We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,15

determinedly. She pulled in a harsh breath and pulled herself together. Wanda had a habit of mothering the younger nurses and doctors. Especially the ones on second and third shifts. Cherise was almost as bad. “We’ll be ready for our Nikkie Jean. Someone needs to take care of your arm, too, Allen. Everyone, pull yourselves together right now and let’s do what needs to be done. If you don’t think you can do it, then step aside and let someone else in who can.”

Allen had almost forgotten his own wound. It burned like the blazes, but he’d live. There was no such guarantee for the woman on the gurney. “Just take care of her, Wanda.”

“Will do.”

They had her prepped within heartbeats. They worked fast at the Finley Creek Gen ER.

His last sight of Izzie was two of the male nurses wheeling her toward the elevators. Allen was damned convinced he’d never see the woman alive again. Allen bit back the fear—for her and for Nikkie Jean.

Layla Kaur, an obstetrician who seemed to always be around the hospital of the evenings, treated his shoulder. The bullet had passed straight through, nicking his collarbone. He’d live.

All it required was a handful of stitches and maybe a few days in a sling.

It was going to take more than a few stitches for Izzie.

It would be a miracle if she pulled through. He knew all of the ways something could go wrong.

Allen couldn’t stand it any longer. As soon as Layla was finished, he nodded. He saw the fear in her brown eyes, too.

They were too much like Izzie’s. Like Jess’s. He’d always loved brown eyes. Far too many women were being hurt in this damned hospital. Women he cared about.

Nikkie Jean…was still over there.

He couldn’t help her now. Allen stood and pulled his shirt off. Right there on the light-blue cloth was a brick-red stain.

Fingers. A small handprint.

Izzie’s handprint in her own damned blood. Right over where Allen’s heart had been. Allen covered it with his own, much larger hand. “I’m going upstairs. I’ll be there when they get Nikkie Jean out.”

16

Wallace coughed, struggling to pull in his breath as the TSP detective slapped icy-cold, hard cuffs around his wrists.

Damn them all.

He damned himself for what he had done.

Tears rushed down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. Is Elizabeth ok?”

Her name wasn’t Elizabeth. He knew that. It was Izzie. Izzie, it had to stand for something. Dark eyes were seared into his soul.

The detective yanked him to his feet. “Yeah, you didn’t. You’d better hope to hell that woman lives, pal.” He read Wallace his rights, his voice full of hostility. When he finished, he led Wallace to a waiting patrol car.

Wallace looked into the man’s hazel eyes.

Hazel. Nikkie Jean had hazel eyes like that, too.

Her friend had dark eyes. Like Jennifer’s.

Wallace shook that thought from his head. He was being stupid.

Elizabeth had died at three hours and four minutes old.

He’d almost killed a nurse today, not his daughter. A full-grown, snippy little pixyish nurse named Izzie.

Wallace probably had killed her. She was such a young thing. Asthmatic, and a pretty bad case of it. He’d seen for himself once in the ER when Cherise had sent her home after a particularly nasty attack because of a patient’s perfume. Girl had been covered in hives and wheezing at the same time.

Had he hit her lungs? What would a bullet do to a severe asthma patient? He tried to remember how many times he had pulled the trigger. How many times her body had jerked as the bullets had struck her.

He didn’t remember. He should remember. That was a detail he should remember.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”

“Yeah, right. Like that’s not something I’ve heard before.” The detective shut the door right in his face.

Wallace bowed his head.

What in the hell had he done now?

Jennifer and Reggie would never forgive him for this. He had so many sins on his soul. Why did he keep doing this to himself?

17

The TSP major crimes detectives caught Allen in the surgical waiting room, moments after he changed into clean scrubs. He was going in to observe. Allen had to.

“Jacobson?” Daniel McKellen said. “What the hell happened over there?”

“I’m not entirely certain.” He didn’t have time for this. Questions could wait. He needed to be in there with Izzie. Allen summed it up as fast as he could. “I was in my office, ready to leave. I heard gunshots.