“My bad,” I apologize, steadying her. She jerks away, nods, and hurries down the hall.
I hold the elevator doors open, my mind a million miles away.
“You going to get on, or should I have Byron bring me a sleeping bag?” Breaker jokes, pushing the Close Door button, and I get inside. “What has you looking like a scared cat?”
“Palmer said someone cornered her before she went into the woods, and since it wasn’t any of us, it has me reeling the fuck out.” I run my hand over the length of my face, fatigue finally setting in.
“Isn’t this what we wanted? To use her to draw him out?”
He has a point. She may not see it now, but if we can get closer to finding out what happened to her sister, Palmer may understand everything a little more.
“He said he wasn’t after her money, but that she had something worth far more. What if whoever hurt Reed doesn’t want to hurt Palmer, but use her?”
“For what, though?”
“That’s what I don’t know, but I do know that someone who’s out for blood doesn’t try to murder a girl twice and fail both times.” I gulp at the thought.
“You sure you want to leave her alone tonight?”
The elevator stops at the parking deck, and we step off, checking the area before we get into the truck.
“Not at all, but she needs space. If I can’t sleep, I’ll just camp out in the parking lot. Just in case she does need me.” I shake my head, hating the idea of leaving her. A quick scan over the hospital exterior, and I find what I believe is her room. “We could have hurt her, like the no going back kind of shit, Breaker.”
“But we didn’t,” he contends.
“Do you think that makes a difference?”
I don’t.
Chapter Fifteen
Palmer
I wake with a startle. The sun shines through the cheap curtains. My body lurches forward, and I immediately regret the sudden movement.
“I’m in a hospital,” I say, clutching my hand over my stomach. I lift the gown and see a white bandage wrapped around my middle, right below my ribs. The cloth is tinted pink. Blood. I’m bleeding.
Slow as a turtle, I lower to my pillow, staring into nowhere, the space between me and the ceiling. Something pinches my palm, and I look down. My hands are clenched tight, leaving my knuckles white.
My fingers unfold, and the source of discomfort shows itself. My necklace. The sharp edges of the key have left indents in my skin. I run a finger over the marks to alleviate the pain. How long have I been clutching it?
Memories of last night spin like a tilt-a-whirl in my head. Up and down, round and round. Marek and me in the woods. Him warning me. Dixon kicking me in the ribs. Byron slicing the knife into my abdomen and thigh. Falling towards something and reaching nothing.
The bed whirs as I move it to sit a little straighter, my eyes cutting around the room. My clothes are folded and inside a plastic bag, abandoned on the windowsill.
Pain shoots through my thigh and abdomen as I scoot off the edge of the mattress. My knees wobble and shake. My balance makes it difficult to get to the bag, so I hold tight to the railing to keep from falling. A few more inches, and—
“What are you doing out of bed?” The stern, female voice startles me. A middle-aged nurse stands at the open door. “You cannot be out of bed, Miss Weston.”
I grab the bag and fling it onto the mattress, shuffle my body around, and climb in bed. I shoot the nurse a bashful smile, silently apologizing for disobeying orders. She checks my IV fluids, asks me about my pain level, and tells me to order lunch. Eating is my last priority, but I’m not going to tell her that. I order something simple, knowing food is necessary, even if it’s only a small bite.
Once she finishes double checking my bandage, she offers me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Officer Striker is waiting out in the hallway. They need to get your statement.”
“You can tell him to come in whenever.”
Once she’s gone, I empty the bag. There isn’t much, and I’m flabbergasted to see my folded dress. The sequins and beads are missing in spots and dangling by a thread in others. I run my hand over the now-dried blood, and the rip where the knife sliced like butter through the fabric.