Protecting His Witness. Marie Ferrarella
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He played dead for a moment, lowering his eyelids until all that remained opened were two tiny slits. Zack scanned the immediate area in front of him. He was lying on the floor of someone’s house.
Whose?
And for that matter, what was he doing on the floor, covered with a blanket? It wasn’t pulled over his head, so they—whoever “they” were—obviously didn’t think that he was dead. But why had they brought him here?
And, while he was at it, just where was here?
And what the hell was that searing pain all about? It threatened to take off the top of his head. The only way he could have felt worse was if he’d fallen headfirst into a wood chipper.
Zack struggled to extract his brain from the center of its cotton-batting prison. He needed to think clearly in order to piece things together.
He thought back. The last thing he remembered was going out into the alley behind the Internet café.
No, wait, the last thing he remembered was being shot and struggling with the man he’d been tailing. He’d tried to get possession of the man’s weapon before he could get off another shot. But it did go off again. And this time, the bullet had gone into the other man’s body.
Had it killed him?
Zack didn’t know. He always hit what he aimed for but this time, he wasn’t aiming. The discharge had been by accident, forced by the other man’s hand.
No, wait, that wasn’t the last thing he remembered, he amended again, desperately trying to hang on to loose, stray thoughts. He remembered trying to get away. He did get away. He’d managed to leave the strip mall and find his way into a development of white brick houses. A whole village of them. It was like something out of that silly fairy tale about the three little pigs. Except that he wasn’t the big bad wolf.
Even so, when he’d knocked on one door after another, nobody would let him in. No one would help him. And then, too weak to go on, he’d fallen to his knees before the last house.
After that, there was nothing. Had he passed out?
There was a woman on the sofa, dozing from the looks of it. Did he know her? He didn’t think so. He would have remembered a woman who looked like this one did, he thought. Even from this distance, with his eyes all but shut, he could see the woman with the curly brown hair had class. And looks.
Too bad he wasn’t going to meet her, but he really had to get out of here. There was someplace he had to be by noon. Dawn was breaking, so he judged that he still had some time left. But he had a feeling he wasn’t exactly himself today and that getting to where he had to be would require a lot of energy. If he didn’t make it in time, all hell could break loose. He knew that without being told. This was a delicate operation that required precise timing.
Removing the blanket from his body with a hand that felt incredibly stiff, Zack started to sit up.
The flash of sharp, excruciating pain was completely unexpected. So was the moan that involuntarily escaped his lips.
The woman on the sofa was awake and on her feet before he realized that the sound had come from him.
She had long, curly light brown hair and blue eyes that flashed as she came closer.
“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply, crossing to him.
He would have thought that would have been obvious. “Trying to get up.”
“Wait,” she cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She squatted down beside him. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”
Why did that sentence sound so familiar to him? As if he’d just heard it moments ago. But that was impossible. He had a feeling he’d been out at least several hours.
Shaking off any extraneous thoughts, he tried to do the same with the woman. “I can get up by myself,” he told her.
“No, you can’t.” She said it with such authority, he almost believed her. “If you strain yourself, you’ll wind up breaking open your stitches.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Now, lean on me and let me help.”
No matter what she sounded like, the woman looked like a delicate little thing. Just proved that looks could be deceiving. The strength he felt in her hands as she wrapped one around his waist surprised him.
Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, getting up was a lot easier with her help.
She got him up and onto the sofa. But he didn’t want to sit, he wanted to leave. Had to leave. Still, he was grateful for the momentary respite. Just getting to his feet had taken a lot out of him. He wasn’t used to playing the invalid.
Breathing hard, he mumbled, “Thanks.” After a beat, his breathing more regulated, he asked her, “How did I get here?”
She watched his face as she answered, looking for some telltale sign that this was a ruse. So far, he seemed genuinely confused. “I found you on my doorstep and dragged you inside.”
Zack frowned. “Why didn’t you call the police?” That would have been what most people would have done—if they would have done anything at all. If this had happened in one of the more metropolitan areas, the good citizens of that city would have probably walked right by him, pretending not to notice that he needed help.
She saw no reason to embellish on the truth. “You were bleeding and had a bullet wound. I didn’t know if calling the police would have gotten you into more trouble.”
“More?” he echoed.
“You were wounded,” she pointed out. “That seemed like enough trouble for one person for the time being.” She saw him glancing down at his side. Raising his bloodstained shirt, he exposed the large gauze bandage that wrapped around his rib cage. “I took the bullet out,” she explained matter-of-factly, second-guessing his next question.
He let the shirt drop back into place. “You a doctor?”
Kasey congratulated herself on not batting an eyelash. Instead, she nonchalantly shook her head. “No. I work in a secondhand bookstore.”
He raised a perplexed eyebrow at her answer. “I don’t follow.”
“I do a lot of reading in my spare time,” she elaborated, adding, “I particularly like reading medical books.”
He supposed that made sense, in an odd sort of way. He couldn’t argue with the fact that she’d taken out the bullet. He spotted it in the center of a coaster on the coffee table.
“Lucky for me you retained what you read,” he commented, amused.
She merely nodded. Getting up off the sofa, Kasey glanced toward the window. The sun was up. Time for her to get ready for work even though she’d had approximately an hour’s worth of sleep. The television set was still on, softly droning in the background. Someone was extolling the virtues of a newly developed body cream that did everything up to and including finding Prince Charming.
Turning off the set with her remote control, Kasey turned toward the man she’d helped.
Logically, she should be ushering him on his way. She’d taken out his bullet, sewed him up and let him sleep on her floor. It was time for him to go.
And yet, caring for him had awakened the person she’d once been. The person she liked. It prompted her to take another step into the world of kindness. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, she silently argued. “Would you like something to eat?”
The moment she asked, Zack became aware of the gnawing pain in his belly. It wasn’t giving him discomfort because he’d been shot. He was hungry. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Was it yesterday morning? The night before that? Zack couldn’t recall. His line of work didn’t encourage sticking to any sort of a reliable schedule.
He nodded in response to her question.