Debra Cowan – Wild Fire (страница 2)

He didn’t have all the details yet, but Jack Spencer, his friend and fellow cop who had caught this case, told him Shelby had been found unconscious in a house across the street from her fire station. The firefighters on Shelby’s shift had also found a dead woman—a dead burned woman-—in an upstairs bedroom.

Even at this late hour, the emergency room was half-full. Clay’s nostrils twitched at the mix of ammonia, antiseptic and sweat. Nurses barked orders. Doctors conferred down the hall. The admitting nurse, sitting behind a sleek curved counter, calmly directed people to take a seat or to the patient they sought.

Clay flashed his badge, even though it wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to get to Shelby. Fast. A short, trim nurse snagged his elbow to point him down the hall to the last trauma cubicle where his friend was being assessed. Three men in bunker pants, grimy boots and white, soot-streaked fire department T-shirts stood in a circle outside the curtain.

Clay recognized Jay Monroe, but not the others. His breath jammed in his lungs. He didn’t want to think about the last time he and Shelby had been in a hospital together, but the memory was all over him.

Shelby wasn’t hurt like her brother, his best friend, had been, Clay told himself. She wasn’t going to die—

He cut off the thought, reaching her room and nodding to the waiting firefighters. The curtain to her room, one of three used to evaluate emergency room admissions, was slightly open and Clay took a deep breath, schooled his features into what he hoped was a calm mask.

He stepped inside and saw she was alone. His heartbeat jackhammered in his chest.

“Clay?” Her voice was weak, her eyes unfocused and dark blue with pain under the grainy fluorescent lights. The bed had been raised to a half-sitting position, and Shelby reached out to him with her right hand.

“Hey, blue eyes.” He managed to keep his voice steady as he moved around the bed and squeezed her hand. Shelby wasn’t big on hugging or touching, but he could tell how rattled she was when she didn’t immediately release him. She was trembling.

His strong, athletic friend, who had competed in two triathlons, looked frail in her grimy white T-shirt and dark blue pants. Her black shoes smeared dirt over the snowy sheets beneath her. She was pale, the white bandage at her hairline and left temple glaring against her brown hair. Her soft features were pinched with pain.

His chest tightened. “This isn’t your way of getting out of that dinner for the mayor, is it?” he teased.

Instead of shooting back with some cute retort, she said, “I…don’t know.” Tears filled her eyes, rocking him. “Clay, I can’t remember anything.”

“You mean about how you got hurt?” he asked.

Her fingers tightened on his. “Yes.” She started to shake her head, then winced, releasing his hand to press hers to her temple.

“There’s something wrong with my wrist—” She lifted her right one. “And my head. Why can’t I remember?”

“What did the doctor say?”

“I…don’t know.” She frowned, panic edging into her voice. “She told me, but I couldn’t follow.”

Her words were slightly slurred. He wanted to calm her, wanted to calm himself. “I’ll find out. It’ll be all right.”

“The doctor said she would be right back.” Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. “How did you know?”

“Jack called me.” Clay wondered what Shelby had been doing alone at the scene of a fire.

“Jack knows?” Opening her eyes seemed to be a struggle. “Why?”

So she didn’t remember about the dead woman upstairs. Or maybe she hadn’t even known.

“Clay?”

“They found you on the lower floor of a house across from the station. You’d…fallen over the stair railing.”

She shook her head, confusion in her eyes. “Who found me?”

“The guys on your shift.”

“There was a fire? Why would I be there by myself?”

“Yeah, there was a fire. I don’t know much else.”

“But…why would Jack be called to a fire scene?”

Clay hesitated. Procedure between Presley’s police and fire departments stated that when PFD found a dead body in a fire, they worked to contain the blaze, then stopped and called Homicide. Shelby knew this, but that hit to the head had obviously jarred some things loose. “There was a woman in an upstairs bedroom,” he said as gently as he could. “She was dead.”

She touched a hand to her temple, her brow furrowing. “But I was at M.B.’s. I do remember going inside her house—” She gasped. “M.B.? Clay, is it M.B.? Is she dead?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” she choked out. “How? What happened?”

