Still feeling mentally removed from reality, Cera studied the woman closely. The coat, the stethoscope hanging over one shoulder, the thick plastic railing attached to the bed…
You’re in the hospital. She and the guy standing beside you are doctors, and they just said you’re in the hospital.
A few of the pieces began falling into place. She was hurt, and in the hospital, but she was alive. James hadn’t killed her. She was stillalive.
Thank you, God!
“Cal—” Her rough voice cracked, forcing her to clear her throat before trying again. “Cal…lie.” She licked her desert-dry lips. “W-where’s my…sister?” Her eyes searched those in the room, but they simply stared back at her. “Where’s my mom?”
The three strangers shared an odd glance between them while Cera wracked her brain to remember being saved. To recall the cops rushing in, disarming James, and hauling him away.
But try as she might, those particular memories didn’t seem to exist.
Whatdidcross through her mind’s eye was the image of James holding Callie against her will as he and another man—a cop, maybe—yelled at each other. After that…
Nothing.
“Cera, I’m Detective Hannah McCall.” The thirty-something woman moved in closer. “I promise I’ll answer any questions you have about your family once Dr. Lane is finished examining you.”
Feeling as if she had no other choice but to comply, she did her best to relax while the kind doctor checked her over. Remaining as still as she could for fear of causing herself more pain, she impatiently waited.
Several long, agonizing minutes later, Dr. Lane finished her examination.
“Everything looks as it should,” she assured her patient. “I’ve written a standing order for pain meds, and since you’re awake, I’ll make sure the nurse comes in to administer those through your IV shortly. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”
She gave a gentle pat to Cera’s blanketed knee as she made her way to the door. As she passed by the detective, Dr. Lane added a muttered, “She needs rest.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can.”
The two women shared a look Cera didn’t understand before Dr. Lane disappeared from the room.
To her left, the man in the white coat inched closer. Tall, around six feet, his build was long and thin like a runner’s. Sprigs of silver dusted his temples, and thin, wire-framed glasses framed his wise blue eyes.
“Cera, I’m Dr. Randall.’ His deep, soothing voice was almost cautious in nature, and there was an air of wisdom behind his soft blue stare. “I’m the hospital’s Head of Psychiatry, and one of the things I do here is offer support to victims of violent crimes. I was wondering if it would it be all right if I stay with you while Detective McCall speaks with you?” Like Dr. Lane had minutes before, he raised both hands as a gesture of good faith and smiled. “I promise, I’m simply here for moral support.”
Dr. Randall’s presence and calming tone settled the massive collision of emotions running through her veins. A little bit, anyway.
Cera nodded.
Because really, at this point, she didn’t care if the entire hospital staff wanted to join them. She just wanted to see her family. So whatever she had to do to make that happen…
“Where’s my family?” Her words came out a bit stronger that time. “Where’s Callie?” The dull, throbbing ache replacing the nauseating burn in her shoulder.
She stared back at him and waited, praying he’d tell her they were all okay.
Dr. Randall glanced across the bed to Detective McCall. Following his cue, Cera looked at the pretty cop only to find her round, hazel eyes staring right back at her.
“James Stiegler is the one who shot me. He’s my mother’s ex and Callie’s dad. He’s been stalking my mom for two years.”
“I know about James.” Detective McCall swallowed with a slight nod. “I’m sorry for what he’s put you through.”
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to catch him. Please tell me you finally caught him.”
She’d heard sirens as she’d lain there, bleeding out on her bedroom floor. The red and blue lights had broken through the shadows, and she was almost certain the man who’d been arguing with James to put down his gun and let Callie go had been a cop. So surely—
“James Stiegler is dead. He was shot and killed by a police officer responding to your call to nine-one-one.”
The other woman’s blunt declaration left Cera momentarily speechless. Not because she was sad or felt bad for James. There wasn’t a single, solitary cell in her body capable of those emotions where that bastard was concerned.