Chapter 9 #2
The soft sound Eva made was heavy with disappointment.
He knew his wife could accept never knowing the motive if it meant that the threat was over.
Her fear seemed visceral to him, and he didn’t know where to direct his anger.
All signs were that he was the target of this campaign of terror, and everyone around him was collateral damage.
Ireland had thus far paid the highest price, but everyone was now suffering and potentially endangered.
A figure filled the sitting room’s open doorway, drawing everyone’s immediate attention.
“Daniel!” Elizabeth cried, quickly standing. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
His mother’s fiancé entered the room with a brisk, assured stride. “Yes, at last. How’s Ireland?”
“Oh, Daniel.” She covered her mouth to quiet a sob. “They hurt her.”
Gideon watched as Daniel pulled his mother into a tight, rocking hug before they spoke in hushed tones. It was a relief to have someone present who could better look after her. He felt useless.
There’d been a time, long ago, when he’d felt helpless and to blame.
To feel that way now, when it was imperative that he find some fucking calm and stay in control, triggered raw memories of the isolated boy he’d once been, throwing his equilibrium off balance.
He knew he had to keep his shit together and focus on the next steps, but his growing apprehension was impossible to ignore.
How would Ireland view him and his actions after what she’d suffered?
Shelley looked his way again. “The three deceased suspects were all career criminals, but they weren’t known associates.
Someone put them together. And detectives are still investigating whether the written threats you received are related.
The two-year time lapse between the earlier ones and the most recent can be a valuable clue. We’ll have to figure out the context.”
Gideon’s own team had investigated the letters, too, finding nothing but dead ends. It was possible the sender had been incarcerated during that gap in time.
“You’re saying this isn’t over yet.” Daniel’s voice was firm and unemotional.
“The worst is over. Ireland is home. But yes, you should all remain hypervigilant,” she confirmed. “Limit your risks—however and whenever you can.”
Voices in the hallway, at least one familiar, drew their attention away from Shelley and toward the doorway.
A moment later, a short balding man in a physician’s white coat appeared, stepping aside to gesture Chris and Christopher into the room before him.
Boudreaux was seated directly opposite the doorway but escaped their notice behind the newspaper.
“Good evening,” the doctor greeted them with a brisk nod and hasty smile. “I’m Dr. Earnshaw. I’ve been looking after Ireland since she was admitted.”
Gideon was already on his feet. He shook the man’s hand. “We’ve heard generally how she’s doing.”
“I’ll fill in any gaps.” Earnshaw waited until everyone was either seated or facing him before continuing.
“We’ve determined that she’s not concussed.
An MRI was ordered before admitting her because she presented with a subgaleal hematoma—commonly known as a ‘goose egg’—and complained of a severe headache and nausea.
I’m still waiting on the radiologist’s report, but we’ve talked and agree the scans show no evidence of a brain bleed. ”
“That’s good news,” Eva spoke so firmly that Gideon knew she was trying to keep everyone focused on the positives.
“It is, yes,” Earnshaw agreed. “Ireland was deprived of food and water since sometime Friday evening. Her symptoms also indicated severe dehydration, so we started intravenous fluids, which reduced their severity.”
The doctor’s tone softened. “She also had a vicious bite on her right earlobe, which has been stitched, but you’ll likely want a plastic surgeon to consult with her to mitigate the scarring.”
Eva dug into her pocket for her phone. “I’ll text Teagan now. I believe she has hospital privileges here.”
“Teagan Ransom?” Earnshaw asked. When Eva nodded, he nodded, too. “She does, yes.”
Dr. Teagan Ransom, known to TV viewers as “Doctor Midtown,” was a lauded cosmetic surgeon and a vital member of the brain trust Eva had assembled to develop ECRA+’s cosmeceutical line at Cross Industries.
Teagan and her artist husband split their time between Seattle and Manhattan, but Garrett had an upcoming exhibition in the city, and they’d attended the masquerade.
Chris cleared his throat, but there was still gravel in his voice when he spoke. “Did they hurt Ireland…in other ways?”
Earnshaw understood the question. “No, she was not sexually assaulted. She was handled roughly but thankfully spared that.”
It felt as if an intense pressure was released from the room in a collective sigh of relief and gratitude.
