a Touch of Ice (12 page)

“Nothing gives. Our jobs intersect occasionally, often enough that we respect each other. As colleagues, of a sort.” She grinned at me. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re my first speed-dial number. Adam comes in at a lowly number two. And I’m thinking you might want to stop talking. Your words are fading into slush.”

She had a point. There were too many thoughts in my head, and it was hard to form coherent sentences. I fought for consciousness and my brain cleared…just enough to keep talking. “I’m in pain and unfortunately wide awake. I’m cranky. So let’s try this again. Twice now you’ve explained your relationship with Adam as casual. You didn’t mention speed-dial when we were talking about this earlier. Are you hiding something? Are the two of you an item?”

I vividly remembered the images I’d seen when I touched her hand yesterday. It seemed like a good time to satisfy my curiosity, since I could blame any strange comments on a potential concussion from where my head hit the tree stump and on blood loss. The sticky, red stuff was still oozing from the wound in my hip.

I’d been focused on Violet while I ranted, because it’s only polite to look at the person you’re about ready to strangle, and because she kept wobbling, fading into a hazy blob. I pushed up, braced my weight on my elbow, and took a look at what was happening in front of us.

Bad idea. Dizzy. Solid wall of a semi in front of us that Violet either didn’t notice, or was intent on forming a close, personal relationship with.

She slid into the right-hand lane, barely avoiding contact with a minivan. I started to breathe again, collapsing back onto the seat. “Rather bleed…than mangled between semi…minivan.” My voice sounded disembodied, like it was coming from the back seat, and I noticed gray edges around my field of vision. It was odd, because I felt fine.

Seriously.

I felt just fine.

Fourteen

Violet pulled around the circular drive and stopped in front of the Emergency Department doors. Even with my eyes closed and a foggy brain, it was impossible to miss the rolling curve of the turn. It shifted my hip against the seat belt and caused an interesting pain to pierce my backside. The car door opened and I tried to shift my body, sending another shiver of pain through my hip. Background voices faded to a distant haze. My eyelids refused to open, someone unfastened my seat belt, and several someones moved me to a gurney. I think. The haze in my head darkened around the edges, black eating through the fog.

I heard echoes of voices. Someone asked how long I’d been unconscious. Do you hear things when you’re unconscious? Or is it when you’re in a coma that you hear things? It was my first time with this sort of experience, so I didn’t have much to go on. I thought about telling them I was awake—tried to put together a sentence—but couldn’t seem to form words, much less actually talk.

Violet interrupted my parsing attempt. “About five minutes. She was oriented and coherent up until the time she passed out, asking questions, acting normal. Aside from bumping her head and the bullet wound in her hip, of course.”

My eyelids popped open long enough to see bright lights and an official-looking person in blue scrubs. “Step over to that desk. They’ll need you to fill out some paperwork.”

Darkness settled heavy over me. I’m guessing my eyes closed again, couldn’t be sure, so I focused on the pungent scent of disinfectant and managed to blink just enough to catch a glimpse of Violet reaching for a clipboard. Then I heard a male voice. “How is she?” I tried to place him, couldn’t, but his tone held a rich timbre and a faint touch of accent that brushed my memory. Who was he?

“She’ll be fine. It didn’t look too serious to me, and she stayed conscious for most of the trip—asking all kinds of questions about why you’re on speed-dial and if we’re an item. Us. An item. I’m hoping the shock will nudge all those questions into unconscious oblivion.”

Whoa. Interesting. That rich, gravelly voice must belong to the mysterious Detective Adam Stone. Wish I could see his face, but I’d have to move my head and—no that’d take too much energy and be a dead giveaway that I was conscious. This unconscious-but-not-really gig was definitely working to my advantage. Who knew what other secrets would be exposed.

“You care about her don’t you? I’ve never heard you slip up like that. Using my first name in front of someone.”

Okay. Had to open my eyes. They were standing close to me, but not paying that much attention, I hoped. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice. Turns out sight is more important than you think, when you’re trying to decipher the nuances of communication.

Violet faced a guy that had a lot of unruly, straight blond hair, cut short. Looked young, but there were deep laugh lines around his eyes. My eyes drooped closed, but the image of Adam Stone hung around. Not the tidy type. His slacks and shirt looked like he’d been up all night, but then maybe he had.

Violet’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “It slipped out when Mitch was dumped at the hospital. Then yesterday, when I saw the picture of the license plate—”

“Did you recognize the plate?”

