We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,13
needed to be done to rebuild it. They were going to completely remove the shell of the Boethe Street parking garage—thank goodness, too many bad things had happened back there—and actually expand the ER annex to add fourteen more exam bays, and a better lab.
More exam bays and more ER nurses. Maybe even an extra physician or two so that trauma surgeons no longer had to cover shifts in the ER unless they wanted to.
So…she’d see even less of the more annoying ones than usual.
Like Dr. Allen Jacobson who had been in her head far more than he probably should have. Or would have wanted to be.
Good things should happen now. Or Izzie hoped they would.
It was time good things happened around the city.
She and Nikkie Jean—now fully recovered, thankfully—got settled in for their four-hour shift at W4HAV, complete with posterboard and markers, after a quick chat with the governor’s wife as she crossed the parking lot toward the hospital. Ariella Avery—Rafe’s sister—had founded the charity.
They were going to start prep for the W4HAV choir benefit tonight. They’d postponed it because of the storm.
Nikkie Jean was one hell of a singer; she, Lacy, and Jillian would carry most of the songs for the concert. Nikkie Jean had finished belting out one of her solos when the door opened again.
Izzie looked up as she disconnected the receptionist’s phone; Ari had forgotten to lock the petty cash box and had been worrying. Ari was a bit anxious at times.
There was a man there. Tall, thin, usually well-groomed, but always, always coming off as oily to her. She had never liked him—or the eyes that followed a woman everywhere.
She hadn’t seen him since the night of the storm, when she’d overheard Rafe telling him that his nephew had died from his injuries. His nephew had had the creepy eyes thing, too.
Dr. Wallace Henedy stared at her. Something in his gaze had her hesitating. His gaze was so…empty. Broken. Fractured.
Every instinct for self-preservation she possessed flared. She took a step back. Then another.
“Dr. Henedy—how can we help—”
Izzie took another step back, putting herself between him and Nikkie Jean, but it was far too late. That’s when she saw it. The gun. Small. Not like the one Jake had made certain she knew how to use when she’d been fourteen.
It was pointed at her. Izzie never had time to move.
He fired.
Twice.
She’d never forget the sounds or Nikkie Jean’s scream.
Or the hellfire that came next.
13
Izzie struggled to stay focused, to breathe, as Henedy continued to rant around her. He was saying something, something about his wife. About Nikkie Jean’s mother. About Izzie looking just like his wife had thirty-five years ago. He’d loved her. He kept saying that he’d loved his wife and never meant to hurt her. Kept saying he hadn’t meant to hurt Izzie, either. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He had called Izzie Elizabeth.
Twice.
“I don’t think it hit the artery.” Nikkie Jean said, kneeling next to Izzie.
Good. That was good. If it had, she was as good as dead, unless they got real help…really fast.
Izzie tried to focus on the other woman’s face, on her words.
Fire. All she could feel was the fire.
She wanted to close her eyes. To fight the fire by closing her eyes.
Henedy grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. Izzie fought to somehow gain her balance as he dragged her across the room. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight at all.
All she felt was fire.
He dragged her to the door. Separating her from Nikkie Jean. Why would he do that?
Izzie couldn’t think because of the fire.
She stumbled. Dr. Henedy yanked her closer. It hurt. Never had anything hurt so badly in her entire life. She pulled in a breath. Fire shot through her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t feel like asthma. Not…yet. It was worse. So much worse.
She cried out.
There was another man there. Shock was on his face.
Tall, strong. Light eyes. He had intense, light storm-gray eyes.
She didn’t recognize him at first. Tears in her own eyes kept her from seeing him fully for a moment.