He really didn’t want to lay this on her right now. “I don’t have all the details yet.”

Other questions pressed harder at him. What had happened to Shelby? How had M. B. Perry died? As a result of that fire? All things Clay would have to find out.

A tear slipped down Shelby’s lightly tanned cheek. “M.B. is dead? I can’t believe it.”

Clay could hardly breathe past the relief that Shelby hadn’t met the same fate. He could have lost his best friend tonight. After what he’d been through with Megan and then losing Shelby’s brother Jason, standing in a hospital room with an injured Shelby had Clay almost panic-stricken. That had to explain this urge he felt to touch her again, hold her for just a minute. He rubbed a hand across his sweat-dampened nape. “There are some guys waiting outside to see you.”

“The doctor asked them not to come in yet.”

“Should I have waited?”

“No. I need you in here.”

“I called your mom. She’s on her way.”

An attractive blonde with a stethoscope hanging out of the pocket of a white lab coat breezed into the room. “Sorry I took so long, Shelby. I wanted to set up a CAT scan and wait for the X rays. Got ’em.”

She lifted a large manila file jacket. The woman’s hair was a mass of wild blond curls pulled into a ponytail. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was pretty and she gave Clay a faint smile.

Shelby raised a visibly shaking hand to the side of her head. “Clay, this is Doctor…I’m sorry.” Frustration tightened her voice. “What was your name?”

“Meredith Boren.”

“Dr. Boren,” Shelby repeated. “You’ve told me that before, haven’t you?”

“It’s all right. The confusion will pass and so will the difficulty you’re having concentrating,” the woman soothed, glancing at Clay. “Are you family?”

“Yes,” Shelby said before he could answer. He knew her mother would agree.

“You’ll probably ask the same questions for a bit,” the doctor said. “That’s due to the concussion. I expect that fogginess to dissipate in the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Concussion?” A new worry snaked through Clay. He’d gotten one years ago in a high school football game. But his had been mild; he’d suffered with only a headache, some nausea. His mind had never been this fuzzy, and he’d never forgotten anything. His voice was sharp with concern. “How long was she out?”

“We’re not sure.” The doctor’s sober gaze told him she was concerned, too. “The EMTs who brought her in said she was unconscious when they found her. She woke up a couple of times en route, but I’d estimate she was out at least five minutes.”

“That’s a long time.” Clay’s stomach knotted as he scanned Shelby’s heart-shaped face. She had an injured wrist, a cut and some bruises on her golden-ivory skin, but what was going on internally?

“I’ve looked at your X rays,” Dr. Boren said to Shelby. “Your wrist is sprained. We’ll need to wrap it and stitch up that gash at your hairline. That’s not what worries me, though.”

Clay stiffened. “What does?”

The woman’s warm gaze took in both of them. “Shelby, you have a grade three concussion. That’s pretty severe. The hit you took to the head had some momentum behind it.”

That put a hard knot in Clay’s chest. “Meaning she was pushed?”

“Or fell from some height.”

“I wish I could remember what happened,” Shelby said impatiently. “How long will this last?”

“I can’t say. With a grade three concussion, it’s possible the post-traumatic amnesia will last longer than twenty-four hours. I want to keep you overnight to monitor you and to see if your memory improves at all. At this juncture, I don’t think your skull is fractured, but I want to watch for a change in symptoms in case there’s a small hematoma I haven’t detected.”

Blood clot. Clay knew that much. His mind reeled with all the information, the sight of his strong, irrepressible buddy lying feebly in a hospital bed.

“Besides the confusion,” the doctor continued, “you’ll have headaches, dizziness, possibly some disturbance in your vision. I want to run a CAT scan and check for visible contusions on the brain.”

“What’s that, Doc?” Clay dragged a hand down his face.

“Bruising on the brain. Sorry.” The woman smiled.

“I can’t remember anything except walking into M.B.’s house.” Shelby frowned.

“Do you remember what time that was?” Clay asked. “Or why you went over in the first place? Did you see anyone else?”