“Not exactly. It was, well, El would say the universe was trying to communicate with me. I’ll call it my spidey sense. I haven’t felt this way since I was active on the Delano West case.”

“Hell no. This can’t be related to West.” Stone’s voice sounded deeper, with more gravel. Damn, I wished I could see without opening my eyes, or use my fingers. He’d definitely notice if I grabbed his arm.

“Yeah it’s West. My life as Violet has reached the end of its usefulness.”

My eyes snapped open. The shiver that racked Violet’s body was intense enough to recognize—even with my muddled vision.

She reached toward Adam. “How about if you lend me one of those shirts you have on? I’m a little underdressed for an official investigation into a GSW.”

Adam took off his button-down, leaving him in a snug, white t-shirt. My eyes closed again, cutting off the image. I heard fabric rustling and pushed my eyelids open a smidge to see him wrap his shirt around Violet, giving her a hug. “You want the keys to a safe house?”

What? Their conversation was making no sense, at least not to my sloggy mind. Did she say her life as Violet was coming to an end? What the heck did that mean? A safe house? And what’s with the wrapping his shirt around her?

I’d somehow missed out on a whole lot here, and my curiosity was kicking into overdrive. Not good when I could barely stay awake. I needed to get off this gurney and do some surreptitious touching and…no, that wasn’t going happen. Not anytime soon. So, ask questions instead? Not a viable plan unless I could get my head and mouth to work as a cohesive unit.

Violet was talking again. “No, I want the bastard dead so he can’t hurt the people I love. El named him Monster Man today. That’s when my spidey sense took over. Sometimes she’s right on with that intuition of hers. Makes me crazy when I’m trying to protect her.

“What did you get on the license plate?” Adam asked.

Wait a minute. Adam asked?
He
was running the plate, wasn’t he?

“Green, two-thousand seven Jaguar, custom made with everything in order, registration, VIN, even taxes, all up to date and legal.”

“Have they told you Pierce is here?”

Sometimes it’s really confusing to eavesdrop, and on that one they’d completely lost me. Who the hell were ‘they’? And whoever West and Pierce were, the combination of their names made Violet seriously twitchy. I simply
had
to remember what questions to ask.

Eventually Violet muttered, “Good to know I’ll have backup.”

“You’ve always had backup.” I could hear the love in Adam’s response.

I gathered my strength and forced my eyelids open just a slit, saw Violet take his hand. “I know. But Pierce is a whole different thing.”

Yep. There was the definite possibility they were an item. And I really, seriously, had to remember to ask about the West-slash-Pierce connection.

Wait. She was talking again. “Let’s get this official stuff done so I can focus on El before she wakes up and starts thinking again.”

Too late. I was already thinking. Very busy thinking, until blackness drowned out any and all thought.

The next thing I knew, there was a bright light shining in my eyes, I had a numb hip, and the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen were staring intently into mine. They were attached to whoever was responsible for the bright light, making it difficult to get a good look at him, which I wanted to do if only to be sure he was real.

It could be I was still out of it and this was all part of a strange, possibly drug-induced, fantasy—all these handsome men suddenly appearing in my otherwise bereft-of-men life made it seem, not only possible but probable I’d moved into another dimension. Then again, maybe I was just in shock. Had I imagined all that stuff I had overheard earlier?

“Glad to see you’re back with us,” a deep voice rumbled above me. “I’m Tynan Pierce, the doc who’s going to sew you up.” He proceeded through a series of person, place, time questions that I mumbled through. Tongue wasn’t working well, dry mouth, fuzzy head. Still, I knew who I was.

And, Pierce? I knew I’d heard that name. Couldn’t quite place it, but it nagged at the back of my mind. Why couldn’t I remember?

“The wound doesn’t look too bad, but the bullet nicked a vessel and you’ve lost some blood. We’re hydrating you and I’ll need to debride the wound. The good news is the bullet went straight through, leaving a fairly clean edge for me to work with. I’ve given you a local anesthetic so you’ll feel pressure but no pain while I’m sewing you up.”

He rolled me on my side, and pulled on some gloves. “How’d you get shot?”

The smell of the antiseptic was strong and the room seemed to be sliding around.

“What?” I mumbled.

“You don’t look like my usual gunshot victim.”

I cautiously turned my head to catch a glimpse of him. Took in the thick black hair and those azure eyes, not as dark as mine, more vibrant. I had a short discussion with myself over what to focus on—the wavy black hair, or the victim comment. Was my voice in working order yet? My throat felt raw but, what the heck, maybe I could produce more than a mumbling response.