The doctor continued, “Altogether, Ireland has a sprained left elbow, abrasions on her knees, feet, arms, and thighs, as well as contusions on her left temple, right cheekbone, and right thigh. She’s missing a chunk of her hair, which will take several months to a year to grow back. The regrowth may be a different color.”
Gideon’s breath shuddered as a cold sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. His stomach roiled with nausea. Bile filled his mouth, and he struggled to swallow it down. Ireland…
“We’re going to keep her overnight for observation,” the doctor went on, “but she’ll be able to go home tomorrow and resume normal activities as soon as she feels up to it.”
Chris’s eyes closed for a long minute, his lips moving silently as if in prayer.
Eva’s phone pinged with a text notification, and she read it quickly. “Teagan’s on her way.”
“Can I see my daughter now?” Elizabeth asked, leaning into Daniel’s side.
Earnshaw nodded. “As soon as she’s settled in her room, yes.
And someone can stay with her overnight, if you like.
Just let the concierge know, and they’ll arrange for the guest bed to be prepped.
Once we ruled out a concussion, I gave Ireland a mild sedative and something a little stronger for the pain.
She’s comfortable and drowsy, and it’s late.
If the police need to speak with her, they should wait until morning if possible. ”
Shelley stood and pulled her phone from her blazer’s inner pocket. “I’ll give the detectives an update.”
“We won’t keep her up long,” Christopher promised.
Still on his feet, Gideon shifted to look past the doctor to where Boudreaux sat waiting. With limited time afforded to them, the man could wait to see Ireland another day and show himself out. If Gideon’s mother or sister had a problem with that, he had the doctor’s advice to back him up.
He cursed under his breath.
The only thing sitting in the chair was a discarded, folded newspaper.
Ireland lay propped up in a hospital bed, floating in a dreamy haze of calm and comfort. She felt mostly nothing, and the peace of detachment put a small smile on her face. It seemed almost like floating in and out of a pleasant dream.
The patient suite they’d wheeled her into was very large, with a leather visitor’s chair that clearly extended into a single bed, a dining table set for two beneath a square window, and a well-appointed bathroom.
Adjusting the position of her arm sling’s strap, Ireland eyed the large standing shower and fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook beside it with longing.
She felt gross and suspected she was nose blind to her own stench.
The police had bagged up her clothing, combed through her hair, scraped under her nails, swabbed the bite on her ear and inside her mouth, photographed her injuries, and taken her fingerprints.
She still had a few black, greasy smudges that they’d missed when wiping her hands afterward.
But she couldn’t muster the energy or give-a-damn to ask for assistance. In part because it felt a bit like the calm before a storm.
But how? Why? She’d just survived the worst fucking experience possible.
Ireland knew the medication she’d been given caused the haze of euphoria.
A more lucid part of her mind questioned her emotional disconnect.
Was it wrong that she was able to brush aside the memories of the past few days dispassionately, as if the abduction had happened to someone else in some other reality?
Or was she simply as strong and resilient as Ronan believed her to be?
She snorted humorlessly, aware of her altered state and a remote sense of impending anxiety. Her family would come soon. Any moment, they’d walk through the door, and the awful loneliness of being separated from all other life for days would end.
Still, there was a small part of her that was grateful for these empty moments before the reunion. She could imagine their worry and fear. Weren’t they always worried about her in some way or another?
They’d need reassurance that she was going to be okay, and she longed for them to have it. They would hover and fuss more than ever—possibly for the rest of her life. Ireland was lucky to be loved so deeply and told herself that.
A knock at the door gave her a little jolt. She curled her hands into fists to hide the broken fingernails, wishing she could hide her other injuries so they’d have less to fret about.
Her chest expanded as she drew a deep, calming breath. “Come in,” she called out, slurring the words a little.
The door cracked open, and Ronan filled the narrow space.
For a long moment, Ireland could only stare, hope fluttering in her chest like a thousand butterflies.
Her breath caught. Her heartbeat leaped.
Excitement quivered in her belly. Relief rushed through her, warming her blood with a surge of elation.
He’d come. She realized she’d been secretly afraid he wouldn’t.
Dazed by a sudden rush of delight, she managed, “Well, hello, gorgeous.”