Chapter Two
“June? Can you hear me?” Patrick’s voice guided me out of my panicked thoughts. “That’s it. Take deep breaths. Good job.”
Strapped in the car’s bucket seat, I had nowhere to hide from my embarrassment, or from Patrick’s intense look of concern. His knitted brows framed his penetrating blue eyes. A warmth swirled in my stomach, and I fought through my speechlessness. “Sorry about freaking out there.” I cringed. “Good thing you’re trained on how to deal with people in all forms of crises.”
“Don’t apologize. After what happened, you’re coping exceptionally well. Are you in pain? How is your head?”
“Still throbbing a bit.”
“Would you be willing to go to a walk-in clinic instead of the hospital? You really should get assessed.” He leaned in closer and checked my pupils. I froze. When he receded, I let out my breath. Patrick clicked a ball-point pen and wrote in a notebook until another squad car pulled in front of ours. “I’ll be right back.” He met with two officers, and as he spoke, he pointed to the dumpster and then toward the alleyway. They walked to the house and disappeared to the rear of the property.
I slumped in the seat, closed my eyes, and longed to be home, soaking in a hot bath with Epsom salts. Or maybe I would indulge and use a capful of my special eucalyptus bubble bath. I remembered the promising spring day it was given to me with a note saying he was always thinking of me. An ache stabbed inside, and I snapped my eyes open.
Patrick strode toward the car and got in. “You and I are finished here, June. Have you decided where you’d like me to take you? St. Eugene’s? Or a walk-in? Or I could drive you home, though I advise against it.”
“Let’s go to St. Eugene’s,” I said, agreeing only because of the off chance of needing a CT scan. But for me, that hospital had too many memories and secrets trapped in its walls—both amazing and horrible.
We arrived too soon and pulled up to the emergency entrance.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said unconvincingly.
We walked into the building. His presence by my side was comforting. He remained close as the triage nurse measured my blood pressure, temperature, and oxygen saturation, after which we moved to a curtained area. In a short amount of time, a woman entered, wearing OR greens and a stethoscope around her neck.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Carter.” She had straight, light brown hair hooked behind her ears. Her eyebrows furrowed and then released. “Can you tell me what happened, June? I understand you had a spill.”
“Yes. Someone shoved me to the ground and banged my head in a dumpster bin.”
Dr. Carter squinted. “Oh, dear. Let’s have a look.” She moved my hair aside and examined my forehead. “You have a bit of a hematoma.” She shone a light into my eyes. “Are you dizzy or nauseated?”
“No.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“She may have been a bit confused,” Patrick said.
I cringed. But he was right.
“I think further investigation is warranted,” Dr. Carter said. “There’s a blood test that detects TBI—traumatic brain injury. I’ll get that ordered. And I’ll have the nurse disinfect your wounds and apply dressings.” She examined the caked blood on my forearm.
“It’s strange,” I said. “I don’t feel this cut at all.”
“Hmm, this is odd,” Dr. Carter said.
“Odd? How do you mean?” I asked.
Patrick moved closer.
“I see no abrasions or contusions on your skin,” the doctor said. She tilted her head. “June, I don’t think this blood is yours.”
“Not my blood?” My stomach turned.
“I’ll clean it to check for sure,” the doctor said.
“Excuse me, Doctor,” Patrick said. “I’d like to submit what is cleaned off for evidence. Could I trouble you for sterile water, gauze, and a container?”
Dr. Carter nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back.” She slipped out through the slit in the curtain. All of a sudden, it became silent. I glanced at Patrick. He had creases around his eyes.
“How are you holding up?” He stood like a pillar, and somehow, I drew from his strength.
“Holding fine I guess, considering I have some stranger’s blood on me.” I recoiled from my own arm. “I hope this blood contains nothing infectious. Who the hell was that guy?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Patrick said. “We’ll take a sample to the lab for DNA analysis. I know a lab worker who can get it done in no time.” He winked.
I couldn’t help but smile. His faith in my skills as a scientist lifted my mood.
Dr. Carter returned with the requested items. She reached for a box of gloves on the shelf, but Patrick stopped her.
“That’s all right, Dr. Carter, I got this.” He assessed the boxes of gloves. “No extra-large?”
Completely inappropriately, my mind rolled into the gutter.
The doctor rummaged through the cupboards below. “No, doesn’t look like it. Sorry about that, just large. I’ll leave you to it. A nurse should be in shortly.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” he said and grabbed a pair of the large gloves—the vinyl stretched tightly over his fingers. I tried to avert my thoughts. He poured water onto a square piece of gauze. I tensed, anticipating the coolness. When it didn’t happen, I looked up at him.
“You know, this will not hurt,” he said.
“I hope not.” I tried to speak lightly.
When he touched the cool, wet fabric to my skin, shivers skittered up my arm. With smooth, even strokes, he wiped off all the caked blood. As suspected, the blood wasn’t mine. I had no cut. He unscrewed the lid and placed the bloody gauze into the sterile jar.
“There, done,” he said. “Hopefully this person’s DNA is on record.” He dropped the specimen container onto the mobile tray. His jaw tensed as he disinfected my arm with an alcohol wipe.
“June, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for putting you in harm’s way. I shouldn’t have taken you on that call.”
“What happened is my fault, not yours. I didn’t stay in the car like you asked.”
“I should have cuffed and locked you in the back seat.”
I laughed. “Maybe next time.”
His lips curled up. Did he smile because I had suggested there may be a next time?
The curtain flung open, and a junior nurse entered.
“Hi, I’m Sophie. I need to take some blood and clean your wounds. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
She smiled and flashed a set of straight white teeth at Patrick. He didn’t seem to notice, and I almost smiled. She worked efficiently, and I cringed at being treated for minor scratches. I barely felt the needle prick when she performed the venipuncture. Later, Dr. Carter said my result was negative for a TBI, and that I should come back if I had any new or worsening symptoms.
With my forearm disinfected and my palms and knees bandaged, Patrick and I headed out. We walked down the hallway toward the exit when the elevator door opened and out stepped Victoria Silverstone—a previous co-worker. I gasped audibly. She held a large manilla envelope and looked at me with frosty green eyes. Her flawless complexion could be described as porcelain perfect, and her thin pink lips were pressed taut. I remembered how she had mastered keeping an emotionless poker face, no matter what the topic.
“Hello, June,” she said in an even, pleasantly fake tone.
“Hello, Victoria,” I said and kept moving. I had nothing to say to her.
I stormed through the automatic sliding doors into the chilly air. Goose bumps spread along my arms, but I welcomed them. Anything to be free of that place. Patrick caught up to me and crooked a brow without asking questions. He put the swabbed blood specimen in the trunk and opened the passenger car door.
“All set?”
I nodded.
“Time to get you home in one piece, like I originally intended.”
After this evening’s unimaginable events, I trusted he’d finally get me home safely.
But then again, this crazy evening wasn’t over yet.