Race Against Time. Christy Barritt

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СКАЧАТЬ and the same young doctor strode inside. “Not right now. She needs to rest. Her body has been through serious trauma and she needs to recover. She can answer your questions later.”

       Brody stood. “Time is of the essence here, doc. The more time that passes, the less likely it is that we’ll find this guy.”

       “You’ll be the first person we tell when she’s rested up. But now I’ve got to insist that you leave.”

       Brody looked back at Madison and saw her eyes were closed. Reluctantly, he nodded and stepped from the room. He’d wait outside the door until she woke. In the meantime, he’d get a crime-scene crew out to her house to look for evidence.

       Who would do this to someone like Madison? He didn’t intend to slow down until he found out.

      * * *

       When Madison awoke again, her head pounded. She’d hoped the events of the day were simply a terrible nightmare, but the beeping of the heart monitor and the IV attached to her arm proved that the attack had been all too real. Tears filled her eyes, followed by relief that she’d survived and anger that the attack had happened at all.

       “Reid,” she whispered. Life had been so much easier when she’d had someone to share her burdens with. It still didn’t seem fair that her husband had been taken from her so early. They’d had so much of life left to share together.

       The drugs still made her mind feel sluggish, made her emotions harder to reign in. Her eyelids still drooped. Her limbs felt heavy.

       Brody’s face floated into her thoughts. Thank goodness for her neighbor. Though he’d not even given her the time of day since he’d moved in, at least he’d been there when she’d needed him.

       Madison had been put off when she’d first introduced herself to him. She’d only wanted to make the newcomer feel welcome in the neighborhood. But the man had acted as if she had made a pass at him and he’d wanted to send a clear “not interested” message. Sure, the man was handsome. Any woman would think so. He had thick, dark brown hair, even features, broad shoulders and towered at least six feet tall. He’d reminded her a bit of a Ken doll, which she didn’t find necessarily complimentary. Brody almost appeared too plastic, his eyes too lifeless.

       Besides, Madison hadn’t for a single minute been interested in another man since Reid died. She knew the kind of love they had was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. To find someone else who shared her faith in God, who understood her and respected her the way her late husband had didn’t seem like even a remote possibility. What they’d felt for each other had been beautiful and when Lincoln was born, life had seemed perfect.

      Lincoln.

       Her gaze darted the room, searching for a clock. Three thirty. Someone needed to pick up Lincoln from preschool. She had to call someone to get him.

       She swung her hand toward the phone on her nightstand, but her fingers fumbled. The device crashed to the floor with a loud jangle of metal and plastic.

       She threw her feet over the side of the bed. Her IV tugged at her wrist, the medical tape pulling at her skin. Her entire body felt like it might topple out of bed.

       Momentum seemed to pull her toward the floor and the room began to spin. Just then the door burst open. Brody rushed toward her. His strong hands caught her shoulders and eased her back into the hospital bed before she hit the floor.

       “What are you doing?”

       She pushed her head into her pillow, praying the wave of dizziness would pass. “Lincoln. My son. Someone needs to pick him up from preschool. He’s going to be scared, think I forgot him.”

       He cleared his throat. “I asked my cousin to pick him up for you.”

       Madison’s mind raced. “Kayla?” Kayla was one of Lincoln’s preschool teachers and also went to church with them. The two had recently struck up a friendship, but it was still new, not the kind of friendship where you asked for favors yet.

       “I know you two know each other, so I figured you’d trust her. I do.”

       Madison did trust Kayla and so did Lincoln. That was the important thing. She didn’t want her son to be freaked out by everything that had happened. “How’d you know someone needed to pick him up?”

       “I’m a detective. I’m paid to be observant.”

       “He can’t go to our home. Or see me like this. I should call her…” Her thoughts crashed into one another. She again started to reach for the phone, but Brody eased her back toward the bed.

       “Don’t worry. I asked her to take him to the park and to get some ice cream. He can stay with her as long as needed. You’ll probably be discharged today. You can both stay with her if you need to. I know she’d be more than happy to help out with Lincoln. Don’t tell her I told you, but I’m pretty sure he’s her favorite student. She talks about him all the time. Those kids are her life.”

       Some of the tension left Madison’s shoulders. Kayla’s bubbly personality connected with the preschoolers in her class, and since she was single and had no children of her own, her students did seem to be her life. “Wow. You thought of everything. Thank you.”

       He shrugged. “I just tried to put myself in your shoes.”

       “I appreciate it.”

       He glanced toward the door before looking back at her, a professional uptightness replacing his earlier sympathy. “Listen, I know the doctor hasn’t freed you to talk with me, but do you feel up to going over what happened?”

       She pushed herself up, trying to ignore her aching body as she gathered her wits. Did she really want to relive what had happened? “I just want to forget.”

       “Forgetting won’t get this man behind bars.”

       She touched the tender area around her neck, remembered the feeling of the rope there. Was it even possible to forget? Probably not. She was going to have to face this head-on if she ever hoped to move past it. Her hands trembled as she placed them in her lap.

       She glanced at the detective and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”

      THREE

      Madison’s fingers twisted the white blanket covering her. Her nails dug into the threads with enough force that the fabric separated and her fingertips scraped her legs. She twisted the blanket over and over as she tried to get a handle on her thoughts.

       The detective stood at her bedside, his green eyes, framed with thick lashes, looking at her intently. Each muscle in his body looked rigid as he stood poised to take notes on what she told him. If not for the flash of compassion she saw in the depths of his gaze every once in a while, she might feel intimidated.

       She had to get this over with. Share her story, do her part, then pick up her son and try to resume normal life.

       She’d learned how to make a new “normal” after her husband had died. She knew she could do it again. She had to. With Lincoln, she didn’t have much choice. Sitting around and feeling sorry for herself wasn’t an option if she wanted her son to have a happy childhood.

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