I opened my mouth. Nothing happened. I tried clearing my throat and some garbled, grating noise cut into the silence. A nurse put a straw to my lips and I swallowed a mouthful of room temperature water, tried again.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” I croaked. “Old barn. Hurt like hell. Wham. Lying on ground holding hip. Violet kneeling next to me.” I stopped to take a breath and drink more water. The words weren’t coming out too smoothly. Or with a whole lot of detail.

“Must have been trespassing. Made someone mad. Although—” I tried to point to my hip and a nurse grabbed my hand. Guess I wasn’t supposed to move.

“Although?” he asked, and I felt pressure in my hip. Probably he was doing the stitching thing. Definitely not a good idea for me to look.

“Getting shot. Extreme. All he had to do was ask.”

“Who?”

“The owner. Would’ve left if he asked. Didn’t have to shoot me.” I sounded like I’d had a few too many glasses of wine, but my voice was working. More or less.

“Um-humm, some people are possessive of their property.”

I closed my eyes and drifted off again. Until I could get out of here and take control of my life there didn’t seem to be much reason to stay alert, blue eyes and black hair notwithstanding.

The next time I woke up, Violet hovered by the side of my bed, and the man I’d seen through blurry consciousness stood next to her.

A ton of questions were bouncing around in my head, but one zipped to the top of the list. “Who the hell shot me?”

“Not me. I did my best bat-hell imitation to get you here before you bled all over the car.”

“I have a vague memory of that. Something about a semi and a minivan.” My gaze settled, curious, on the guy I’d pegged for Adam Stone.

It didn’t take but a second before he did the intro. “I’m Adam Stone, Ms. Gray. Detective, Raleigh PD. We haven’t met, but Violet and Mitchell Hunt have spoken of you. I’ll need to ask some questions about the gunshot wound. What you were doing, and why. Violet gave me her statement, so this shouldn’t take long.” He shot a glare in her direction, a clear invitation to leave us alone.

She patted my shoulder. “I’ll be right outside. If he gives you any trouble, yell.”

This was great, would give me an opportunity to get to know how this man fit into Violet’s life. I smiled up at him. “I’m El. Good to meet you.”

His angled jaw tipped in response. “El, then.”

“My mind is floating. Ask stuff fast or I’ll probably lose it.”

“Describe what happened today. Take your time.”

I gave him an abbreviated but complete summary of what happened at the barn, leaving out my hinky touch thing. Didn’t go into a lot of detail about Tony because he already knew all about that.

And I didn’t touch Adam.

It took a lot of will power, especially with my mind so foggy, but I couldn’t trespass, not into Violet’s love life. Okay, yeah. I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from touching him. It would have been so easy to shake his hand. But I didn’t do it, and my curiosity would probably never forgive me.

I’m not a good patient, but the sedative the hospital sent home improved my ability to be accommodating, and I snuggled into bed like a good girl. It had been a rough day, what with a gunshot wound, eavesdropping, and moral dilemmas. Violet insisted on staying the night, so I couldn’t be safer and drifted into a deep sleep.

It wasn’t the usual nightmare that woke me. But something triggered the pricklies crawling over my skin. Dark. No sign of daylight creeping through the blinds. I eased my sore body very slowly out of bed, limped to the bedroom door, and peeked out.

Nothing. Not that I could see, anyway.

But the pricklies were taking over, and my imagination created a scenario where the bad guys invaded my home and were holding Violet captive. Didn’t take long for me to whip that under control. Nothing felt…sinister.

As I stepped into the hall, bits and pieces of what I’d overheard in the emergency room wove through my mind and slowly drifted into a semi-coherent memory. It wasn’t a conscious decision to keep my presence a secret, more like an intuitive command.

I pressed my body tightly against the hallway wall, angling my head just so to give me a partial view of the living room and kitchen. Violet inched into my line of sight, and did she…? Oh, crap, she did reach for her gun, the movement barely perceptible. A chill catapulted up my spine, sapping the strength from my legs.

My mind frantically searched for something I could use as a weapon. Nothing. Empty hallway. Violet blew out a sigh, and tucked the gun into her waistband at the small of her back.

She would have kept it in hand if there were bad guys. Still, something felt wrong. Something besides my gun phobia, that is. I drew in an open-mouthed breath, tasting the air. Didn’t taste like fear. But the scene playing out in my living room wasn’t right, maybe because it seemed…frighteningly normal. Normal enough that I ignored the throbbing in my hip and inched my way down the hall so I could hear what was going on in the kitchen.