White Night

Chapter 38

The voices sounded far away, muffled and echoing, as shadows moved in front of Michael. Bright lights and unfamiliar shapes filled the room, but the words grew louder, clearer.

Stable now...probably sleep for a few hours...

Nerve damage...brachial plexus cords...

Lucky to be alive...

Michael didn't feel lucky.

The voices dropped to a whisper and everything went black.

The next time he came to, the room was quiet except for a rhythmical electronic chirp. Too slow to be his alarm clock waking him up for work, it almost matched the second hand on the wall clock. As he lifted his head, he found the source—his heartbeat on a monitor.

The chirp started to outpace the clock as he noticed the dark shape to his right. A woman sat in the chair next to his bed, her eyes closed and her head resting against the wall. She was familiar, but he wasn't sure if he was happy to see her. She had a slender figure, with dark hair pulled back, and a sharp, attractive face, but he still felt uneasy. Then he remembered.

Detective Connors. You're not happy to see her.

He couldn't run if he wanted to—a needle was taped into his arm, a small red clip glowed on his finger, and there was a three-second delay between his brain asking and his body responding to any movement. But for the first time in days, a steady dull ache was all he could feel in his shoulder, that and a wicked itch.

He reached to scratch it, but something snatched his hand back, biting into it and jerking it backward.

The cop's eyes flew open and she lurched forward, her hand on her hip.

His arm was cuffed to the bed.

"What the hell?" He stared at her, raising a shackled wrist.

"How are you feeling?" she replied, dodging the question.

"Constrained."

"We couldn't take the chance you'd run again," she replied, her unrelenting stare stabbing holes in his outrage. "Michael, I need to talk to you."

"Go ahead, I'm a captive audience," he snapped. He'd come back to get her with his truck, ramming the gunmen and saving her life, and she cuffed him?

"You said you thought a cop was involved," she continued without apology.

"I don't think, I know."

"Fine. How do you know?"

Opening his mouth to tell her it was her own partner, he froze. What if she already knew and was fishing to find out if he was a threat to them? The wrong answer could kill him.

He'd driven back to get her in the alley because he believed she was clean and maybe the only cop that wanted to help him. Besides, he knew he wouldn't survive much longer without help, but what if he was wrong about her?

"Do you know who it was?"

"A man."

"Tall? Short? Thin? Fat?"

It was private room, no nurses in sight. There was a call button on the bed, but she could smother him before a nurse arrived.

"Medium build, medium height."

She moved toward the bed. "What did he look like?"

"I didn't get a good look at him." His gaze dropped to the floor.