“Lord save and keep me, I swear…” With a huff, the nurse pushed out of her chair and stepped around the high countertop. Heavyset with a round face and dark skin, she drilled Goth Guy with another look. Running shoes squeaking, she approached the side of J. J.’s bed. “You do realize there’s a difference between efficient and ridiculous, don’t you?”
“Just trying to help,” he murmured, the gleam in his eyes a little, well… J. J. didn’t know exactly. Unsettling? Untrustworthy? Aggressive with a touch of amusement? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. She could be imagining things. Might be a tad off her game, fuzzy in the mental realm considering the IV pumping painkillers into her body. “So… where you want her?”
Suspicion took a turn across the nurse’s face. Her eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t recognize you. What’s your name?”
“New guy.” Big hands flying, he tapped against the headboard as though playing a big drum finale. Rhythmic sound carried, rising in the quiet to drift down the deserted corridor. “All right, I’m outta here. Take good care of her, nurse.”
“Hang on just a minute, mister. I need your—”
“Nah, you don’t.”
The nurse frowned at him.
He winked at her. A moment later, his gaze flicked down to meet J. J.’s. His mouth curved, he tipped his chin at her, then let go of the end of her bed. “Catch yah later, sunshine.”
As he turned away, J. J. blinked, the nickname catching her by surprise.
“Impertinent bugger.” Looking fifty shades of pissed off, the nurse watched the guy lope back toward the elevators. As he disappeared around a corner, she shook her head. “Double-damned idiot. Don’t know where they find them these days, but that one needs an attitude adjustment.”
“Driving lessons too.”
The nurse’s lips twitched. “Shook you up a bit, did he?”
“Feeling like a James Bond martini over here.”
“Ha! Shaken, not stirred. Good one, hon.”
Thank you would’ve been the thing to say. But as J. J. opened her mouth, her throat closed, and the words wouldn’t come. The burn of nausea, though, was right on time, exploding with inferno-like pressure up her windpipe. As her gag reflex kicked in, muscles bore down, twisting her abdomen into knots. Turning her face into the pillow, J. J. moaned.
“Hell in a handbasket.” Leaping toward the nurses’ station, the nurse grabbed something off the counter. Back in a flash, she cupped J. J.’s nape and lifted her head. As J. J. dry heaved over the kidney-shaped container, stitches pulled, making her skin scream. She whimpered. The nurse murmured, her tone soothing, her instructions no-nonsense. “Breathe through it now. In through your nose, out your mouth. That’s it, kiddo. You got it.”
Sweat broke out on her forehead. The chills set in, making her teeth chatter. Clinging to the sound of the nurse’s voice, J. J. listened to her heart pound. The throb multiplied, beating triple-time as she dry heaved again, cresting another excruciating wave. But as she tripped down the other side, dipping into agony’s valley, something miraculous happened. Numbness set in, helping her muscles unlock. She drew a lungful of air, thankful she could breathe at all.
“All right now. There we go.” Still holding the impromptu puke bucket, the nurse cupped her wrist. Pressing her fingers to J. J.’s pulse point, she glanced at the wide-faced clock hanging on the wall beyond the high counter. “Much better. Your pulse is evening out. Keep up with the breathing. I’ll get you sorted out.”
Curled on her side now, J. J. nodded, liking the plan. Especially if sorted out meant another round of painkillers.
“Good.” Releasing her, she set J. J.’s hand down on the mattress. “So there are a few things you should know. I’m Nurse Ashford. I’ll be looking after you for a while. How are you doing? Better?”
J. J. dipped her chin, the movement slight. Not much in the way of a response, but it was the best she could do. All she could manage as her muscles twitched in protest, nausea still circling as fatigue set in.
“Demerol will do that to a body,” Nurse Ashford said, tone soft and full of sympathy. Adjusting the blanket, she smoothed the bunched fabric and met J. J.’s gaze. Her hand reached out. J. J. tensed, unaccustomed to being touched, expecting the worst. But the worst never came. Instead, Ashford smiled and gave her knee a gentle pat. “Don’t you worry, Jamison. You’ll be feeling better in no time. Peace and quiet. Lots of rest is what you need. The doctor will be down to check on you soon, but for now, let’s get you settled, shall we?”
Kind words wrapped in concern.
The tears J. J.’d been holding back rushed to the surface. As her vision blurred and her chest went tight, she swallowed, fighting the onslaught. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. Experience was a great teacher, but… wow. She hadn’t expected that. Not the patience. Nor the kindness. Convicted felons, as a rule, didn’t get much from anyone. Didn’t deserve any either. But as Ashford kept up the chitchat and got them rolling, the squeak of wheels echoing down the corridor, gratefulness made a home inside J. J.’s heart. A gift. Whether the nurse knew it or not, she’d given her an incredible gift. One that handed J. J. her dignity. Made her feel normal. Valued. Like a real person instead of a degenerate for a change.
“Nurse Ashford?”
“What is it, kiddo?”
“Thank you.” Tilting her head, she glanced at the nurse.
“Don’t give it another thought. I got a brother on the inside and things are never what they seem.” Expression serious, the nurse’s brown eyes met and held hers over the rim of the headboard. “Are they, Jamison?”
“No, ma’am,” she said, her voice whisper thin.
The pace gentle—very un-Goth Guy–like—Ashford pushed her past one of the hospital rooms. Slid to one side, the clear glass door stood open, allowing J. J. an unobstructed view of the inside. Her mind took a snapshot, cataloging details, relaying information. Pale walls, the soft beep of medical machines, a wooden U-shaped wall unit surrounding the bed and… nope. Not hers. Someone occupied room number 532 already, the large lump in the center of the bed a dead giveaway. Glancing farther down the corridor, she spotted another doorway. As they approached, a man stepped into the hall. Boot soles creaking, he pivoted in her direction. The hallway light winked off the badge pinned to his chest.
Fear hit J. J. chest level, stalling the breath in her lungs. Oh no… no, no, no. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She refused to believe the universe was that perverse. But as his all-too-familiar gaze met hers and she shook her head, the truth broadsided her. She was a dead woman, the how and when nothing but a formality.
She knew it deep down, where reason lived and intuition reigned.
Officer Griggs. The man responsible for hurting her—for organizing the attack and sending Daisy to corner her in the prison library. Breath stalled in her throat, J. J. stared at him, mind whirling, suspicion gathering, panic rising… the reason he stood inside the hospital becoming all too clear.
He’d come to finish the job.
She could see it in the hard glint of his gaze. His plan was simple. Correct his mistake. Silence her before she talked, putting him and his actions under the warden’s microscope. Guys like Griggs didn’t enjoy that kind of scrutiny. He thrived in shadow, deep in the dark areas most didn’t want to acknowledge, never mind visit. And as he pulled his shiny prison issue handcuffs out of his utility belt and strode toward her, J. J. started to pray.
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