Chapter 5 Geneva
GENEVA
THE SOUNDS OF SIRENS PIERCE THE QUIET IN MY APARTMENT, GROWING louder with each passing second.
I’m still on the couch, the warmth of the blanket Ghost wrapped around me doing little to chase away the chill that’s settled in my bones.
My head throbs with every beat of my heart, the trail of blood dried and sticky on my face.
A knock on the door comes moments before it swings open. A paramedic steps inside, his voice calm but urgent. “Paramedics! Ma’am, can you hear me?”
I lift a hand weakly, trying to wave them in. “I’m here.”
Two paramedics approach me, their movements efficient. One kneels beside me while the other begins unpacking supplies from a large red bag.
“Ma’am, I’m Jake,” the one kneeling says, his tone steady and reassuring. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Dr. Geneva Andrews.”
“All right, Geneva,” Jake says, shining a small penlight into my eyes. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Saturday,” I answer, though my voice wavers slightly.
Jake nods, his expression neutral but attentive. “Good. Can you tell me what happened?”
I hesitate, swallowing hard. “Someone broke in. He… he attacked me.”
Jake’s gaze narrows slightly, but he doesn’t push for more details. “I see. Let’s take care of you. Can you sit up for me?”
I nod, though the motion makes my head throb harder. Jake helps me, his hands firm but gentle, while the other paramedic wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm. The Velcro’s scratchy sound is unnaturally loud in the apartment.
The other paramedic frowns as he reads the numbers. “Pressure’s a little low.”
“Head wound with mild blood loss.” Jake glances at me, and then at his partner. “No immediate signs of a concussion.”
He pulls on gloves and grabs gauze from his kit. “Geneva, I’m going to clean the wound to stop any risk of infection, but this cut could require stitches.”
I shake my head immediately, curling my fingers around the edge of the blanket. “No. I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Ma’am, I have to strongly advise—”
“I’m not going,” I interrupt, my voice firmer this time. “Just clean and bandage it.”
Jake exchanges an exasperated look with his partner. “Okay,” he says slowly, his tone professional and laced with concern. “But I need to stress that you should seek follow-up care.”
The other paramedic hands Jake antiseptic wipes and gauze, and he begins cleaning the wound with precision, his touch surprisingly light for someone used to operating with urgency.
A knock echoes from the doorframe, and a voice follows. “Dr. Andrews?”
I glance up to find a police officer stepping inside, his uniform pristine. He’s tall, with a clean-shaven face and eyes that seem to take in every detail of the room before settling on me. “I’m Detective Reed. Can you answer a few questions?”
Jake straightens, glancing at him. “Let me finish here first, Detective.”
Reed nods, stepping back and positioning himself near the door. Jake finishes bandaging the wound, securing it with medical tape, then leans back on his heels.
“This should hold for now, and I’m not sure you’ll need stitches. The cut didn’t warrant all of that blood, but head wounds can be deceptive. Regardless, are you sure you won’t go to the hospital?”
“I’m sure,” I say, fighting the exhaustion that’s creeping into my voice.
Jake sighs. “Keep the wound clean and dry. And if you notice any symptoms of a concussion—dizziness, nausea, worsening headache—you need to go to the ER immediately. Got it?”
“Got it.”
The paramedics pack up their supplies and leave, their professional detachment not quite masking the lingering concern in their eyes. Detective Reed steps closer, his notebook in hand as he studies me for a moment before speaking.
“Ready when you are.”
I exhale. “Let’s get this over with.”
“First, how are you feeling?”
“Fine, all things considered.”
“Good,” he says, his expression softening briefly before becoming serious once more. “Can you walk me through what happened tonight?”
Skinner’s leering grin flashes in my mind. “He broke into my apartment,” I begin, my voice shaking despite my efforts to stay composed. “Through the fire escape, I think. I didn’t hear him until he was already inside.”
Reed nods, his pen poised over the notebook. “And who is ‘he’?”
