Sara K. Parker - Dying To Remember

“I need the police, not a psychiatrist,” Ella responded.

“The police?” Dr. Patel asked.

“I didn’t try to kill myself,” Ella insisted, pushing herself to a sitting position. “Someone attacked me.”

The doctor’s mouth flattened into an expression of forced patience. “I’ll arrange for an officer to meet you here,” she said calmly. “But you understand, Ella, we can’t just send you home without taking precautions after this second suicide attempt in as many months?”

Ella wanted to scream. Considered it. But realized that would only make her look less stable. “What I understand, Doctor, is that someone very clever has tried to kill me twice, and no one believes me.”

The doctor’s expression was unreadable. “You were found in your vehicle, in your mother’s garage, with a rag stuffed in the muffler and a syringe in your hand,” she said gently.

Well, that definitely didn’t make her look any less suicidal.

“The volume of fentanyl-laced heroin you injected yourself with, plus the carbon monoxide from the car, was a potentially lethal combination,” the doctor continued, pausing as if to allow Ella time to absorb the information.

Ella didn’t need time; she knew exactly what fentanyl was—a powerful anesthetic when used in the medical profession and an especially dangerous street drug when combined with heroin.

“If your friend here had arrived just a few minutes later, we may not have been able to save you,” Dr. Patel added.

“I need the police,” Ella repeated because she could tell the doctor’s opinion was set.

“I’ll contact them,” Dr. Patel agreed, but she didn’t look happy about it. She excused herself from the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Roman, someone is trying to kill me,” Ella said. “And I don’t know how to prove it.”

“Tell me exactly what you remember,” he said.

She started from the moment she had arrived home earlier in the night, and told every detail she could remember up until the moment she blacked out.

When she finished, Roman looked thoughtful and a little uneasy. “You said you dropped the bottle and it shattered.”

“Right. Did you see it?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “I didn’t, but I remember something crunching under my shoe in the kitchen. I didn’t see what it was, though. I’ll want to take a better look.”

Hope thrummed. Maybe he’d find glass on the floor that would corroborate the story. “Does this mean you believe me?”

Roman’s cell phone rang and he slid it out of his pocket. “I do,” he said. “But I still need facts. I still need evidence.” Then he stepped to the side to answer the phone.

From the sounds of it, Roman was making arrangements for a team member to take his place at the hospital so he could go back to her mom’s place. Finally, someone besides Autumn in her corner. And not just anyone. Roman DeHart, cofounder and CEO of the most sought-after private security company in the Baltimore-Washington metropolitan area. If anyone could find proof that Ella wasn’t losing her sanity, Roman was the one.

And she needed that proof quickly, before she was dead and everyone assumed she’d finally succeeded in her plan to end the life she supposedly didn’t want to live.

THREE

Roman pocketed his phone and met Ella’s eyes. “I’ve mobilized a team for your case,” he told her.

“That was quick,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I want you to feel safe.” It was quite possible that Ella was experiencing paranoia or delusions related to a mental illness, but the story she’d told him also sounded plausible. If it was correct, he wanted to get back to Julia Camden’s house ASAP—before whoever had attacked Ella doubled back to clear the scene. “I’ll be right outside your door until my relief gets here. Then I’ll go back to your mom’s and look around more thoroughly.”

“My mom,” Ella said suddenly. “She’s here, too.” She brushed off her covers. “Maybe I’ll sit with her for a while and—”

“Do me a favor and wait till morning, okay?” Roman asked, cutting her off.

Ella frowned and looked like she might argue.

“It’s safer to stay here, where the only people who will have access to your room will be medical personnel or a Shield team member,” he told her. “I’ll take you to her personally in the morning,” he assured her. “Your purse is on the countertop.” He pointed across the room. “Can I grab you anything else from the house?”

She pulled the sheet back up and Roman took that as a sign of her resignation. “Could you let the dog out? I usually do one last time before I go to bed.”

“I didn’t notice a dog tonight...”

“Oh, no. I hope he didn’t get out,” Ella said.

“Don’t worry—I’ll find him. What’s his name and what kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a little Havanese mix—and his name’s Isaac.”

Roman grinned. “Interesting name for a dog.”

“My mom always said if she’d had a son, she would have named him Isaac,” Ella said with a wry smile.

Roman chuckled. “I’ll find Isaac. Anything else?”

“My laptop, if you plan to swing back by here tonight. But don’t make a special trip.”

He didn’t know what kind of work was so important she needed to get it done while sitting in a hospital bed, but he didn’t say as much. By the time he would return with the laptop, she’d hopefully be asleep anyway, so he didn’t argue.

Roman moved toward the door. “I’ll grab the laptop and drop it by on my way back from your mom’s place. Try not to worry—you’ll be out of here in no time.”

He stepped into the hallway, not sure if he was right at all. Ella’s story defied belief. He wasn’t sure about the legalities of keeping someone like Ella hospitalized if she wanted to go home, but he’d venture a guess that any self-respecting psychiatrist who valued his medical license would probably be very nervous about sending her home tomorrow.

Clicking heels from down the hallway drew his attention and he smiled as Triss Everett came into view, long, dark hair swinging in a low ponytail as she hurried toward Roman. The rookie on the team with barely a year of experience under her belt, Triss was a force to be reckoned with. Roman had no qualms about leaving her to guard Ella for the night.

“You got here fast. I hope you weren’t speeding again,” he said lightly as Triss approached.

“I don’t call it speeding when I’m on the job.” Her face was serious, dark eyes unreadable. She was the younger sister of Roman’s longtime friend Luke, but the only traits the two had in common were their dark hair and dark eyes.

“What do you call it, then?” he asked.

“Expediting my response time.”

He caught the barest hint of humor in her expression and had to laugh. “You’ve been pulled over three times in six months,” he pointed out. “I’d rather have you here a few minutes later than smashed up in a car accident.”

“Noted,” she responded, handing him a set of car keys. “Now, if we’re done with the pep talk, I parked in the garage. Third floor, near the elevators.”

The woman was always business, but that was a major asset to his team. “Let me catch you up to speed and then I’ll get out of here.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Roman stepped out of the company car Triss had driven to the hospital. The Camden home was all lit up, the lights still on from earlier in the evening. He shut the car door behind him, glancing up and down the quiet street as he tugged his gloves on. Few lights glimmered from the surrounding houses, cars dark and icing over. He pulled out his flashlight and began a slow walk around the perimeter of the home. He planned to come back in daylight, but he’d see what he could find tonight.