When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1) (20 page)

Joselyn’s jutting jaw and violent expression said it all. Without looking away she raised her hand to summon the waiter. “We’re going to need two hot-fudge brownie sundaes, as soon as humanly possible. Thanks.”

As they indulged in rich chocolaty bliss, Sadie’s phone buzzed but she let it ring on.

Whatever, or whomever, it was, could wait until later. And no matter what Archer’s excuse for standing her up, she had a feeling that, somehow, she’d dodged a bullet.

Chapter 20

Archer Hayes

W
orst. Day. Ever.
Arched eased carefully into his bed, trying to estimate where he’d gone wrong. He remembered the hopeful beginning. Upbeat and rejuvenated, he awoke this morning bathed in some sort of afterglow from the game-changing night at Sadie’s.

Things went south fast, and it all started with Sal. When he got to work, Sal was trying to make up for his mistake of calling in the wrong person for questioning. The guy he’d talked to yesterday was much too young and consequently not the Stink Eye Frank Snyder they were looking for.

“Dude, the lady from HR must have been totally senile. Sure it’s probably a common name. I gave her dates and everything, and she still gave me the wrong contact info. But get this—I got a call back this morning on the real Stink Eye. Guy’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Assault, weapons charges, restraining orders, it goes on and on. And it seems his criminal behavior started after losing his job all those years ago.
That
part the lady got right.”

“Interesting. Were you able to track him down?”

“Yeah, he’s living in some government-subsidized apartments in North St. Louis—tough neighborhood for an old geezer. But you’re gonna have to go without me. I’ve got a meeting with Jensen in an hour.

Archer quirked a brow.

“Some sort of loose end from the Roland case, no big deal.” Sal shrugged.

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

Less than fifteen minutes later Archer pulled up to Frank Snyder’s dilapidated apartment building. The yellow clapboard siding was stained with the elements and neon and black graffiti. Boards covered more than half of the windows, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. He still had two hours before lunch with Sadie. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long.

Frank’s unit was straight ahead. A vicious-sounding dog snarled from behind a door as he passed. Flakes of paint from each of the units’ splintered doors littered the ground like confetti, crunching under his shoes. Gripped with a sudden unease, he rescanned the area. Other than the dog, everything was quiet. He approached the door and saw it was left open a crack.

He knocked, the door swayed inward with a groan “Frank Snyder? FBI. I need to ask you—”

Before he could finish he heard a stream of muffled curses, and buried beneath them a low, guttural moaning sound. Withdrawing his firearm, he sidled up to the wall, pushed open the door and peered inside. Sliding in, gun raised, he stalked from room to room making quick work of searching the small apartment.

The moan came again. Archer checked around the corner and entered the back room.

Bullets spit at the door frame. The shiver of a screaming round shaved just past his ear. He dove toward the nearest cover, staying low and peeking his gun around the wooden hutch.  He caught sight of a teenage kid climbing out the window, toting the gun and an armload of prescription bottles.

“Freeze, FBI!”

The kid dropped out the second-story window. Archer rushed to the opening. Punk kid number two was covering and started unloading the magazine of his semiautomatic.

Ducking his head in, Archer was about to initiate pursuit when he noticed legs sticking out from behind the far side of the tattered couch. He crossed the room, checked out the other window, and saw the teens dart into the alley.

He rounded the couch, gun ready, to find an ashen Frank Snyder clutching a bullet wound to the abdomen. His blood was everywhere, a puddle of black oozing from the exit wound onto the dark, grimy carpet.

Dropping to his knees, Archer shoved the gun in the holster at his hip and put pressure on the wound. Jamming his free hand into his pocket, he grabbed his phone and pounded 911.

His phone beeped at him.

No signal.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sweat prickled his brow, the temperature in the room had skyrocketed in a matter of moments. Keeping pressure on the wound, his slippery fingers tried his phone again.

No signal. “Ahh. Don’t die on me, Frank.” He scrounged for something in the sparse, dingy space, knowing he’d have to get creative if he was gonna save old Frank’s life.

There was a bedsheet tucked into the soiled couch cushions. Archer jerked it free, threaded it behind Frank’s back, and tied it tight around the wound. Frank choked out a gasp at the pressure and went limp as Archer gathered his frail body in his arms and sprinted back through the apartment building.

As quickly and carefully as he could, he laid Frank across the back seat of his Suburban and tethered him with both seatbelts before vaulting into the driver’s seat. Adrenaline seeped out in panting bursts of razor-sharp air. Ignoring the twinging pain in his chest, he used the scanner to call in to dispatch and mashed the accelerator to the floorboard.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he pulled up to the emergency room. Medical personnel had been alerted to his pending arrival, immediately pulling Frank Snyder out onto a gurney the second the car stopped. The return of Frank’s groaning littered the haze of garbled vital signs and barked orders which Archer took as a good sign.

One of the ER doctors rushed to his side. “Sir, we need to get you inside, you’re bleeding.”

Archer looked at his hands. Veins of crimson filled the cracks in his skin. “I’m fine. I was trying to stop him from bleeding out. This is his blood.”

The doctor shook her head. “No, sir, it looks like you’ve been shot. You’re arm is bleeding a lot. We need to get you inside.”

When he looked down again he saw the large, wet stain seeping through the black suit, saw the blood pouring from his fingertips. In an instant, the high of adrenaline fell away and his senses unearthed a piercing pain and a wave of dizziness.

He felt his body sway, helpless to correct it.

“I need a gurney over here!” The doctor hollered. Her arms shot out, attempting to steady him as he slumped against her.

Within moments he was horizontal. Stark florescent bulbs were flashing overhead, yet the darkness was stronger, blinking out the scanning scraps of light. Clinging to the swirl of muttering around him …
something about the brachial artery?
Archer clawed at consciousness. But the room faded to black.

