of it.
Garret stroked the back of her hand again. He supposed that’s the way it was with comas, that doctors never really knew when, or if, a patient would come out of one. He’d heard that before, but it had never carried as much meaning as it did now.
His eyes shifted to the monitors. Her heart rate was steady, and the rest of her vitals were as strong as could be expected. The machine beeped in the same slow rhythm as the device that pumped air into her lungs.
He never should have left. Or rather, he never should have let Drew handle Maria Costello and Louis Ramon. If he’d taken matters into his own hands like he’d wanted to when they’d first learned of Costello’s involvement, none of this would ever have happened.
Guilt seared through his gut, swift and brutal. They’d been so intent on bringing Kašović in that he’d let himself get sloppy. He’d let loose ends unravel further. Unravel enough to wrap themselves around Kit and drag her back into the abyss.
“Jesus,” he said under his breath, not really knowing if it was a curse or a prayer.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” Caleb said. At Caleb’s tone, Garret looked over at him again. Caleb’s voice was often flat, devoid of all emotion, but this was different. For the first time since Garret had started working with Caleb, he heard emptiness in Caleb’s voice. And the guilt just kept coming.
“I shouldn’t have let Drew and his team handle Maria Costello and her son,” Garret said.
“I could have gone down and handled it myself. But I didn’t,” Caleb countered.
“I have more contacts in that family than you do.”
“I have plenty of contacts. You were trying to start a life with her. You did what you should have done—you stayed with her. You committed yourself to making a new life work.”
“And look at what good that did,” Garret said, loosening the grip he had on Kit’s hand that he now realized had grown tight.
“I should have gone,” Caleb insisted.
For a long moment, Garret said nothing and just observed his partner and friend. Caleb’s face was pale and scruffy—hell, both their faces were, after having sat at Kit’s side since they’d arrived. And though Caleb was preternaturally still, Garret knew his mind was working. But for once, he’d bet his friend’s mind wasn’t focu
sed on solving a problem or planning a mission. No, Garret would bet Caleb was reliving every memory he had of Kit. And probably feeling his own wave of guilt—for having left her with their father, for not having been a bigger part of her life, for not having stopped Louis Ramon. Because that was who had done this to Kit.
Carly, who had saved Kit’s life by dragging her just far enough out of the path of the oncoming car that it had hit her hips and legs rather than her chest and head, had escaped significant injury and walked away with a couple of bruised ribs and a broken wrist. She’d also gotten a good look at the driver. And had confirmed that it was Louis Ramon.
How Louis had gotten into the country, Garret didn’t know and didn’t care. But he had. And he’d done this to Kit. And Garret could have stopped him.
Garret opened his mouth to confess to Caleb why this was his fault. And why he could have stopped it. But before he had the opportunity, the door slid open and Drew walked in carrying coffee. He’d arrived eight hours earlier, and though outwardly, he didn’t look as rumpled as Garret and Caleb, Garret could see it in his eyes. Drew’s eyes didn’t bother to hide his distress and, yes, his guilt. There seemed to be a lot of that going around.
Garret continued to hold Kit’s hand in one of his as he accepted the coffee with the other. Caleb took a cup but let it hang in his fingers. Drew leaned against the wall and all three just simply watched her, lost in their own feelings; fearing to hope, but hoping nonetheless.
“We have to do something,” Caleb finally said. “We can’t just let this happen.”
“Maria Costello assures me she had no idea her son was going to do this,” Drew said.
“And I give a damn what Maria Costello says, why?” Caleb bit out.
Not taking his eyes off Kit, Drew shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“And you believe her?” Garret asked.
Frailty of Things Page 28
