The Christmas Target. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ am I not surprised?” he asked, his gaze dropping to her pajamas and then jumping to the IV pole.

      “You’d have done the same,” she responded.

      “True, but that doesn’t mean I approve. You have a concussion. You’re supposed to be resting.”

      “I’ll rest better after I see my grandmother.”

      “You won’t rest. You’ll be out hunting down your attacker unless someone is there to stop you.” He took her arm, the gentleness of his touch belying the irritation in his eyes.

      “No one would dare try,” she responded, jabbing at him like she always did. Usually, he jabbed right back, but this time he just shook his head.

      “How about we not test that theory, Stella? Because I have better things to do with my time than babysit someone who won’t follow the rules.”

      “I hope you’re not talking about me.”

      “I told you. You’re my assignment. Or rather, keeping you safe is.”

      “Since when?”

      “Since about two nanoseconds after you collapsed on your way to my car. Sit.” He gestured to the wheelchair that was near the bathroom door.

      “I’m not a dog.”

      “Trust me. I am very, very aware of that.”

      She was suddenly self-conscious in her wet pajamas. But this was Chance. He’d seen her looking a lot better, and he’d seen her looking a whole lot worse. They’d crossed a river together once, emerging on the other side soaked to the skin and shivering with cold.

      Yeah.

      This was Chance. There was nothing he didn’t know about her and no situation he hadn’t seen her in.

      She blushed anyway, dropping into the wheelchair so quickly that pain exploded through her head.

      Her eyes teared but she didn’t close them.

      If Chance realized how much pain she was in, he’d insist that she get back into bed. Truth? She didn’t think she’d have the energy to fight him. She felt so tired, she thought she could close her eyes and sleep forever.

      “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Chance muttered, grabbing the blanket and tossing it over her legs.

      “Did you ever think it was?”

      “No,” he replied, pushing the chair out into the hallway.

      There was too much noise there, too many lights—her head spun with all of it. She had to see Beatrice, though, and then she needed to talk to the sheriff. She didn’t have time to give in to pain or to lie in bed feeling sorry for herself.

      Someone had attacked her.

      She had to hold on to that, had to keep it in the front of her mind so that she stayed focused on the goal—find the guy, figure out his agenda.

      Maybe he’d been a vagrant, wandering through the woods, startled by a woman suddenly appearing.

      Maybe, but it didn’t feel right. The entire thing felt too coincidental.

      “Have you spoken with the sheriff?” she asked as Chance wheeled her into the elevator. “I know you said that they didn’t find the perp, but I’m wondering if they found anything else.”

      “They traced the guy to an old logging road that runs through the woods behind your property. They’ve cast tread marks that he probably left behind. Other than that, they’ve come up empty.”

      “That’s not the news I wanted.”

      “I know.”

      “Maybe he was a vagrant.” She tossed the theory out, because Chance was as likely to see the strengths and weaknesses in it as she was. More likely. He wasn’t concussed, and he wasn’t sitting in a wheelchair with bandages on his head.

      “Someone just moving through who was squatting out in the woods and panicked when you showed up?”

      “It’s possible, right?”

      “Anything is possible, Stell. That doesn’t make it likely. Right now, I don’t have enough information to speculate, but if I were going to guess, I’d guess the attack wasn’t random.” The elevator door opened, and he wheeled her out.

      “You’ve got a reason for that. Care to explain?”

      “You said there were two perpetrators.”

      “Possibly two,” she corrected.

      “I’ve never known you to make a mistake. If you say there might have been two, it’s because there probably were. If that’s the case, a squatter who panicked seems unlikely.”

      “Squatters don’t always live alone.”

      “It sounds like you want to believe the attack was random.”

      “Don’t you?”

      “I want to believe the truth. For right now, I’m keeping an open mind. Sheriff Brighton is still on the scene with half a dozen men. He said he’ll stop by the hospital when he’s finished. We’ll know more then.”

      “Did they—”

      “Stella, this isn’t your case. It’s not your mission. You are the victim, and you’ve got to let the local police handle the investigation.”

      “I plan to, but I’d like to talk to Cooper—”

      “You and the sheriff are on a first-name basis?”

      “We went to school together. I want to talk to him.”

      “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that. After you rest. The doctor said three or four days in bed.”

      She snorted, then wished she hadn’t. Pain shot through her skull and her ears rang.

      Up ahead, double wide doors opened into the ICU unit. Several nurses sat at a desk there.

      Stella scanned their faces, trying to see if she knew any of them. She volunteered at the hospital once a week. It kept her sane, helped her focus on something besides her own problems and her own sorrow. She probably knew half the nurses who worked there, but her vision was too blurry, everything dancing and swaying as she tried to focus.

      “Stella!” one of them cried, rushing around the counter and running toward her.

      Not a nurse. A volunteer.

      The uniform came into focus. The name tag. The pretty brunette. Karen Woods. A nursing student at the local college and the person who stayed with Beatrice when Stella had to be away from home for more than a few hours.

      She should have recognized her immediately.

      She СКАЧАТЬ