L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

He straightened, moved closer to her again. “You said I didn’t trust you. Well, I’m going to trust your word that you’ll tell me everything you find out.”

Shit. “Luther . . .”

“I’ll trust you to be careful. I’ll trust you—but you have to trust me, too.”

Damn it, did he have to drag her nonexistent integrity into this?

A voice over the PA called for Detective Cross. Luther didn’t move. He waited, and Gaby, seeing so few choices, accepted his offer. “Fine.”

He nodded and reached for the door.

When he had it open, Gaby said, “But Luther?”

He looked back.

She felt on the precipice of something insane, unimagined—something once so far out of reach that now loomed within her grasp.

If she went through the threshold, it could liberate her.

Or kill her.

Luther turned to fully face her. “What is it?”

Taking a huge leap of faith, Gaby whispered, “Believing what I tell you isn’t always going to be easy.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out his hand for her.

An olive branch. Acceptance. Maybe more?

Hating her own weakness, Gaby took his hand.

His fingers curled warmly around hers. One corner of his mouth lifted with humor, with relief, and with promise. “I’ve found that where you’re concerned, Gabrielle Cody, nothing ever is.”

A plump, gray-haired doctor met Luther and Gaby in the hallway outside of the room where Bliss rested. “You’re her family?”

“Not quite.” Luther showed his badge, then introduced himself.

The doctor held out a hand. “I’m Dr. Bolton. I apologize for your long wait. The patient—” He referred to a clipboard. “—Bliss, was drugged with a high dose of Midazolam.”

High dose . Gaby seethed. When she found the one responsible, she’d get her retribution.

Well, except that Luther hoped to tag along, and he might be averse to her chopping up the jerk and feeding him to the carp in the river.

Unaware of Gaby’s frothing anger, Luther asked, “Midazolam? That’s one of the date rape drugs, right?”

The doctor nodded. “It’s a powerful anesthetic used in minor surgery because it leaves patients unable to remember what has happened to them.”

Luther glanced at Gaby, then back to the doctor with frustration. “In other words, it’s perfect for kidnapping someone.”

“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Bolton took off his glasses and rubbed tired eyes. “In this patient’s case, she had an adverse reaction to the drug, which affected her breathing and caused the vomiting. We flushed out her system. Her stomach is calmer, and she’s resting easier now, but I’d like to keep her overnight for observation. I don’t expect any problems, so she should be able to go home in the morning.”

Both men excluded Gaby from their discussion, which suited her just fine. It gave her time to let her thoughts connect into some sort of coherent order.

Luther rubbed the back of his neck in a show of exhaustion. “Is Bliss able to answer some questions about the attack?”

“Physically, she’s stable. Other than some bruises and scratches, which I gather she sustained while escaping the car, she doesn’t have any serious injuries.”

“So I can talk with her?”

The doctor tapped his eyeglasses against his thigh. “It won’t hurt anything, but I don’t know how much help she can be at this point. Emotionally, she’s still very confused and upset. Midazolam often has a residual ‘hangover’ effect. Your young lady was given such a large dosage that she’s still suffering the effects of sleepiness, impaired psychomotor and cognitive functions. Overall, she seems very confused about what happened to her.”

Every word caused Gaby more pain. She could only imagine Bliss’s discomfort and fear.

“How long till her head clears enough to tell us what happened?”

“Hard to say.” A nurse came to the doctor with a message. He read it, then returned his attention to Luther. “It may persist into tomorrow. In fact, she could feel drowsy, tired, or weak for two days or more.”

“Jesus,” Luther swore.

The doctor commiserated with a pat on Luther’s shoulder. “Don’t push her. The quality that makes Midazolam medically valuable, namely clinical amnesia, is precisely what enables others to use it as an effective date rape drug. Victims are unable to give an accurate account of what happened to them, and testing for the drug is difficult. It breaks down rapidly and disappears from the system within forty-eight hours, making its detection in criminal cases problematic. In this case, because of her reaction to the drug, we were able to do a blood test right away.”

Remembering the violent way that Bliss heaved, Gaby asked, “It’s uncommon for most people to get as ill as she got?”

The doctor studied Gaby only a moment before replying. “Fortunately for surgery patients, yes. But because of how she reacted, I’d like someone to stay with her for a few days, just to keep an eye on her.”

“She won’t be alone,” Gaby told them, vowing it as much to herself as to anyone else. “Can we go in to see her now?”

“By all means. But be patient if she falls asleep on you.”

Luther thanked the doctor as Gaby moved to the door.

She abhorred hospitals. Too much of her time had been spent trapped within the sterile walls, her ears assaulted by the clinical concern of staff. Father’s disease had left him lost in his own misery, a stranger in a disease-defiled body. But Gaby, hale and hearty throughout it all, had obtained a visceral detestation of all things related to hospital care.

Father had died a slow, agonizing death, and Gaby, with her special ability, had felt it with him.

She felt it still—whenever she entered a hospital. Her pulse raced, her skin became clammy. Her throat ached and her stomach burned.

But this was a different situation. This was Bliss, and she would be okay.

Pushing the door open, Gaby strode in with the feigned comportment of a person in charge. At the first sight of her friend, she stalled.

Bliss lay limp in a sterile white bed, her brown hair clean but matted, her makeup smudged everywhere it shouldn’t be. The faded, striped hospital gown swallowed her feminine frame, making her look like a small, defenseless child.

“Hey,” Gaby whispered, unsure if Bliss slept or not. Equally unsure if she wanted to wake her.

Bliss’s eyes opened with drowsy delay, focused on Gaby, then filled with glistening tears. “Gaby.”

It was the oddest thing, to be wanted like this.

To be needed. Trusted.

Propping her hip on the side of the narrow cot, Gaby scowled down at Bliss, but kept her voice soft. “Now, Bliss, don’t you dare start bawling. There’s no reason. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“No.” Her bottom lip quivered as she clutched at Gaby’s arm. “Please.” Casting frightened, leery glances at Luther, she implored in a low, hushed voice, “Get me out of here.”

Standing at the foot of the bed, Luther studied her. “How old are you, Bliss?”

As if in great pain and immeasurable panic, Bliss groaned aloud and dragged the bedsheet up to her chin.

Gaby rolled her eyes. “Relax, Bliss. Luther’s no dummy. He’s already figured out that you’re underage and likely a runaway.”

Luther said nothing.

Gaby patted Bliss’s hand. “He’s the heroic sort, which means he’s not going to let anyone send you back to a situation worse than the one you’re in now.”

With mocking irony, Luther agreed. “Worse than this? That’s hard to imagine.”

Bliss groaned again.

“Luther,” Gaby warned, “you know what I mean.”