While Others Sleep. Helen R. MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
officers. “What’s wrong with her?” At this point he could definitely tell the driver was female and that she was lying back against the headrest.
Ignoring his partner’s continued stare, the broad-faced man shook his head. “Belly shot. And I suspect you know she’s small.”
“If she’s who I think she is,” Blade replied.
“Doesn’t look good. The EMTs just said they can’t risk waiting to stabilize her here.”
The technicians were, in fact, already removing her from the vehicle and making quick work of loading her into the ambulance. Although he’d seen scenes like this many times—too many—Blade kept his face blank, his tone flat. “Has she said anything?”
“Nah. Nothing sensible, anyway.”
“Come on, Phil, before I have to worry about a bullet in the back as well as the front.”
“Just what is going on here?” the female officer demanded.
Another close flash of lightning, followed by a loud peal of thunder, had Sergeant Parsons cringing. In the next moment, he snapped, “Put that thing away before somebody gets hurt.” To Blade he said, “It sounded like she mumbled something, but it could have been a moan. So what’s up with her? She something to you? We haven’t spotted a purse yet. Our check on the plates identifies the owner as Raymond Holms. Car could be stolen for all we know.”
Blade nodded, though he didn’t offer what he knew about the matter. He simply replied, “I’ve just seen her here and there.”
“And?”
New sirens were sounding in the north. He couldn’t tell if they were heading this way, but it was a good bet. “Who called this in?”
The female officer stepped forward. “I did. We were at the traffic light and I saw a dog sniffing around the car. The dog was on its hind legs and leaning into the window. I guess he smelled the blood. I’m Cathy Miles. I just started this week.” She took a step forward as though about to extend her hand.
“Give him your phone number while you’re at it,” Parsons muttered.
The rookie’s tentative smile vanished. “I—I’ll go see if they need—” Swallowing hard, she beat a fast retreat.
“Smooth,” Blade murmured.
Parsons waved away the criticism. “Hey. I’m sick of being given all the females to train. I feel like some kind of one-man feminist nursery school.”
“Ever think it’s because somebody thinks you’re a good teacher, or are you determined to be pissed because she’s cute and you can’t do anything about it?” Having seen and heard enough, Blade was ready to retreat himself. “Who’re they sending to take the case?”
“Snow.”
Always tenacious, Detective Gordon Snow took his time. Everyone else’s, too, but Blade would vote for the Snowman’s brand of caution any day. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“I’ll let him know that’s where he can find you.”
“Uh-uh. You forget I was here.” Blade pointed a finger over his shoulder. “Make that clear to your partner, too—and that if our paths cross again she never uses my name if anyone else is around. If there’s something Snow needs to hear, I’ll make sure he gets the information. You know how I operate, Phil.”
Despite the initial tension between them, he suspected Phil Parsons would oblige. The guy was a good cop, even if he was an old-school redneck when it came to women. Parsons would remember that Blade’s role in the world of night wolves required extreme caution.
The storm was moving east and Blade made it to Good Shepherd Medical Center in five minutes. Parking his two-tone gray 1982 El Camino between two larger trucks, as far away from the tall security lights as possible, he sprinted to catch up with the ambulance. He could see the EMTs wheeling the victim through the automatic glass doors of Emergency.
Only an arm’s reach from the entry himself, he collided with another person. He heard a surprised, pained gasp, and then a woman fell hard onto the concrete, immediately curling into a tight fetal position. Blade’s religious workouts kept him extremely fit, but she wasn’t exactly Tinkerbell. When they’d collided they’d been shoulder to shoulder, and while she was slim, his impression of her was of toned muscle, too.
A split second later it registered with him that she wore a uniform. He squinted in the harsh light to read the patch on her sleeve. Cody Security. His lips twisted. Just what he needed—appeasing a wannabe.
Impatient to get inside, Blade extended his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” Meanwhile, his attention had returned to the EMTs. He wanted to make sure he knew where they were going.
“Back off.”
The harsh warning, accompanied by a sting as his hand was slapped away, jerked his attention back to the security guard. She might be a mess—as soaked as he was and blue from the cold—but she had a great head of hair. No amount of rain could diminish the toffee-gold in that long plait. His gaze lingered for a second too long.
“Are you deaf?” she demanded.
Once again Blade found it necessary to raise his hands. “I only want to know if you need some help from inside?”
Instead of answering, she rolled to her knees and struggled to her feet. It was as clear as a traffic signal for him.
“Good girl. So watch it in the future, okay?” Leaving her to her injured pride or whatever, he resumed his race inside.
The waiting room and hallways of Emergency were flooded with people tonight, and it was only Tuesday. Most of the dazed souls he passed appeared to have been dragged out of bed. The rest looked in dire need of one.
Blade didn’t have to worry about getting by the reception desk. The clerk had all the work she could handle dealing with people looking for information about loved ones. He passed through another set of glass doors and strode by the nurses’ station, relying on what always worked for him—confidence. But his step faltered moments later.
The EMTs were already leaving the second triage unit. He didn’t like the look of it. When he saw their expressions, his first question was “Did she ever say anything?”
The older of the haggard-faced men glanced his way, but appeared intent on continuing past him. Blade took no offense. It had been a grueling forty-eight hours, and his usual five o’clock shadow was beyond disreputable. There wasn’t much he could do about genetics—in his work his swarthy coloring usually proved an asset—nor could he help his bad timing. He needed answers. Determined to get them, he quickly blocked the men’s path and stuck his ID in their faces.
The technician closest to him blinked a few times. “Ah. Okay…no. She never said a word. She was already flat-lining in transit. They were never able to bring her back.”
Blade made the badge disappear as quickly as he’d flashed it. “Thanks.”
“That it?” The technician looked unsure that the questions were over.
“Unless you know who killed her?”
“Somebody as lost as she was.”
He had that right. Blade wasn’t surprised at the guy’s reaction—people in emergency care tended to see the same view of the world that he did.
“If only we’d been able to get to her a few minutes sooner,” the man continued.
Blade frowned. “I thought the wound was such that she wouldn’t have pulled through?”
“But I think we might have briefly revived her. Maybe long enough to get some kind of statement. It’s not in the job description, but we know it’s part of what’s asked of us. Somebody took a helluva risk leaving her in that condition.”
The two