A Reason to Believe (41 page)

to Kiernan, who was no longer behind the sofa.

“That was…” he began, but immediately noticed

something was wrong. Kiernan was standing but he

was leaning on the couch, one hand clutching his

chest and a dark stain on his lips near the corner of

his mouth. Something wet and shiny began to drip

down his chin. “No.”

Kiernan collapsed onto the floor.

“No, no, no…” Matt scrambled to him and

yanked open Kiernan’s jacket, searching his chest,

but it was too dark for him to see anything. “Turn

on a light. For God’s sakes, Karen, turn on a

light!”

He laid his hand in the center of Kiernan chest

and felt heat and wetness under his palm. “No,” he

said again, pressing down. “This isn’t happening.”

A lamp flared to life in the corner. Matt lifted

his hand and stared at his palm. It was smeared

with blood. A stain was spreading from a neat hole

right between the giraffe’s too-large, absurdly

lashed eyes.

“Karen, dial nine-one-one,” Matt shouted.

“Hurry. Do it now!”

She appeared around the sofa, her eyes wide.

“Oh my God, is he hurt?”

“Just dial the number.” Matt tore off his hoodie

and balled it up. “Quickly!” Karen disappeared.

“Oh, Christ,” he cried, pressing the wad of fleece

over the wound. “Kiernan…”

The wide blue eyes didn’t look frightened, just

startled. “I’m shot, aren’t I?” The blood at the

corner of his lips grew frothy.

“It’s going to be all right,” he told Kiernan

softly. “You’re going to be all right.” His heart

lurched. Blood had dripped down onto his neck

and covered his lips.

“Matthew.” Kiernan lifted a trembling hand and

Matt caught it in his, squeezing hard. “Funny,” he

murmured, his eyes drifting closed. “I can’t really

feel it at all.”

Matt continued to squeeze his hand and press

against the wound as the sound of sirens grew in

the distance.

Chapter Eighteen

The plastic chairs in the waiting room outside the

ICU were unforgiving but Matt scarcely noticed.

The nurses came to check on him periodically, but

he barely noticed them, either. He felt numb.

Utterly and completely numb.

When the police arrived at the Reynolds’ home,

he’d still been pressing the blood-soaked jacket to

Kiernan’s chest, still speaking to him softly,

although he’d long since ceased to reply. Kiernan

was having trouble breathing, and Matt had no idea

what to do for him.

Karen Reynolds talked to the first responding

officers, and they approached Preston but when

they found him unresponsive, decided to wait for

medical personnel.

It was the only time Matt spoke to them. “If you

think that piece of crap is being seen before this

man, you’re out of your fucking minds.”

The uniformed officer came over to assess

Kiernan’s wound and agreed.

The ambulance arrived, and Matt stood aside as

they did rudimentary field treatment, cutting the

shirt away, packing the wound with gauze and

putting a thick bandage over it. It was the first time

Matt became aware that the wound in Kiernan’s

chest was the exit wound. There was another in the

middle of his back. He supposed he should have

known from the pool of blood that had been

spreading beneath Kiernan, but he’d been too

focused on his chest to notice.

He heard something about a collapsed lung and

hemorrhaging. The words made his blood run cold.

A female paramedic asked him if he was

injured. Matt shook his head mutely, wondering

why she would think so. They asked him again

when they arrived in the ER, and he snapped at the

nurse. It wasn’t until he was in the men’s room at

the hospital and glanced in a mirror that he could

see what she’d seen. They’d given him a green

scrub to wear in the ambulance. It had blood all

over it. So did his hands, and his arms. There was

even a smudge of dried blood on his cheek. All of

it Kiernan’s. Too much blood, he thought as he

stared at himself in horror. Too much for one body

to lose.

The ER was terrifying. They tried to get him to

leave the room, but he flashed his badge and

refused, and they left him alone. He watched as

they cut away Kiernan’s clothes, started an IV,

assessed his injury. He looked pale and small

lying there, all his usual animation absent. The

sight made Matt’s throat ache.

“In and out,” a doctor said. “Entry wound rear

upper right quadrant, exit wound front center.

Traumatic pneumothorax, right lung. Clipped a

major artery, with resulting blood loss…”

Matt knew it was true. He’d seen the puddle on

the hardwood floor at the house, the amount on the

floor of the ambulance, the trail left as they

wheeled the gurney into an exam room. So much

blood…

He rubbed his forehead and noticed he still had

dried blood caked under his nails. He needed a

shower—but not until Kiernan was out of surgery

and they told him he was fine.

Because he would be fine, he told himself over

and over. He would. He had to be. He would be

fine. Because the alternative…he couldn’t even

allow himself to think about it. If he did, his chest

felt tight and he couldn’t breathe. His hands would

shake, reflecting the trembling shuddering through

his core.

No. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.

“Oh, Matty! There you are!”

Sheila entered the waiting room, and he pushed

to his feet only to be taken into her embrace. She

held him tightly, and he encircled her with his

arms, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder and

inhaling her comforting scent. She clutched his

back and reached up with one hand to card her

fingers in his hair.

“Are you all right?” she asked finally, her mouth

near his ear. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“Oh, sweetheart. How is he?”

“I don’t know.” Finally stepping back, he

looked down at the floor. He was afraid if he

looked into her eyes, he’d lose it completely.

