Chapter 28
Boone
“Knock it off, I’m fine.” My insistence is more than likely ruined by the wince I can’t hide, but the constant nagging from my sisters is nearly as painful. I feel like I’m twelve years old again right after I broke my arm while falling off my bike.
“Shut up,” Holly mutters, still fussing over the blanket covering my toes. Hospital blankets are not made for people my size, or for anyone’s size, considering how damn thin they are.
I’ve only been fully awake for a little while, and I want the hell out of here even if I know the pain meds won’t be half as good at home.
“He’s just crabby because his girlfriend isn’t here,” Grace, the youngest and sassiest of my sisters, chimes in.
My lip curls up in aggravation, but I don’t admit it’s the truth.
My mom told me Harlyn barely left my room while I asleep, but I haven’t seen her once since I’ve been awake.
I have a hazy memory of her last night, but I’m not even sure it was real.
“I need to know she’s okay.” I try to shift again, only to wish I hadn’t.
Being shot fucking sucks. My guts literally feel like they want to fall out of my ass.
I should quit bitching and be thankful the bastard only got a shot in my side and not in my head, and I am, but it’s hard to be positive when it hurts to breathe. Thank God for vests. With the way my chest looks and feels, I know I would be dead if it wasn’t for the Kevlar.
“She looked fine yesterday. The nurse said she didn’t leave until just a little while before we got here this morning.
” Holly finally quits with the burrito act on my toes and levels me with a stare.
She’s the oldest, the one who would kick our asses when Mom wasn’t there to do it, and even though I’m more than a head taller and have at least fifty pounds on her, something in my subconscious still thinks she’s capable of doing it.
“What?” I know that look. I’m about to be in trouble.
“How come we don’t know who she is?” Holly’s voice isn’t raised, but it’s filled with accusation.
“I’ve been a little busy,” I hedge.
“You’re always busy.” Grace rolls her eyes and plops into the built-in pink cushion that is supposed to be a couch under the window.
Holly just tilts her head the slightest bit and narrows her eyes, and I break. “We haven’t been together long,” I admit quietly, feeling embarrassed and defensive.
“How long is long?” Holly crosses her arms over her chest.
I swallow, not wanting to lie to my sister but also not wanting to hear her shit when she knows the truth. “I was planning on having her home for dinner,” I tell her without answering the question.
Her brows rise, and I realize she isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
“A few weeks.” I’m intentionally vague.
“Weeks?” Grace scoffs. “There’s no way that girl could look at you like that after only being with you for a few weeks.”
“How’d she look at me?” It’s a self-serving question, but I could use a little reassurance since I haven’t seen Harlyn all day. Where could she be?
“Like you hung the fucking moon, and she thought it was about to be lights out,” Grace, ever blunt, summarizes. “Eww.” She points at me with a scowl. “You love her.” The look of disgust quickly melts, and she becomes contemplative. “Summer wedding?”
“Winter. He needs time not to piss in a tube, and I hate summer weddings. It’s too damn hot to chase my kids around,” Holly adds conversationally.
“I think that’s a little presumptuous,” I say out loud, but the thought of marrying Harlyn doesn’t sound scary. Hell, I think I even like the idea. I did just nearly die. It puts things into perspective.
“Oh crap,” Grace mutters, looking at my other sister. “Did you hear that? He didn’t deny it like his life depended on it! Do you remember how he acted when I said that about… What was her name?”
“Samantha,” Holly provides.
“We were kids!” I defend with too much enthusiasm and end up grimacing in pain.
“Relax there, bro. You were shot just a day or two ago, and you were twenty-four when you were with Samantha, not a kid.”
“It was too soon to talk about marriage,” I amend.
“Two years is too soon?” Grace smirks.
“Knock it off,” I say while closing my eyes. I am tired, but mostly, I’m tired of their inquisition.
My sisters continue to chat about my life and apparent upcoming wedding, and I eventually doze off for real.
When the door swings open hours later, I know it isn’t a nurse. They enter like they own the place, and I guess they kind of do. Chauncey pokes his head in the door, his gaze finding mine. The wave of relief that crosses his features is obvious, but what I don’t expect is the sheen in his eyes.
“Hey.” I try to sit up a little more but end up just causing myself extra pain that I try not to show.
“Damn, Boone.” He shakes his head, looking down at the ground. “I’m so sorry, man.”
“Don’t tell me you’re taking all the credit for this.” I wave my hand over my abdomen.
“We shouldn’t have split up.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Protocol tells us to cover the exits. We were doing our job,” I remind him.
“We should have called in backup,” he protests.
“Following a lead? Come on, if we did that on every anonymous tip, nothing would ever get done. Get in here and tell me what happened after I clocked out.” I wave him in, eager to get more details.
Mickey called, of course, but she hasn’t been up here with everything going on, and she wouldn’t tell me much of anything, just kept insisting I take some time and recover.
I’m also hoping Chauncey can help me get a hold of Harlyn, even though her letter made it pretty damn clear that’s the last thing she wants.