“Frank ‘Skinner’ Burns,” I say, the name tasting like poison on my tongue. “I testified against him years ago. He’s—” I hesitate, but there’s no point in sugarcoating it. “He’s a serial rapist. A violent one. I was part of the team that helped put him away.”
Reed’s pen moves quickly across the page, but he flicks his gaze to me often, gauging my expression. “Skinner escaped from prison a few hours before your attack,” he says. “Do you have any idea how he might have found you?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t had contact with him since the trial. I don’t know why he came after me now.”
My stomach churns as I think of Ghost. I sent him after Skinner. To kill him.
“Dr. Andrews?” Reed’s voice pulls me out of my dark thoughts. “Did Skinner say anything to you tonight? Anything about why he targeted you?”
I clear my throat. “He wanted revenge. He said I had a ‘debt to pay.’ My testimony against him in court was vital in putting Skinner in prison.”
Reed’s brows knit together as he scribbles in his notebook. “How did he physically hurt you before the paramedics arrived?”
My throat tightens as the memories rush back. “Skinner punched me and slammed my head against the wall. Right over there.”
Reed’s jaw tightens, his pen halting mid-sentence. “I’m sorry you went through that. I’m glad you fought back.”
“How do you know?”
He points to a handful of crimson droplets on my rug. “Based on where Skinner attacked you, that’s not your blood.”
“You’re right. I had a baseball bat and I got a couple of hits in before he overpowered me.”
Reed takes a deep breath, his expression softening. “This might be difficult to discuss, but it’s important I know everything that happened. Can you confirm whether he sexually assaulted you?”
I gulp and shake my head. “No, he didn’t.”
“If he’s a rapist, and didn’t…” The detective clears his throat. “Why did he leave?”
“I think I heard one of my neighbors threaten to call the police,” I lie. “But I’m not sure because I was pretty out of it.”
I snap my mouth closed, refusing to say anything else. I won’t tell Reed how Ghost burst inside my apartment like an avenging angel, no, the Grim Reaper, and beat the shit out of Skinner. I won’t tell the detective how I watched with satisfaction filling me as I struggled to remain conscious.
Reed shifts his stance. “Do you have any idea where Skinner might have gone after leaving your apartment?”
“No.”
Reed nods slowly, his eyes lingering on me. “All right, Dr. Andrews. If you think of anything else, anything at all, call me. I want to catch this bastard.” He pulls a business card from his pocket and places it on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Reed moves toward the door, but then he pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, one last thing, Dr. Andrews,” he says, his voice carrying a note of curiosity. “Do you know who called 911 for you?”
My pulse spikes, and I struggle to keep my expression neutral. “No. Like I said before, I thought I heard one of my neighbors, but I was out of it.”
“Which neighbor?”
I shrug.
Reed tilts his head, his gaze pinning me in place. It’s not the kind of look you can brush off. I stiffen under his scrutiny, my muscles tight with tension underneath the blanket.
“It was anonymous,” he continues, watching me carefully. “They didn’t give a name, just the address and the situation. Sounded urgent. They hung up before dispatch could get much else.”
“Anonymous?” I repeat, feigning confusion.
Reed studies me for a moment longer, then gives a small shrug. “Just thought it was interesting. Anyway, you have my card. Don’t hesitate to call if anything comes to mind.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
He nods once and steps out, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment he’s gone, all the breath in my lungs rushes out of me. Lying to a detective. Hiding Ghost’s involvement. Protecting my savior, who’s a psychopath.
What the hell am I doing?
My hands tremble when I reach for the business card on the table. The crisp edges dig into my fingers as I stare at Reed’s name and number. The right, law-abiding thing to do would be to call him back and tell him everything.
But I won’t.
The memory of Ghost’s voice, raw with fury and emotional anguish, echoes in my mind. “You’re all that matters.”
I place the card on the table and lie back against the pillow. As a government employee, I am suffocating with guilt, but it’s nothing compared to the fear of what would happen if the truth came out.
Ghost is out there somewhere, chasing Skinner, and crossing lines for me. So I’ll keep lying. For him. For whatever the hell this is between us that I can’t seem to let go of.