“He’s been in surgery for two hours. They haven’t

told me anything.” He paused, his throat thick and

his eyes burning. “I can’t do this again, Sheil. I

can’t. It’ll kill me if I lose…”

She rubbed his arm. “Let me see what I can find

out.”

She turned and walked away, and Matt

collapsed wearily into the hard chair, his hands

over his face. She was back in less than five

minutes. He looked at her, unable to help himself

but terrified of what he might see in her eyes.

“He’s holding his own.” She gripped his hand,

her gaze reassuring. “They’ve been able to repair

the tear in his aorta—”

Matt stiffened. “Isn’t that his heart?”

“It’s the artery that leads to his heart.

Fortunately, the tear was very small. Now they’re

working on the hole in his lung. But, listen to me,

Matt. He’s holding his own.”

Matt exhaled, nodding, but his chest still felt

like there was a metal band around it, squeezing

his heart.

“I’ve called Aidan,” Sheila went on. “She said

she’ll be on the next plane.”

“Thanks,” Matt muttered. “I didn’t even think of

that.”

“You’ve had your hands full.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Matt’s mind

racing in circles. “How did you even know to

come here? I haven’t had the time to call anyone.”

“Someone down in the ER recognized you, and

knew you were my brother-in-law. She called me,

figuring you could use some moral support.”

Matt nodded, his eyes going once again to the

floor.

“So, it was Garrett Preston who killed the little

girl,” Sheila said softly. “It’s all over the news.

You and Kiernan are heroes.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet the department thinks so.”

“Actually, Captain Branson has been very

complimentary.” Sheila’s lips quirked. “Of course,

to do anything else would make him look like an

enormous ass. Oh, and they’ve arrested those two

detectives who showed up at my house.

Apparently they were in collusion with Preston.

He was paying them.”

“I’m not surprised,” Matt said, his voice flat.

“Too bad about the younger one, though. I’m

betting he got caught up in it because he’s

Conrad’s partner.”

“Exactly.”

Matt heard the deep voice about the time he

spotted the dark shoes in front of him. He jerked

his head up to find Ed Partridge standing near his

chair. He had a small half-smile around his lips,

and his eyes were kind.

“How you holding up there, Bennett?”

“I’m all right.” Matt stood and shook Ed’s hand.

“How are things?”

“Damned interesting,” Ed said. “Not every day I

get to bust a crooked ADA, even though he is

nuttier than a fruitcake. To see my boss have to eat

a huge helping of humble pie was a bonus. Does

the old heart good, days like this one.”

“You arrested Preston, then? Did you get the

whole story?”

“Karen Reynolds was more than happy to tell us

everything she knew, and Preston was lucid

enough to confess to the murder of Abigail

Reynolds. Of course, when he started talking about

a ghost attacking him with fireplace ashes, we sort

of took that part with a grain of salt.” He gave Matt

a faint smirk. “Care to corroborate his story?”

“What did Karen say?” he asked instead.

Ed’s grin deepened. “That she thinks Mr.

Preston is deeply disturbed.”

“I think I’ll agree with her assessment.”

“I rather thought you would. And now I get to

take the good news down to the tombs and tell Mr.

Reynolds he’ll be home in time for New Year’s

Eve.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”

“I’m sure he will. And Conrad and Irvine will

probably be doing a stretch as well, but I think

Irvine’s will be less, considering he got led into it

by the senior partner.” He paused. “So when did

you plan to tell us someone had already taken a

shot at you?”

Sheila gasped. “What?”

Matt didn’t look at her. “When I could prove

who it was. Conrad, I’m guessing.”

“Right in one. He sang like a bird once he heard

Preston had sold him out. The dumb fuck. I never

did like that guy.” Ed clapped Matt lightly on the

shoulder. “Nice work, Detective. I’m sure you’ll

be hearing from Branson shortly, telling you to

come back whenever you feel ready.”

Matt nodded, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel

ready.

Ed left to deliver the good news to Marc

Reynolds. Matt reclaimed his miserable chair.

Another hour went by, and then another. At one

point Sheila told him it was nearly 6 a.m. and she

was heading out to find a cup of coffee, but Matt

scarcely heard her.

He closed his eyes, trying to quiet his mind, to

no avail. His thoughts spun one on top of another,

over and over, the most prominent being
he cannot

die…he cannot die…
He drifted off to sleep using

the words as his mantra.

He cannot die… He cannot die…

* * *

He was sitting on the hard plastic chair outside of

surgery, still waiting for news of Kiernan, when he

felt a soft touch on his hand. He looked up, and

Abby Reynolds smiled at him, her cornflower-blue

eyes wide, her burnished ringlets brushing her

shoulders. She was wearing a pretty white ruffled

party dress and she was holding a toy unicorn with

a striped horn in her arms. She sat next to him, her

feet in white ruffled socks and shiny white patent

leather shoes which didn’t touch the floor.

“I’m going to go now,” she said without

prompting. “It’s time. Kiernan told me what to do.”

“He did?” Matt said, unaccountably saddened.

She nodded, and her curls bounced. “I’ll miss

you,” he said, and found it was the truth.

“I’ll miss you, too. You’re my friend. You and

Kiernan.”

“I’m glad.” And he was.

“Check on my mommy sometimes, will you?

She’s going to be lonely for a while. At least until

my little brother gets here. He’ll make her feel

better.”