“Hayes? Can you hear me?”

A flicker of light tugged at him, echoing white noises bounded in his head. He squinted against the harsh brightness.

“Hey welcome back, how’re you feeling?” Sal’s suit was rumpled, his youthful face lined with fatigue.

Archer glanced around. “What happened? Did they catch those kids? I can probably give a decent descript—”

“We got ’em, Hayes. They’d been hitting the neighborhood for months stealing prescription meds. Luckily, when you radioed it in, there was a squad car the next street over.”

“What about Frank?”

“Last I heard, he was still in surgery.”

Archer nodded and looked down at his bandaged arm. “And me?”

“You? You’re a freaking miracle, dude. They said from the amount of blood you lost, they were sure the bullet had severed your brachial artery, and you could have died in minutes. But when they got in there, it was a tiny nick so they sutured your artery. Just a flesh wound now. I’m pretty sure you can go home today.”

Relief and awe settled over him, as well as a deep niggling feeling that his life had been spared for a reason. He was always surviving. Just barely. But when would he really start living? Inexplicably he closed his eyes, breathing deep, uttering a silent prayer of gratitude for another chance.

Wait, was he … praying?

His eyes flew open. “What time is it?”

“Uhh, almost six thirty. Why?”

Ah, hell. “Where’s my phone?”

Sal walked to where a pair of scrubs had been left for him on a chair. The worthless POS phone on top with Archer’s belongings.

“Stupid phone. No signal. Even for an emergency dial. Can you believe that?” Archer growled his frustration and grabbed the phone from Sal.

“I’m gonna go talk to the nurse and see when we can bounce you outta here. Oh, and I might run down to the cafeteria, you want anything?” Sal looked far too excited about hospital food.

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

When Sal left, Archer dialed Sadie’s number. When her voicemail kicked in, he hung up the phone and lifted his hand to his forehead, pressing hard to relieve a nagging headache. This was not at all how he’d envisioned this day going.

His mind looped a cruel image of Sadie’s embarrassment—waiting for him at the table he’d requested on the rooftop overlooking the Arch, the minutes ticking by until she realized she’d been stood up, on their first date. He could almost see her, looking far too pretty and vulnerable—

Someone tapped on the door. Holding his breath, he wished for the fantasy that she would come rushing through the door and make everything all right.

Instead, the doctor had come to talk to him about the surgery and recovery process. Just before he was finished, Sal strode back into the room with a huge smear of cheese on his chin.

“Dude, you don’t know what you’re missing. Those nachos were the bomb.” Sal’s enthusiasm dwindled when he saw the doctor. “My bad, please continue.”

Archer laughed outright. The doc joined in, too. “I’ll have the nurse prepare your discharge papers.”

Sal waited until the doctor exited the room and shot Archer a befuddled look. “Was it something I said?”

Laughing again, he was more than grateful for a break from the somber mood. “You literally have a pound of nacho cheese dripping from your chin. How can you not feel that?”

As Sal reached up to wipe his face, the glob of cheese dropped down onto his inner arm and smeared across his white shirt.

The look on his face—confusion, then overblown indignation—was so
Sal
, Archer found himself laughing hysterically. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”

“Glad to help.” Sal said, clearly annoyed.

“You realize you’re only making it worse, right?” Archer chuckled again at the comedic performance of Sal attempting to clean himself up.

Sal shot him a pointed look. “Feel like walking home, Hayes? Cause the bureau took your car to get cleaned up—it looked like a butcher shop in there—and I have no problem leaving you here overnight to adjust your attitude.”

“Yeah, right. Now run along and find out when we can get outta here. Hospitals make me crazy.”

“Run along, Sal,” he mimicked, begrudgingly chucked a wad of wet paper towels into the trash, and then stomped out to the nurses’ station.

Over an hour later, Sal pulled up to Archer’s apartment building. “Thanks for the ride and for sticking around.” Sal was Archer’s partner, so it made sense that he’d come to the hospital. But that hadn’t been why he’d stayed. Little by little Archer was breaking down, letting Sal in. They’d become friends. And that was only the beginning of Archer’s problems.

Sal batted away the gratitude as if it was nothing. “You’re not coming in to work tomorrow, are you?”

“I’d like to, I’ll just need to figure out how to get there. Any idea when I get my car back?”

“You’re
supposed
to be taking it easy. But, I know better than to think that’ll stop you. I can come get you in the afternoon if you really want.”

“Awesome. I need to get to the bottom of this Westwick case before I lose my mind.” Archer eased his way out of the car. The sit-to-stand transition made him a little queasy, but he managed.

“All right worker drone, see you at noon.”

Entering his apartment, Archer tossed the pharmacy bag with the painkillers onto the counter, knowing he wouldn’t take any—even if he needed them. Trudging to his bedroom, he clumsily stripped down to his boxers using his good arm. He found his way to the soft oasis of his bed, wincing as the movements pulled at his wound. Once his head pressed against the pillow, it took only a moment for sleep to reel him in. But the last thought that hit like a bullet to his gut was of a certain gorgeous blonde who got stood up on a first date.

The morning hours crawled by. Archer felt aimless for the first time in as long as he could remember. No groceries meant he couldn’t make breakfast—not that he generally ate it anyways. No car meant he couldn’t go anywhere until Sal came to get him in two hours. Morning and daytime television consisted of court, cooking, and celebrity talk shows—none of which tempted him in the slightest.

He’d shaved, showered, and checked a few emails, but the clock felt like the enemy. Staying busy was the only means for survival. If he slowed down, the past would catch up with him and he’d have to go to battle again. He was no longer a soldier, but he was still fighting a war every day.