Her Stolen Past. Lynette Eason
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fist and connected with a cheekbone. He cried out and cursed, but let go.
* * *
“Sonya? Are you in here?”
“Missy! Get back!” Sonya moved and slammed into the bench. Pain shot through her knee and she heard Missy scream as the man raced through the open door. Sonya spun to see Missy shoved against the door and the dark-clothed figure disappear around the corner. Commotion escalated like a cresting wave. She thought she heard Frankie holler, then pounding feet.
Sonya sank to the floor and lifted a hand to her bleeding throat, wondering how deep the wound was. Weakness invaded her. Mentally, she knew she needed to get up and get help, but her body wouldn’t cooperate with her. Shock held her in a tight grip.
Then Brandon was beside her. “I need a doctor in here!” To Sonya, he said, “Let me see.” He removed her hand and she thought she saw relief flash in his eyes. “I think it’s just a surface wound.”
“It stings,” she whispered, “but doesn’t really hurt. My knee hurts worse.” She tried to laugh but wasn’t sure she succeeded when he grimaced.
“Sonya?”
She glanced up at Dr. Eddie Ryan’s concerned voice.
“Hey, Eddie,” she whispered. Security and police officers were already on the scene. They must have been close by. The observation almost made her laugh. She’d just had her throat cut and she was thinking about the proximity of law enforcement. Too bad they hadn’t been around when she’d been attacked.
Brandon moved back and let Eddie take his spot.
“Who did this?” Eddie asked without taking his eyes from her neck.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Someone who’s decidedly unhappy with me. Is Missy okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Hearing Missy’s shaky voice sent relief pouring through her.
“Unhappy with you?” Eddie snorted. “I’ll say.” He looked up and spoke to one of the nurses. “Let’s get her into a vacant room. Looks like she might need a stitch or two. Call the pharmacy and get me a prescription for an antibiotic.” He wrote the script, then looked back at Sonya. “I’m assuming your tetanus vaccination is up to date.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She looked at Brandon. “Where’s Frankie?”
“He went after your attacker,” he said. “Security is helping him. We should hear in a bit that he’s in custody. Now, let’s get you taken care of.”
Then hands were helping her into the wheelchair that had been called for. “I don’t need this. I can walk.”
“Sh.” Brandon laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sit.”
Since she didn’t think she could stand, much less walk as she’d said she could do, she bit her tongue on any further protests.
Thirty minutes later, she had two black stitches in the worst part of the cut, had downed the prescribed antibiotic and was waiting impatiently for Brandon to reappear. Thankfully, the wound was numb and she wasn’t in any pain at the moment, but she was grateful for the little bottle of pain pills in her purse for when the numbing medicine wore off.
She wanted to go home and sleep, but more than that, she wanted to head over to the Bradleys’ house. Brandon had wanted to cancel the meeting, but she’d asked him to just postpone it if that was all right with the Bradleys. She didn’t want to wait a moment longer than necessary to talk to them.
Doubtful, he’d done as she’d asked and now she itched to go. To get the visit over with. To determine once and for all that she was not Heather Bradley.
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