Cera wanted to fight back. She needed to get off the damn floor and tackle the son of a bitch who’d ruined all their lives. But she couldn’t move.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t hear.
Couldn’t speak.
And as her eyes fell shut a final time, she lost her ability to see.
The cops will save you, Callie. You’re going to be okay.
A struggling breath.
I love you, Bug. I’m so sorry.
Another breath.
I love…you.
Those were the last thoughts that rang through Cera’s shock-driven mind before she was involuntarily pulled into unconsciousness.
A dull achein the left side of her chest the first thing Cera registered, followed by the dry, sandpapery feeling in her eyes as she worked to lift her lids. Awareness came to her slowly.
“She’s waking up.”
The deep male voice sent her into a state of pure panic, adrenaline shooting through her veins as a compilation of horrifying memories unexpectedly assaulted her with muddled clarity.
Hiding under a bed.
James in her bedroom.
A gun.
Callie.
“Callie!” Cera’s eyes flew open as she cried out her sister’s name.
Her wild gaze flew from one side to the other as she frantically searched for a young girl who wasn’t there. Instead, she found three faces she didn’t recognize.
Two women and one man.
One of the women—of average height and a bit round with short, black hair—stood near her bed, alongside a forty-something man. Both wore matching long white coats over what appeared to be professional attire.
Keeping her distance further back by the room’s closed door, the second female appeared more casual in a pair of jeans, lace-up boots, a maroon t-shirt, and a black windbreaker. Her long, sandy blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and there was a shiny gold badge clipped to her brown leather belt.
A pistol was holstered at her side.
Cera’s pulse spiked from the sight of the gun, her widening eyes frantically searching for a way to escape.
“It’s okay, Cera.” The man in the white coat started to reach for her. “I’m Dr. Randall, and you’re at Baylor Scott and White Medical Center. You’re safe, now.”
On reflex, Cera jerked away from the stranger’s touch before her fearful mind could make sense of what the man had said. Her mouth opened, but no sound emitted, an excruciating inferno in her left shoulder and chest stealing her breath completely.
Her gaze lowered to the source of the pain. A thick white bandage covered the entire left side of her chest, her left arm held securely in place by a navy-blue sling.
“Whoa, easy, there.” The woman closest to the bed raised her palms up to show she meant Cera no harm. “Your body’s been through a lot, and we don’t want to rupture your sutures.” A soft smile. “I’m Dr. Lane, your surgeon. I understand you’re probably confused. That’s perfectly normal after being under anesthesia, and it should pass shortly.” Another small smile. “In the meantime, I’d like to do a quick check of your vitals, if that’s okay with you?”
Surgeon? Anesthesia?