We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,14

Nikkie Jean away. She said that. Begged him to get Nikkie Jean to safety.

Dr. Jacobson turned her, yanked her to one side. His strong, hard body curled around hers. Like he’d done during the storm. She could smell him, feel the heat of him against her. Just like she had then.

She was so cold now. The fire was waning. Cold was coming in its place.

Izzie’s fingers wrapped around his shirt, and she clung.

If she was going to die, she wanted it to be in his arms and not on the cold tile floor. Then she wouldn’t feel so alone.

Fire struck her again. The sound of another shot caught up with the bullet.

Izzie cried out one more time.

Izzie’s eyes met Dr. Jacobson’s. He had beautiful gray eyes. They were focused on her. She felt her lungs struggling to work right. It was a feeling she’d felt so many times before. Worse. So much worse now.

Her chest was on fire. Her arm. Her abdomen. Her back. She couldn’t breathe.

She really only had the one thought now.

She was going to die today.

She barely remembered what had happened now. All she could focus on was Dr. Jacobson’s gray eyes.

Then she couldn’t see anything at all.

14

The photos, they were the hardest. Faces staring back at her, year after year. Jennifer stood at the mantel in the house she and Wallace had shared for more than fifteen years.

She didn’t quite know where to start. It was a far cry from where they had lived in Philadelphia.

They’d started off in a small apartment near the hospital where Wallace had worked. Then they’d moved up. And up.

They’d kept moving up, until they’d come here.

Each time they’d moved, the photos had come down last. Ray, Reggie…Elizabeth. Her precious Elizabeth, born so perfect on the outside.

She’d been such a beautiful baby.

Forever captured in the handful of photos Wallace had taken during the three hours they had with her.

Ray’s death was bringing up what she had long suppressed. No surprise.

Death always had a way of bringing back all hurts.

Her Ray had been such a confused little boy. A broken man trying to mend himself, but failing.

Now, he was gone. All that was left of him was memories and the casseroles people had dropped off for her and Wallace and…Reggie.

Just Reggie now. Her son. Her greatest accomplishment would always be her son.

But now…she couldn’t keep living like this. This lie with Wallace.

It was time.

She was going to box up the past and move on. Now. Today.

She pulled the first photograph off the wall and deliberately put the memories of her daughter away once again.

She had finished with the first box, when her cell rang. Kyle. Her assistant. “Yes? What is it?”

He’d wanted to stay with her today, but she’d forced him away. Now…she’d needed to do this alone. This decision was hers.

“Turn on the news. Something is happening near the hospital. I think it involves Wallace.”

Jennifer turned on the news immediately. Then watched in horror as her world imploded once again.

15

Izzie felt so damned small in his arms. She was slightly below average height, he thought, but…that felt so small right now. Allen placed her on the gurney inside the ER as people swarmed them both, yelling for the help he needed.

People came running.

Wanda was there, terror on her face. She loved her third-shift nurses. Everyone knew that.

“I’ve got her!” Wanda helped guide Izzie’s legs onto the gurney. Izzie was limp now, not moving, completely unresponsive. “It’s ok, baby. It’s going to be ok. Izzie, baby girl, can you hear me? Allen, who did this to her?”

Allen doubted Izzie could hear. She looked gone. He’d seen enough deceased patients in his time.

He shoved back the panic. He’d been trained not to panic. “Get her upstairs. He shot her at least three times that I know of. Looked like a .38, felt like a damned cannon. I don’t know if the bullets are still inside her body.”

Every gunshot victim he’d ever treated rushed through his head. He’d seen quite a few, from hunting accidents and even some gang activity from Boethe Street.

Some, he’d saved; so many, he’d lost.

It didn’t look good.

“Who did this to her?” Cherise demanded, already cutting through the bloody scrubs. The fear in her eyes was something he’d never forget.

“Wallace Henedy. Get prepared,” Allen said harshly. “He still has Nikkie Jean across the street. I don’t know what’s happening now. He shot Izzie and kept Nikkie Jean.”

Everyone knew what that could mean.

“We’ll get our Izzie upstairs to Virat,” Wanda said