He kissed her forehead. “One minute. Two tops. I’ll just be in the hall, a few feet away, and be right back.” Then he hustled out of the waiting room.
True to his word, he was back in two minutes, carrying a candy bar and a cup of coffee. He pushed both into her trembling hands. “You need to eat. We’ve got to get your blood sugar up and some caffeine in your system. It’ll help.”
She shook her head. The thought of eating repulsed her.
“You need your strength. For Brenda. Eat, honey.”
She bit into chocolate and caramel, not tasting it, and washed it down with a few sips of coffee. One nibble after the other, she ate the candy bar and drank the black coffee.
Her nerves were still scraped raw, but her jitters faded, and her legs felt solid again.
For hours, they sat in the small room that had muted colors, waiting for an update on Brenda. Dutch’s arms around her, enveloping her in his warm protectiveness, was the only thing holding her together.
Finally, a doctor came in, pulling off his green scrub cap. “Are you the relatives of Brenda Reaver?”
Isabel stood and Dutch was up on his feet beside her. “I’m her best friend, Isabel Vargas. Her parents live in Ohio, but I’m her emergency contact here in LA for everything. Is she going to live?”
“Your friend got lucky. One bullet broke her clavicle and the other just missed her stomach. She lost a lot of blood and we had to give her a transfusion, but she’s going to pull through.”
Isabel released the breath that had bunched in her lungs. “Thank God.”
“You’ll want to contact her parents and have them fly out. She’s going to need help for the next few weeks while she recuperates.”
Isabel had wanted to wait until Brenda was out of surgery to tell them their daughter would recover or...
“Okay. Can I see her now?” Isabel asked.
“The best thing you can do for her now is let her rest. Come by tomorrow.”
Isabel nodded, not liking it, but understanding.
“Let’s get you to the apartment so you can clean up,” Dutch said. “You’re covered in blood.”
She didn’t object when Dutch led her out of the hospital and guided her into the car.
While he ran into doggie day care to get McQueen, she called Brenda’s parents. The machine at their house picked up, which wasn’t surprising. For a couple in their sixties, they were active and social and were usually only home in the evenings, but Isabel didn’t have their cell numbers. She left a brief message, focusing on the fact that Brenda was going to recover and that they should fly out.
Despite Dutch’s assurances that this wasn’t her fault, guilt plagued her.
The door opened and McQueen leapt in, tail wagging, excited to see her, but she couldn’t even pet him. She was trapped in a miasma of fear and darkness. Dutch tossed a small bag of dog food into the back seat and she was grateful he’d thought of it. If not for him, poor McQueen would starve.
At the apartment building, Dutch parked away from the burned spot where his motorcycle had been torched. She drifted into the building, into the elevator, through the apartment, bedroom and found herself in the bathroom.
Kicking off her shoes, she started the shower. Her chest was tight, a crushing pressure building, coiling, winding deeper.
She stepped into the shower, fully clothed, sat under the spray and tucked her knees into her chest. Letting the hot water cascade over her, she prayed it might warm her. She was cold, so very cold, and trembling uncontrollably.
Everything she’d been through with Chad, everything she’d learned over the past twenty-four hours turned over in her mind. A sick feeling ballooned in her stomach. With a flash of panic, it dawned on her that life as she knew it was over.
The water slid from hot to lukewarm. She had lost track of time with no way to tell how long she’d been in there.
Dutch knocked on the door. It was still open. She’d never closed it. He peeked inside. The expression on his face was a heartbreaking mix of worry and affection. He came in, pulled off his boots and socks and climbed into the shower.
He lifted her from the tile floor, peeled off her top and skirt, leaving on her underwear. Then he washed her. Lathered her hair with shampoo, ran her bath sponge over her face, scrubbed the