Susan Sleeman - High-Caliber Holiday

He looked doubtful before his gaze lifted above her. She swiveled to see what he was looking at.

A woman wearing the same black uniform and a stethoscope hanging around her neck marched forward. The thirty-something woman looked familiar, but Morgan wasn’t sure from where. When she got closer, their eyes connected.

The woman smiled. “Hi, Morgan. It’s me, Darcie. Remember? From OSU.”

Morgan rose slowly, searching her memory for a Darcie and testing her strength before stepping toward the door. As she got closer, the picture of a young girl in her philosophy class as naive as Morgan had been swirled in Morgan’s mind. “Darcie Wiggins?”

She nodded. “Not Wiggins anymore, but Stevens, and yeah, it’s me.”

“Of course,” Morgan said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“I’d never forget the girl who set off to save the world one person at a time.”

“Oh, that girl. She’s long gone.” Morgan laughed and grabbed her old Oregon State University friend in a hug, but pulled back when the pain in her arm made her wince. “Crazy to run into you here. I thought you were working as an ER nurse. What happened? Did the ER get too tame for you and you had to move on to the front lines?”

“Changed jobs a few years back,” Darcie said, her impenetrable tone stopping Morgan from asking additional questions.

“Ms. Thorsby just about passed out,” Brady inserted. “She put her head between her knees for a bit and seems better. She either took a bullet or got in the way of flying glass, but the bleeding’s stopped.” He frowned as if the situation bothered him personally. This man, the one whose bullet cut like butter through the glass and whizzed by her, was concerned for her?

An uncontrollable tremble started at her head and rushed down her body. “It was a bullet. At least it felt like one.”

His frown deepened.

“Go ahead and sit down, Morgan, and I’ll take a look at it.” Darcie dropped onto the chair next to Morgan and started poking at the wound. “Superficial. Not from glass. Odd,” she said, and paused to look up at Brady. “The wound is thicker than I’d expect from the rounds Shaw was firing.”

“Meaning what?” Morgan asked as she swung her gaze between the two of them.

Darcie smiled at Morgan, but it was forced. “It should heal quickly, but it’s gonna hurt like crazy for some time.”

She didn’t have to tell Morgan that. As the adrenaline ebbed, the pain became more acute. Or maybe the flashes of her near death were making her more aware of everything around her.

Darcie moved on to Morgan’s vitals and strapped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. Brady continued to stand beside them, his arms raised, his hands clinging to an overhead bar. Tapping a finger on the metal, he stared down on Morgan, making her aware of his every movement. Aware of his muscles flexing as he moved, which he did. A lot.

“I heard the whole conversation with Craig.” Darcie removed the cuff. “Did I hear you right? You’re not representing Thorsby Mill anymore?”

The last thing Morgan wanted to talk about was the lawsuit, but she didn’t want to be rude and it would take her mind off the man hovering over her. Maybe keep thoughts of Craig at bay, too. “I changed jobs a few months ago.”

“Are you with a local firm?” Darcie dug bandages and antiseptic from her bag.

Morgan shook her head. “I’m not practicing law at all. I’m directing a local jobs program. Portland Employment Assistance—PEA for short. We help unemployed people seeking government assistance to find jobs.”

That brought a look of surprise to Brady’s face, and Morgan was starting to wonder why she was noticing every little thing he did.

Darcie’s hand stilled midair. “Wow, I never imagined you’d leave the law.”

Morgan shrugged. “We had this particularly contentious class action lawsuit that consumed my life for the last few years. Burned me out and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Class action, huh? That’s what the shooter was talking about. But what happened? I mean a lawsuit against a paper mill seems odd.” Darcie went back to her bag.

“Surprising, right?” Morgan dug deep for the will to discuss something she never wanted to think about again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Darcie said. “I understand.”

Morgan drew an uneasy breath. “A couple of years ago people downriver from the plant started getting cancer in record numbers. They claimed we dumped chemicals in the river, causing the cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen and water tests proved our story, but it still wasn’t easy to defend against.”

Darcie applied antiseptic to Morgan’s wound, the sharp sting taking all of her concentration. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and seeming weak.

“People sue at the drop of a hat these days,” Darcie said.

“Honestly, I could hardly blame them,” Morgan rushed on, trying to ignore the pain. “A larger than normal distribution of a single type of cancer in their small population was unusual. They wanted to blame someone. And find money to cover medical bills.”

Darcie looked up. “You won, though, right? And that’s why this Craig guy was so angry?”

Morgan nodded but an uncontrolled sigh slipped out over the memory of the mental and physical cost that winning had taken on her life. She had to change the subject before Darcie pried any deeper. “And you... Stevens, now. You’re married.”

“Was. Not anymore.” Darcie applied the bandage.

“You two gonna gab all night or can we get moving?” Brady’s voice broke in.

Darcie offered him a thankful smile. She seemed glad he’d jumped in. Was she not willing to share about her past? It made Morgan even more curious about her old friend.

“We should get together for lunch and catch up.” Morgan looked up at Brady. “When we don’t have an armed deputy standing over us.”

“Who, Brady?” Darcie chuckled as she secured the gauze bandage. “He’s so laid-back, I sometimes forget that he’s this intense sniper guy.”

“Come on, Darcie.” He mocked a knife to the chest and grinned. “Don’t hurt my cred like this.”

He fixed a genuine, easygoing smile on Morgan, softening the hard, angular lines of his face. Making him even more handsome and difficult to look away from. She shouldn’t be noticing. Should be looking anywhere except at him, but he was like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

One minute he was easygoing, the next intense and fierce. Both attractive. Both needed to be avoided. If she was going to get her life back on firm footing after her recent move and job change, she had no time for romance.

“So,” she said to Darcie. “Am I cleared to go?”

Darcie sat back and started packing up her case. “My official response is that you should have your arm checked out at the hospital.”

“And unofficially?”

“Put some antibiotic cream on the wound. Keep it bandaged and change it once a day. If it doesn’t heal or becomes red, puffy or painful see a doctor.”

“I’ll take the unofficial advice so I can get out of here.”

“Sorry, friend.” Darcie squeezed Morgan’s knee. “You’ll have to stay to give your statement and answer questions. Brady will escort you back to the command post.”

“She’s right,” he said coming to full attention. “The detectives will want to talk to you.”

Right. She’d have to relive the experience, play by play, all over again.

She supposed it would be better to do so here with people surrounding her than at home alone. That would come later, she knew. Much later. When she had nothing to distract her.

No handsome guy. No old friend. No pretense of a smile. Not even the shock, which would have worn off by then.