We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,8
there in the morning.”
She’d already more than done her part tonight. Now, it was time she stopped and took care of herself.
If she wouldn’t make that decision, Allen was going to make it for her.
7
Dr. Wallace Henedy stepped into the hallway as the orderlies prepared Nikkie Jean, the pediatric surgeon he worked with, for the quick trip into the room she’d been assigned. He checked the chart quickly. Room 403, bed B.
He considered it again. Ending it for her. Putting a pillow over her face—or even his hand—and making certain she never told anyone what she’d seen. Who she’d seen him with.
It wouldn’t take much to do. She was still out from the drug he had given her. His hand was big enough to do the job so easily.
Her hand lay flat against her stomach.
Where her fetus rested.
Everyone knew how excited she was about her baby. A miracle baby she hadn’t expected to ever have.
Like he and his wife Jennifer had once been.
Elizabeth Rosemary was supposed to be his and Jennifer’s miracle baby. They’d tried for years after their son. Jennifer had been so excited to have a daughter, too. It had been her dream to have a daughter.
The worst day of his life had been the day Elizabeth Rosemary had been born and they had lost her three hours later.
She would have been twenty-six tomorrow, had she lived.
Nikkie Jean was thirty, but looked so much younger.
She was no bigger than a butterfly there.
He couldn’t do it. There was no way he could harm Nikkie Jean now.
The loss of his daughter still hurt him every day. A little girl who had so greatly resembled her mother that Wallace had had trouble looking at Jennifer for a few months after.
Her eyes would have darkened to Jennifer’s deep brown. Wallace had imagined her so many times.
Her hair had already been pitch black, and would have been the rich coffee that Jennifer’s had been when he’d first met her. He would have laid odds on that, even though their son had his lighter coloring.
Wallace had imagined what she would have grown to look like, to be like, every single day since.
Jennifer hadn’t wanted to try for another child after that. She’d been afraid the genetic condition would be passed down again.
His fault. It had been from him. He’d killed his daughter all those years ago. It had made the both of them cling to Reggie all the more. Made them realize how lucky they had been to get him in the first place.
His son had weathered the storm safely, and was already organizing his construction crew to get heavy machinery to the worst-hit parts of the city to help with search-and-rescue efforts.
His son was a good man. One Wallace would always be proud of.
Reggie wouldn’t be proud of him now. Not for what Wallace had done.
“Dr. Henedy?” Gwyn, a young nurse in her twenties he’d always found sweetly attractive, called his name. “We’re ready to move Dr. Netorre now.”
“Of course. I’ll follow along, check her over once she’s settled for the night.” Technically, Nikkie Jean was his patient now. He took his oath to his patients more seriously than any other than his vows to love Jennifer for his entire life.
No. He would not harm Nikkie Jean again.
He was disgusted at himself for what he had almost done.
Damn it, would he ever stop hurting people?
8
Izzie was stuck. In a hospital bed. It was all Allen Jacobson’s fault, but she wasn’t complaining any longer.
After the initial round of meds had failed to do what Dr. Jacobson had expected—apparently, he wanted miracles—the man had admitted her. Over her protests.
Every time she’d said something, he’d argued right over her.
No matter how she told him that she was routinely struggling with her asthma, and that this wasn’t much different than normal.
It hadn’t been enough for him. Dictator.
Cherise had put her in room 403—that was what had her finally complying would have stayed in there all night, anyway. Nikkie Jean was sound asleep in the second bed when Jillian and Cherise railroaded her into 403, in conjunction with the Dictator.
Cherise filled her in on what she knew about Nikkie Jean as she handed Izzie the indignifying hospital gown and told her to get changed.
They’d found Nikkie Jean two hours after the storm hit. Nikkie Jean hadn’t wakened fully since. Wallace Henedy hadn’t taken a blood test or anything to find out. They didn’t know why; it was listed that she’d most likely hit her head. There was a