Chapter 52 Humidity-Chic
humidity-chic
Cian
“Sariah Ocotea was admitted within the last hour. She has no identification on her. And I don’t know why she’s here.”
Before I can mull over how pathetic I sound to the man at admissions, Renée cuts in.
“I need to find my mom. She’ll be worried.
I am too.” She slides her phone from her jeans pocket with a grunt and fumbles a few times with her non-dominant hand.
She flips the device toward the man. “She looks like this.”
“Let me see what I can do.” He lifts the multi-line phone and pushes buttons.
This place isn’t that big. It’s more than a Doc-in-a-Box, but less than a full-on hospital. Yeah, it has medical practices on the property, but the actual emergency area can’t warrant all this.
“We brought in a Jane Doe? Yes. With GSW? Her family is here.”
I don’t hear more. GSW? Gunshot wound? I stare at the wall, willing my throat to swallow, willing my heart to keep pumping.
Finally, a small tug on my hand grabs my attention. “Come on, Ci. I know where we’re going.”
Man up, Murphy. The fourteen-year-old who’s been through hell has more solid nerves than you right now. Or she doesn’t know how bad this could be…
A doctor greets us after we’ve been buzzed through the magnetic doors.
“I’m Dr. Leone. Right this way.”
We’re ushered to a bay with curtains drawn around four cubicles. There’s a commotion behind one and grunts and swearing greet us. But it’s a male voice arguing, not my angel’s.
When the doctor pulls the curtain back, Sariah is there, unconscious or asleep. She’s unmoving and unnaturally pale.
“What happened?” I ask the doctor over Renée’s head as she rushes to her mom’s bedside.
“Car accident. Bruising is consistent with not wearing a seatbelt. Nothing’s broken, but she’ll be sore for a while.”
“Why is she”—I gesture to her sleeping form—“so…” I have no words. She shouldn’t be so still.
“We gave her a sedative. She was panicked and couldn’t be examined in her state.”
Wow. Okay. “They said something about a gunshot wound?” My voice is low and scrapes across vocal cords like gravel over glass.
“She was brought in with a police officer who was shot and a federal agent who was caught in the crossfire.”
He’s no federal agent. At least with an officer down—I hate the thought—the paperwork will be pristine. I have no idea where his partner-in-crime might be, but a busted vehicle and no tires means he went on foot. I can only hope that airbag residue will be all over him when he’s found.
“When can she wake up?”
“We can reverse the sedation at any time.”
“She would’ve been panicking about her daughter.” I gesture to Renée. “She’ll be calm now.”
“That’s good. Detectives want to interview her about the situation. We refused access until we could treat her properly.”
I want to thank him for that. I also want to throw her over my shoulder and run out of here with her.
Instead, I do what I’ve wanted to for hours. What being a responsible fucking adult delayed for far too long. I round the foot of the bed and take my place at her side.
Where I’ll stay.
Forever.
Sariah
I wake like I’m coming up from being submerged. Floating to the surface in a half-dream, half-nightmare haze where my mind runs movie upon movie and my body is frozen in inaction.
I look up into the face of the man who saved me once and continues to over and over again. And not just physically, though that’s a part of it. But emotionally, stability wise, in all the ways.
“Where am I?” My lips are too fat and too stuck together to be comfortable.
“The hospital. In Fort Collins.”
That bursts my dream bubble more effectively than I could imagine and I fight.
I fight the sluggishness that overtakes my muscles, the sludge in my mind, and the panic in my heart. Beeping screams through the room and people fly in from all directions.
Terror seizes me. “Where’s Re—”
Cian’s warm palm squeezes mine. “In the bathroom. She’s safe. You both are. Breathe for me. Please.”
A nurse comes between the two of us, admonishing Cian for who knows what… being kind, helping me?
“Move.” My one-word directive catches her attention and has her taking a step back. When she does, I reach for his hand that she separated from me in her haste to do whatever she was trying to do.
The nurse fidgets near me, sighing as she has to work around our joined hands. “Petulance is unbecoming.”
The nurse turns aghast eyes on me.
Cian snickers.
Renée comes into view. She’s sporting a hot pink cast on her right arm from wrist to above the elbow. Her face is bruised, and her hair is wild.
Dipping my chin to the cast, I ask, “Have you been here long?”
“We just got here. It took a while to be discharged in Loveland, then Ci and I—” she looks to the man at my side. “Decided to come find you instead of going home. He said you’d want me to go home and rest because of the concussion.”
Concussion?
“But I said I wanted to come, and he said he did too.”
“You two teaming up is a scary proposition.”
The man I love winks at my daughter. “Then you have every reason to be afraid, Angel. Doesn’t she, Renée?”
