Hush - Anne Malcom Page 0,20

from him.

“Brother, you need to lock this shit down,” Eric said. Calm still.

He never changed that tone, not when a gangbanger waved a gun in his face, not when he was trying to talk someone off a ledge, not when the girl in his arms took her last breath, her blood coating his hands from the shotgun wound in her stomach. A gift, or a curse, he couldn’t decide. He wasn’t comfortable with how easily he was able to turn off his disgust, and hatred, and vengeance, but he knew, for the sake of the badge, for the sake of the victims, for the sake of civilized society, it was best he dealt with things without any feelings involved. His partner, not so much.

“I’m sorry, man,” Maddox muttered, not looking Eric in the eyes. He seemed like he wanted to disappear.

Eric waited a beat before releasing his grip. “It’s all good, partner . . . but you’re explaining that shit to the sheriff.”

Maddox wiped his bloodied knuckles on his jeans, and then he continued on down the long hall. Eric took one last look at the hole in the wall and shook his head, before following his partner.

“Not that I’m trying to suggest you take yourself off this case or anything, because I know that isn’t going to happen,” Eric said. “But maybe consider it.”

Maddox snapped his head up. “Like fuck.”

Eric nodded. “As I said, not gonna happen. This is personal to you, I get it. This shit is hitting me in parts that haven’t been touched in years, not since I was a rookie and realized this shit is real. This is ugly, vile shit. This is the stuff that’s gonna haunt us, and would’ve haunted us even if all of those girls’ eyes were strangers to us. But the fact it’s this girl, this girl you haven’t stopped talking about in ten damn years, that’s gonna cut to the bone, brother. Nothing is gonna stop that. But if you’re not gonna remove yourself from this case, you’ve gotta hold on to your shit. For her, if nothing else. For the other girls.” Eric took a deep breath, waited for Maddox to look at him. “For the ones who didn’t make it back.”

Maddox took a deep breath. “Just let me talk to the hospital administration about getting the hole fixed. I don’t want the sheriff knowing about it.”

Eric narrowed his eyes at him.

“Please, man,” Maddox said.

“Alright, but I don’t wanna be hearing about it from the sheriff in a week, so make sure it gets fixed.” Eric hunkered over like an old man, doing his best impression of the sheriff’s thick drawl. “God fuckin’ damnit, Baptiste, why in the goddamn hell are ya letting Novak punch goddamn holes in goddamn hospital walls?”

Maddox chuckled. “Your impression of him is spot on, you know?”

Eric straightened, smirking. “Just take care of it.”

The girls exited the hospital room and headed down the hall toward Maddox and Eric, who stood idly by the main elevators. They wore large, unflattering gray sweatshirts and matching pants. They were ugly, cheap, and the fabric itched slightly, but Orion loved it nonetheless, anything that wasn’t a fucking gown. If she ever even had to look at a children’s nightgown again, she’d likely vomit.

They passed people. Orion knew this. She saw them in the peripheral. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, she guessed, and she became familiar then, for the first time, with a sickening feeling, something she’d later know as PTSD. The way her skin crawled when strangers were around her, a hot, tingling sensation that made her sweat. She tried to focus on Maddox, and the pained way he smiled at her as they approached.

“Feel better?” Eric asked, pushing the elevator button as he eyed their new attire.

“Not the most comfortable or flattering thing you could find, I’m guessing,” Jaclyn said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, those are Clark County Sheriff’s Department issued,” Eric said, smiling.

Orion floated in and out of their conversation, her attention still focused on Maddox and the pain in his eyes. Sounds around her were distant, almost muffled.

Until a conversation rang in her ears. A familiar voice came from behind her.

“Why the hell didn’t you delete the emails? She was bound to find them.”

“I know, I know.”

Something in Orion pinged, something sharp. A recognition. A memory. She looked at the shoes of the doctor who spoke. The first, chastising one. They were so shiny the lights on the ceiling bounced off them. His pants had tight creases on