Broken Trust. Sharon Dunn

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СКАЧАТЬ paper, yes, but I know Angus. I know his heart. I know his history, and that counts for something around here.” She turned away from him. “I’m sorry it’s not the lead you were hoping for.”

      A noise from the parking lot caused them both to turn. Christine saw a flash of red as Randy Stiller ran away from an older-model car. Randy had been in trouble more than once. Christine had promised Randy’s mother she’d keep an eye on him. What was he up to now? “Randy, hey.” The boy stopped and made eye contact. The guilty look on his face told her everything she needed to know. The kid was up to something. “Stop right there, Randy.” She stepped out into the parking lot and chased after him.

      She’d gone ten paces when an explosive boom surrounded her. A force of wind and heat threw her backward. Debris flew around her. Metal clattered as her body impacted with hard concrete. Everything went dark.

      THREE

      Even before the last piece of metal clattered to the ground, Wyatt dived into the fiery aftermath of the car bomb. He inhaled thick smoke, coughing.

      He registered the fire that shot out from what remained of the car and heard the cacophony of panicked voices around him. But all of the noise and mayhem was like a radio turned down low. All he could see, all he could think about was Christine. The blast had tossed her sideways and now she lay motionless, forty feet from the burning car.

      She wasn’t moving. The percussive thrum of his heart beating in his ears blocked out all other sound as though he were in a tunnel that led directly to her. He ran. Feet pounding pavement. He dived to the ground beside her and felt for a pulse at her neck.

      She was alive.

      With his hand still cupping her cheek, he leaned closer. She looked so pale and lifeless. “Christine, can you hear me?”

      No response.

      Dear God, let her be okay.

      He jerked back when he saw the blood soaking through the collar of her torn coat.

      A hand squeezed his shoulder. “What can I do?” The voice was calm, authoritative.

      He looked up into the eyes of an older man in a suit. “She needs medical attention now.”

      “The hospital is just down that way.” The older man pointed. “I can call.”

      “How far is it?” He could see the two-story white building with the blue symbol for hospital over the other buildings.

      “Three blocks. One down, two to the west.”

      “It would be faster if I took her.” He lifted Christine. She was like a rag doll in his arms. He turned, finally able to absorb what was going on around him. A crowd had formed on the sidewalk not far from the burning car. “Do you work here?”

      “I’m the principal of the high school. Is Christine going to be okay?”

      Wyatt didn’t stay around to answer the question. Holding Christine close to his chest, he ran across the lot toward the sidewalk. Without slowing his pace, he crossed the street, grateful that the hospital was clearly marked.

      Christine moaned. She opened her eyes. Her gaze was unfocused.

      Still running and out of breath, Wyatt looked down at her. He could lose her. So much had gone unsaid between them. “Just for the record—” he gasped for air “—I did love you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

      As quickly as she had opened them, her eyes closed. He was only yards from the hospital entrance.

      A woman in a nurse’s smock and a man stood outside the door. When they saw Wyatt coming, they pushed a gurney toward him.

      The nurse spoke. “Principal Slater phoned ahead. Put her on this, and we’ll get her inside.”

      He laid Christine’s limp body down. The medical team pushed her through the doors where a third man had come outside to hold the doors. Wyatt stepped inside, prepared to follow the gurney down the hall.

      The third man gripped Wyatt’s elbow, stopping him. “They need to get her stabilized. It would be better if you waited out here.”

      A sense of emptiness filled Wyatt as he watched the gurney disappear around a corner. “What?” He couldn’t comprehend what the man was saying. All he could think about was Christine. There had been no life in her eyes when she’d looked at him. He wanted to be with her.

      “I’m sorry, sir, are you a relative?”

      “I’m … I’m …” Who was he to her anymore? “I’m a friend. We knew each other years ago.”

      “So, you’re not a relative.” The man scurried behind a desk and pulled forms out of file cabinets. “I know Maggie Norris. I’ll give her a call. She can come in and fill out the paperwork.”

      Wyatt felt himself going numb as a sense of helplessness invaded his thoughts.

      “Sir, why don’t you have a seat? As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.” The man’s printer fired to life spewing out forms.

      “I want to be with her.” Wyatt’s voice was barely above a whisper.

      “I can appreciate that, but you are going to have to wait.”

      His heart was still jackhammering in his chest from the exertion and the adrenaline. “When will they know?”

      The phone rang, and the man behind the desk gave short, quick answers and then said, “All right, I’ll give Dr. Quaid a call.”

      Wyatt rose to his feet. “Was that about Christine?”

      The man held the phone in midair as though he were debating if he should tell Wyatt or not. “It looks like she is going to need a surgeon. We don’t have one on staff. This is only a twenty-bed facility.”

      Desperation bombarded his thoughts. “How long will that take?”

      “The more you interrupt me, the longer it will take.” The man’s words were forceful but calm. “I can see you are concerned about her.”

      Wyatt backed down. Unable to sit still, he paced and waited and prayed. His breathing slowed and his heart rate returned to normal. Finally, he stumbled to the plastic waiting-room chairs and slumped down. His thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour.

      What if she didn’t make it?

      Christine awoke in a fog… not sure of where she was or what had happened. She opened her eyes, but shut them quickly in reaction to the bright light. As she struggled to orient herself, a strong, warm hand squeezed hers.

      “Hey, sleepyhead. There you are. How are you doing?” The voice was filled with concern.

      The voice was Wyatt’s. That rich tenor tone had always stirred her up inside. She turned her head, which caused pain to shoot through her shoulder. “Could you … could you … turn off those lights?”

      “Sure, sure.” His warm touch СКАЧАТЬ