“Totally.”
“What happened?” I look between the two of them, but settle on Cian’s handsome face, complete with red stubble of a later than five-o’clock shadow.
“We’ll talk about that in the car.” He puts a quick finger to his lips and tips his head toward the curtain. He grabs his phone and types something out, flipping the phone my way.
The kidnapper is in the bay next to you. The police want to question you. I’ll ask that they do so some place private. Let’s get you discharged first.
If that weren’t enough, he turns the phone to my daughter as well. Her eyes go hard and her lips purse. She grabs the phone typing something slowly. She concentrates as evidenced by her tongue sticking out the left side of her mouth.
To Cian’s note, she adds:
Do they know I’m here? I want to testify.
Her gumption and guts never fail to amaze me.
I wink at her, but it hurts like hell when I do.
“Let me get the paperwork going. Guessing that whole no wallet, no ID thing is going to be a pain. Luckily, Christian knows someone.”
I don’t know what he means, but I don’t care either. I don’t even know if my insurance lapsed with the job. This should be fun.
I pat the bed as Cian slips from the bay. It doesn’t take Renée long to get my meaning and she curls up next to me, tucked into my side, after a few grunts and groans as we shift. Her arm and head, my whole body… we’re a walking pharmaceutical advertisement.
But she’s alive. And in my arms. And I can’t ask for more.
The police questioned us. That took hours.
Cian managed to arrange it so we could do it at the station. He said it was good faith and payback or pay-it-forward for the officers who helped him. Anything we could do to make it easier on their brother, we would do.
It was well after midnight when we got done. The Chief of the FoCo police and the troop master of the state police were both there personally. It went a long way that we provided what we could.
Ci even asked the officer’s name and what we could do for his family. Apparently, he opened the door just as the kidnapper fired. I fell backward; the officer took the bullet.
I came a hair’s breadth away from losing everything today.
All three of us did.
We grabbed food at a twenty-four-hour diner, and Cian got us home by three. I plan to sleep for a month, never let Renée out of my sight, and stay close to Ci the entire time.
So, waking up without him next to me is an annoyance, one I plan to rectify immediately.
I hit the bathroom, do my business, find my reflection as I’m washing my hands.
Man, natural beauty is overrated. Puffiness, bags and dark circles, bruising, and pillowcase creases speckle my face.
My hair is humidity-chic and that’s being kind.
I head to the kitchen to find Cian, hands pressed to the island, head staring at his feet, while Ren drinks coffee at a barstool.
I walk straight into Cian’s chest. “Morning, honey. Is Renée still asleep?”
“Checked on her thirty minutes ago. She’s over the every-hour check-ins, but she’s good.” He kisses the top of my head as he pulls me tighter to his side.
“Morning, Ren,” I offer in an effort not to be rude. “Twice in one week… we’re not wearing out our welcome, are we?”
“Nah, but I do need to get going.” He stands, shoves his stool under the island, and gives a meaningful look to Ci. “I’ll be in touch.”
Turning my face up, I look into his eyes. “I woke up alone.”
“Not my favorite either, Angel. The waking up alone or the leaving for you to.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“A little. My body straight crashed since I had none the night before last. I’m running on fumes.”
“Then come back to bed.” I grab his hand and tug, pulling him down the hall to our bedroom.
Once we’re there, I fold into his side, a hand over his abs. “I’ve got Née. You sleep.”
“Thirty minutes until another pupil check. Ninety until her next round of meds. I have a timer set…” His last words drift off as if he didn’t have the energy to say them fully.
I slide his phone from his pocket, taking the volume way down.
I don’t miss the last text he sent.
Me: Been too long, Li. Check in please.
He sent it hours ago. There’s no reply in return.
While my mind is spinning, my body is warm and, frankly, I’m exhausted. I fall into a deep sleep not unlike yesterday’s with the meds. My body doesn’t want to move. My mind doesn’t care. I’m safe. I know this in my bones.
“Mom? Mom? Cian?”
I swim to the surface, fighting to find my voice. I reach out, all the while trying to speak but nothing works.
“You okay, Née? What time is it?” Cian rumbles quietly.
“Almost noon. I thought teenagers were supposed to sleep in and adults were supposed to complain about being up early.”
My daughter is mouthy in my dreams. My pillow shifts and swears, “Shit. I’m sorry. Did you get your meds?”
“Yeah. We’re out of blueberries, by the way. I added it to the list.”
“Angel, do you want breakfast?”
“It’s already lunchtime.”
Oh, the sass.
“Or lunch? I need to get up, but I don’t want to leave without telling you.”
I try, really I do, but sleep sucks me down deep and I let it.