A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

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СКАЧАТЬ of her. He tended the scrapes on her knees and hands and left the question-and-answer part of the program to Grant. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

      She glanced over his shoulder to the doorway with her good eye. “Okay.”

      Once her wounds were clean, he really thought the cut above her eye needed stitches more than the glue and small bandages in the first aid kit. Grant came in and offered her a bottle of water and a bag of ice, then retreated. She passed the basic concussion protocol, but he thought she should be evaluated by a physician anyway.

      “What’s the word?” Grant asked, stepping into the office again.

      “Some good news. Nothing points to a serious concussion,” Carson replied as he peeled off the gloves. “Still, she should probably go to the hospital.”

      “No!” The bag of ice landed in her lap, her hands clutching it tightly. “No hospital.” She tried to scoot the chair back out of his reach, but in her weakened state, she didn’t get far.

      “Relax.” Grant, perched on the edge of his desk and arched an eyebrow at Carson before turning back to their guest. “Put the ice back on your cheek,” he said, motioning to the ice pack in her lap. “Now take a breath,” he added when she’d done as he instructed. “Why did you come here to the club?”

      “No hospital,” she repeated, wincing as she shook her head. “C-can’t go to a hospital.”

      Carson signaled Grant to back off. Her breathing had turned rapid and shallow, and her pulse had leapt into overdrive.

      “Okay, hospitals are not an option. I get it. Just relax. You’re safe here with us.” Grant’s tone was full of soothing calm. “How did you hear about Alexander?”

      Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her eyebrows dipped low over those wide brown eyes.

      “I—I don’t remember.” She swallowed.

      “That’s not unexpected based on your injuries,” Carson said quietly.

      “Carson would know,” Grant added. “He’s a paramedic and I’m a former cop. You don’t know us, but we are trustworthy. Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

      She ignored Grant, staring at Carson with her good eye, the other hidden by the ice pack. “You’re Carson?”

      “Yes. Carson Lane.” She didn’t look familiar to him, but something in the way she studied him, something about the way she said his name, made him uneasy. “Have we met?”

      “I don’t know.” Under the denim jacket and pale blue T-shirt, her shoulders shuddered as she sucked in another breath and tremors set in.

      Carson looked around. “I’ll go find a blanket or something.”

      “I’ll do it.” Grant moved faster than Carson, leaving him alone with the woman again.

      A dozen questions rolled through his mind, but considering her physical and emotional state, he kept them to himself. He wished she would at least give them her name.

      Grant returned with a blanket and Carson draped it over the woman’s narrow shoulders, tucking it around her and pulling it down as far as it would go to cover her legs. Her feet were likely still chilled, but it was the best they could do at the moment. She needed real medical attention at a hospital. Was she afraid of one particular hospital or all hospitals?

      “Do you have a wallet or purse with you?” Grant asked, settling behind his desk this time rather than on it.

      Fat tears spiked her dark lashes and rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t think so. I can’t remember anything.” She clutched the ice pack in her lap again.

      “Only the matchbook,” Carson answered, showing it to Grant. Every instinct hammered at him to make this better, but he didn’t know how.

      “Hmm.” Grant was doing something on his computer, likely checking for any breaking reports involving a woman of her description. “No missing persons,” he murmured almost to himself. “I could run prints.”

      “She’s been through something,” Carson said. “If she doesn’t want to talk about it...” He left the implication hanging out there. He wished there was a woman around who could ask if she’d been raped. He wasn’t comfortable with those questions in this particular setting. “She doesn’t know what day it is, not the year or season.”

      “What is the last thing you do remember?”

      Grant’s query was met with another fat tear trailing the others. “I remember getting out of the cab. Seeing you.” She turned that good eye to Carson again.

      He knew concussions could mess up a person’s memory, but she didn’t have symptoms of that problem. This sounded more as if there had been significantly more emotional trauma involved. Without a battery of tests, there was no way to know the validity, cause or even prognosis of her amnesia.

      He reached out and took her hand. “You need to be seen by a doctor.”

      “Please. No. I...” She struggled with something and gave up. “I don’t know why. I just know I can’t do that. No doctors, no hospitals. Whatever you’ve done for me is enough. I’ll be okay.”

      Carson disagreed. The stark terror in her good eye at the mention of more comprehensive medical care worried him. Had she been attacked at a hospital or possibly escaped a psych ward?

      “How about this?” Grant said with infinite calm and patience. “Carson can keep an eye on you for a few hours. Just until morning.”

      Carson gawked at his boss. “You can’t be serious. I’m no doctor.”

      “A point in your favor based on the patient’s preference. You can handle the observation through the night, right?”

      “Anyone here can do that.” Someone else, anyone else, should have done that. Grant’s wife, Katie, had been at the club earlier, and rumor was she always waited up for Grant to get home. The two of them would be a better team to help this woman through the night than Carson.

      “You’re the most qualified. You know what symptoms require her to go to the ER.” Grant held up a hand as the woman protested. “Whether you want that or not, I’m not taking a chance you’ll get worse after coming to us for help. Carson is the best person to watch over you tonight.”

      She sighed, her lips tight.

      “I understand it’s uncomfortable, and I’m open to another option. Would you like us to take you home or call a friend or family member for you?”

      * * *

      A fresh bolt of panic shot through her like white-hot lightning streaking through a dark sky. The sensation left her gasping. She knew what they were asking. She knew what it meant to call someone. She just couldn’t remember the numbers or names that would connect her to someone familiar. The concept of family made her feel marginally better and a thousand times worse, though the word didn’t induce quite as much dread the way friend did. Alexander was the name on the matchbook, and Grant and Carson were here and had been kind to her. Those three names were the extent of her world.

      She СКАЧАТЬ