now.”
“She has to take care of Britt. I won’t be able to protect her now.”
He felt tears rising when Dave stroked his head, so turned his face away and let himself drift.
CHAPTER FOUR
Everything blurred. Sirens and lights, voices.
He kept his eyes closed; it hurt less somehow with his eyes closed.
More voices, talking fast, when they took him out of the ambulance, rolled him into the ER. He heard Dave’s voice—Dave stayed with him—rattling off his BP and stuff.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Man, he was cold. How did it get so cold?
He just wanted to sleep. He wished he had his baseball. Just something to hold on to.
They’d lied, his parents, the people who were supposed to love him, supposed to look out for him, had lied. He didn’t even know where they’d gone. Maybe they were here, at the hospital—but not handcuffed to a gurney.
Maybe they’d come here because, for the first time in his memory, Graham had struck Eliza in the face. And Zane knew why. He’d hit her where it showed because he’d lie. They’d lie and say Zane had hit his own mother.
And Britt.
His eyes flashed open. His cuffs rattled as he tried to sit up. “Britt. He hurt Britt.”
“Take it easy, Zane.” To reassure, to monitor his pulse, Dave put a hand on his wrist. “We need to get you into X-ray.”
“He hit her, he hit her. She called for help. I heard her, and tried to stop him. He knocked me down the stairs, then he dragged her out, gave her something. You have to find out how bad he hurt her. Where is she?”
“I’ll find out,” Dave promised. “I got a hold of Emily, called her on the way in like you asked. She’s coming. And I called in a favor. We’re going to have Dr. Marshall take care of your arm, your ankle. She’s a hell of a bone doc. She’s the best.”
“We’re going to States. He said I was four minutes late coming home from the dance. Grounded. No baseball.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Dave scrubbed his hands over his face, took a long breath. “You have to tell the police everything you’ve told me.”
“I tried. They don’t believe me. Just like he said. He’s important. I’m nothing.”
“I don’t want to hear that bullshit out of you.” Dave leaned down so their faces were close. “You stay tough, Zane. You stay strong. Look at my face, look in my eyes. I believe you, and I’m going to do everything I can for you. First, we’re going to deal with what we’ve got. We’re going to get you fixed up.”
“They’re going to put me in jail. You have to look out for Britt. She won’t have anybody but Emily. And they don’t let her come around much.”
“I’m on it.”
Zane looked around the room, just a curtain to block it off, all the sounds of the ER outside. He kept his voice low. “You have to get into my house when they’re not there. Take my house key. It’s in my pocket.”
“Why?”
“I wrote it all down. I’ve been writing it down for a long time. In notebooks. They’re behind the vent over my desk. Maybe they’ll believe it if it’s all written down.”
“How long has—” Dave cut himself off as the curtain was pulled back. “Looks like it’s picture-taking time.” But he slid a hand in the pocket of Zane’s suit pants, palmed the key.
They took him to X-ray—with one of the officers lingering.
Afterward, they wheeled him back, but this time to a treatment room with a door. And the officer right outside.
The doctor came in. She made Zane think of a barrel—short, stocky. She had her hair, a lot of gray in it, tied back in a braid.
“Hey, Zane. I’m Dr. Marshall.” She picked up his chart. “Let’s have a look at things.” Her eyes, dark as a crow’s, narrowed, then she flicked them at Dave. “Do you know why Zane hasn’t been given any pain medication?”
“His father said he might be on drugs. He’s not, but they won’t give him anything until they get the tox back.”
“I’ve just looked at it. He’s clean. Goddamn it—Sorry, kid.”
She slapped open the door again, yelled for a nurse, started barking out orders like a general. General Barrel.
And in a few minutes, everything went light and easy.
“His fingers are numb,” Dave murmured. “The skin at the elbow’s cold.”
“I’m reading the chart, Dave. Okay, Zane, here’s the good news. Your ankle’s not broken. You’ve got a nasty