Willing. Lucy Monroe
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hurt her dad, they’d have a better shot at him in the small coastal town than the more anonymous metropolitan area surrounding Portland.
She drove without her lights until she hit the outskirts of civilization, glad for the three-quarter moon that lit the highway. Unless they were using night vision or radar, no one followed her. She made it to the nearest major hospital less than twenty minutes later, ignoring speed limits in the downtown district and pulling into the emergency parking lot with squealing tires and honking her horn.
Tyler McCall had not moved so much as a muscle during the entire trip. Emergency room personnel came rushing out, and her dad was on a stretcher headed into ER within minutes.
She spent the next half hour discretely securing the perimeter of her dad’s environment while the doctors examined him. She was leaning against the wall, surreptitiously watching the emergency room entrance, when a doctor in a white coat and with an energetic demeanor approached her.
“Miss McCall?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Dr. Wells. I’ve been treating your father.”
“And…”
“He has a nasty hit to the head, but he’s regained consciousness.”
Air escaped her lungs in a whoosh, and she sagged against the wall. “Can I see him?”
“Yes, but I think there’s something you need to know.”
“What?”
“He’s experiencing a certain level of confusion, and I believe it’s brought on because his memory has been compromised by the blow he received.” His mouth tightened with exasperation. “Not that he will admit it.”
That sounded like her dad, not to admit to weakness. It was a measure of the doctor’s powers of observation that he’d noticed anomalies in her dad’s behavior enough to make the diagnosis.
“He has amnesia?”
“Partial. He knows who he is, but avoided answering questions about where he had been or what he had been doing before the explosion.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t remember.”
“I get that impression, but he wouldn’t tell me what day it is either. He knows the year, but it’s my guess there are some gaps in his memory, and without his cooperation, we have no way of determining what they are.”
She almost wished the doctor good luck, but kept the facetious comment back. Her dad was stubborn and distrustful of authority. Apparently the doctor had already figured that out.
“Will his memory come back?”
“There’s no way of knowing, but in most cases, unless there is significant damage, the brain learns to rewire itself, going around the affected area and retrieving knowledge. Without a previous MRI to compare his current condition to, it’s hard to tell how widespread the impairment to brain tissue is. From what I can tell, it is limited to a small area in his left frontal lobe corresponding to a large external bump and gash.”
Her dad wouldn’t like knowing they’d been taking pictures of the inside of his head. He was funny about stuff like that, and they’d gotten away with it only because he’d been out cold, but it didn’t bode well for his mood when she got to see him.
“Anything else?”
“He has some surface bruising, but no internal damage.” She’d hedged when asked what had caused his injuries and could sense the doctor’s curiosity now.
“I’d like to see him.”
The doctor frowned, but nodded. “That might be best. Maybe you can convince him to cooperate in his treatment.”
That brought a cynical twist to her lips. “I can try.”
A nurse led her back to a curtained cubicle. Her dad was sitting up in bed, his eyes obviously unfocused, but scanning the room for any signs of danger nevertheless. The consummate soldier in crisis.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Josie-girl.”
She walked to stand beside the bed and laid her hand on his forearm. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll live.”
“The doctor thinks you’ve got partial amnesia.”
Her dad’s pale green eyes narrowed. “Damn impudence.”
She smiled, the first glimmer of humor sparking inside her since the ground shook beneath her feet. “Are you saying you don’t?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“No…” He put his hand to his head, his eyes closing, sweat breaking out on his brow. “There are gaps.”
“Don’t worry about it. The doctor said it will probably all come back eventually.”
“I suppose he thinks he knows because he used that fancy machine to look inside my brain.”
So, he knew about that already. “He was just trying to assess the level of damage.”
“If you say so.” But clearly her dad didn’t believe it.
She sighed. She supposed for a man who considered being asked for his middle name a gross invasion of privacy, and who had refused to go to a doctor in the decade since, an MRI would be over the top of his comfort level.
He opened his eyes and pinned her with a look he used for interrogation. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember that either?”
“No, but if it was serious enough to land me in this white prison, I think I should.”
“There was an explosion.”
“Where?”
“The office and your mock room, but the fire was spreading fast when I pulled you out.”
“You saved my life.”
She shrugged.
His jaw clenched. “I can’t remember what day of the week it is, and I sure as hell don’t know why someone tried to blow me up.”
She didn’t bother denying the explosion had been planned. Her dad’s instincts were better than hers, and hers were screaming the same thing. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back.”
He nodded and then winced, bringing his hand to his head again. “Damn, this hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
The next two hours were tense with Josie avoiding the probing questions of the ER staff and a duty officer who had been called in to try his luck when they were unsuccessful. She told them her dad had had a fall.
They were bothered because that didn’t explain the condition of her clothes or his. She refused to enlighten them, having learned a long time ago that no answer was a better form of evasion than adding lies on top of the initial one. Finally, a nurse came in to say they would be moving her dad to a private room for observation.
After the nurse left, her dad said, “Call Nitro.”
She supposed his new partner deserved to know their school had been blown to smithereens. “I will in the morning.”
“Now, Josie-girl.”
She frowned. Dawn was less than an hour away, and she could call Nitro an hour or so after that. “Why now?”
Confusion clouded her dad’s face. “I don’t know. Just do it.”
He didn’t like weakness, and he’d always been a bear when he was sick, so she didn’t take issue with his general-in-command tone.
“Okay, but if you don’t