Chauncey steps all the way through the door with a fucking bouquet of flowers. “Don’t give me shit. Ana made me bring them.” He sets the vase down as soon as he can and actually steps away from the get well soon balloon bobbing near the ceiling.
“Well, thanks, and thank you for getting me out of there,” I tell him, meaning every word. If he hadn’t been with me, I would have died on that filthy floor.
“Don’t thank me. All I did was make a call.”
“Not true, but tell me what happened. The only thing Mickey told me was the fucker was dead, but I think I already knew that.”
“Yeah, you got him. Once in the head and once in the shoulder.”
“Pretty sure I was aiming for the head both times.”
“One was all you needed.” He shrugs.
“What did they find?”
Chauncey lowers himself into the seat my sister left about an hour ago after my insistence and sighs. “A clusterfuck. The techs are still sorting through that shithole and probably will be for another week.”
“Anything that ties him to our serial?” I know the shooting was justified.
The details are still a little foggy, but I remember thinking the tip was a bust, since the place seemed abandoned.
After finding the back door open and identifying myself, I entered just in case.
Most importantly, I know I wasn’t the first one to fire my weapon.
What I don’t know is if we stumbled into something unrelated or if he was our guy.
“Yeah, early DNA matched a few of our victims. We’re still waiting on some results.” Chauncey looks around. “She in the bathroom or something? I’m surprised she didn’t request a bedpan so she wouldn’t have to leave.”
“Harlyn?”
Chauncey furrows his brow when he looks back at me. “Who else?”
“She left.” I hold up the three pieces of paper that haven’t left my bed since I read them several hours ago.
“Left?” he scoffs.
“I was actually hoping you would know more about that. Did they put her in a safe house?”
“You don’t know?” Chauncey grabs his forehead and squeezes.
“Don’t know what?” This time, I use my bunched fists on the bed to push me upright, ignoring the pain in my stomach and side.
“Ah damn, Boone, I thought… Hell, I don’t know what I thought, but I assumed someone told you.”
“Told me what?” My voice is rising.
“Calm down, man, calm down.” He looks over at the machine tracking my vitals. “They found pictures.”
“What pictures?” I demand when he doesn’t continue fast enough.
“Of the sister in the Wade case.”
“Harlyn’s sister, Hayzel?” My head is spinning, trying to sort out what that could mean.
“Yeah, and several others. It looks like our unsub had more than one MO and signature.”
“No fucking way.” I shake my head.
“I know, the profiles are completely different,” Chauncey agrees.
“Worlds different.”
“I’m just telling you what the evidence says.”
“You’ve seen it?” I demand.
“Yeah, it’s her.” He rubs his hand over his eye and cheek before adding, “There were pictures of Harlyn too. I didn’t tell her about those.”
“Of Harlyn?” My voice reflects just how I feel—confused, a lot pissed off, and useless.
“And several others we are still working on identifying,” he confirms.
The air in my lungs whooshes out of me as I try to throw my legs off the side of the bed.
“Whoa, chill. You aren’t ready to go anywhere.”
“I need to find her. She thinks this is her fault.” The letter she left makes so much more sense now, at least parts of it.
“Oh hell.” Chauncey grabs my shoulder to steady me, but I’m still on the bed because I know if I actually try to stand up, I’m going to end up in a heap on the floor. “Listen, man, lay back down. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”
“I’m fine.” I grit my teeth, knowing I’m lying.
“You are not fine.” Chauncey turns his head to see a nurse busting into the room.
“What are you doing?” She takes us both in then rushes over to shoo Chauncey away, pretty much forcing me to lie back on the bed. “You are not permitted to get up,” she announces with nearly as much authority as my sister. “If you have to use the bathroom, you have to call.”
“I don’t need to shit.” My teeth are still clenched so my words are slightly garbled.
“Oh, so you just wanted to go for a stroll?” She tucks the blanket back around me with efficiency and a little irritation.
“I need to go.”
“Back to the OR?” She looks me dead in the eye. “Because that is where you will end up if you try to get out of this bed.”
I can’t tell if she’s threatening to put me there herself, or if it’s actually that risky for me to move around.
“We will get you up tomorrow, after your body has had a little time to recover. You are in the SICU for a reason.”
“I’ll make sure he stays put,” Chauncey promises like it isn’t partly his damn fault I was trying to get the hell out of here. I send a glare in his direction that I couldn’t back up right now if my life depended on it, but he pretends to be chastised when he somewhat shamefully looks away.
“Be sure that you do, or I will restrain you to the bed.” If the situation wasn’t so serious, I might laugh.
She’s probably only twenty-four years old, and she might top out at five and a half feet if she’s lucky, but she has the intimidation thing locked in.
“Now, do you need anything, or can I get back to the patients who do?”
“I’m fine.” My disposition isn’t any better, but I can at least open my jaw to answer since the wave of nausea has passed.
“Five more minutes, then this one needs some rest,” Nurse Hard Ass tells Chauncey before she leaves the room.
“You aren’t leaving until I know everything,” I insist.