Pamela Yaye - Seduced By The Hero

Immanuel released her hand and stroked the length of his jaw. “I’m not sure if detectives recovered it at the scene, but you can ask them when they come to take your statement—”

The door swung open, and a slender fiftysomething nurse burst into the room. Her shoes squeaked as she approached the bed, and her frizzy white hair flapped around her face. “Good day, Mrs. Fontaine. How are you feeling this glorious afternoon?”

“Afternoon?” Dionne repeated, confused by her words. “What time is it?”

Immanuel checked his Rolex watch. “It’s twelve fifteen.”

“I’ve been sleeping for more than fourteen hours?” she asked, unable to believe it.

“You experienced a traumatic event last night and suffered a mild concussion,” the nurse explained. “You need your rest, and for the next few days you’ll have to take it easy.”

Dionne didn’t need rest; she needed a stiff drink, something with a shot of Patrón in it. But she knew her serious, no-nonsense nurse would never honor her request. “I’m thirsty,” she said, touching her throat. “May I please get a cup of green tea?”

“Of course. Just let me check your vitals first. I wanted to do it earlier, at the start of my shift, but you were sleeping soundly and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You need your privacy,” Immanuel said. “I’ll wait outside.”

No. Dionne opened her mouth to ask him to stay, but he was gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

“Why did you fight back?” Detective Sluggs asked with a bewildered expression on his fat, fleshy face. “You could have been kidnapped, or worse, killed.”

“No, he could have been killed, because I wasn’t going down without a fight.”

The emergency room doctor, a twentysomething brunette with Prada eyeglasses, scrunched up her nose. “I see cases like this every day, and it always amazes me that people are willing to risk their lives over something as trivial as a car.”

“It’s not about the car,” Dionne shot back, annoyed that they were giving her a hard time about the choices she’d made last night. “I work hard for the things I have, and no one has the right to take them from me. That’s why I fought back.”

The doctor and the detective had entered her room ten minutes earlier, just as she was finishing lunch. But five minutes into the interview Dionne had already decided she didn’t like either one of them, especially Detective Sluggs. He was curt and condescending, and his head was so shiny it looked as though it had been polished with Pledge. Dionne couldn’t wait for him to leave. She’d had a busy morning and needed to rest. With the help of her nurse, she’d called the credit card companies, requested her accounts be canceled, then called her parents. She didn’t tell them about the attack or that she was at the hospital, and had to cut the conversation short when her mom told her to make amends with Jules before their November court date.

“Fighting back only makes things worse,” Detective Sluggs said. “You should have given the mugger your purse, handed over your car keys, and gotten the hell out of the way.”

Dionne hit the veteran detective with a cold, dark stare. Why does Detective Sluggs have to be such a jerk? Why can’t he be sympathetic and understanding like Immanuel? Taking a deep breath, she asked the question burning the tip of her tongue. “Is that the kind of advice you give your wife?”

“I’m not married.”

Why am I not surprised? Of course you’re single. You’re a chauvinist pig, just like my ex.

“If you had cooperated with the perp, you wouldn’t have been hurt,” he continued, his tone thick with condemnation. “Next time you’re tempted to do something heroic, don’t, because it could cost you your life. A lot of these criminals are addicts, and the last thing you want to do is antagonize someone high on crack or crystal meth.”

“Detective Sluggs is right,” the doctor agreed, fervently nodding her head. “It’s better to lose your car than to be beaten in the streets.”

Dionne hung her head, stared down at her hands. Were they right? Had she acted reckless last night? Tears rolled down her cheeks, splashed onto her cheap blue hospital gown. But when Dionne heard Immanuel’s voice in her head, she slapped them away.

You’re a brave woman, Mrs. Fontaine. A woman of incredible strength and heart, and you should be very proud of yourself. Few people would have been able to fight the way you did, and I’m blown away by your courage.

“You shouldn’t have been on your cell phone. That was your first mistake.”

Her head whipped up, and her eyes narrowed. She felt her blood pressure rise, with the urge to smack Detective Sluggs upside his lumpy bald head. Orange wasn’t the new black, and since Dionne didn’t want to be arrested for assaulting a cop, she wisely kept her hands in her lap. “Are you saying the attack was my fault? That I’m to blame for what happened?”

Detective Sluggs made a sympathetic face, but his gaze was dark, and his voice was filled with accusation. “Perpetrators prowl the streets looking for people who are distracted, and you made yourself an easy target...”

Dionne pursed her lips so she wouldn’t end up doing something stupid like cursing him out. Although she was annoyed, she gave the detective the floor to speak. And did he ever. He went on and on, spewing his opinions.

“I suspect this was a random, drug-fueled attack, but I want to cover all the bases.” He flipped open his white spiral notebook and scanned the first page. “Mrs. Fontaine, do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt you or scare you?”

Do I have any enemies? Yeah, the entire Fontaine family. Jules’s older sister, Adeline, had never liked her, and the feeling was definitely mutual. The executive accountant was a control freak who wasn’t happy unless she was calling the shots, and Dionne couldn’t stand her. There was no love lost between Dionne and her in-laws, but they had nothing to do with the attack. “No, no one I can think of,” she answered truthfully. “My husband and I are legally separated and in the process of getting a divorce, but Jules would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Divorce brings out the worst in people.”

Desperate to change the subject, she asked, “Where’s my cell phone?”

“We found it smashed to smithereens in the parking lot last night.”

Disappointment flooded her body, but the loss of her iPhone was the least of her problems. Anxious to end the interview and leave the hospital, Dionne addressed her doctor. “Have my test results come back?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the sheets of paper attached to a metal clipboard. “Your CT scan was normal, and you don’t seem to have any lingering effects from the concussion. But I’d like you to see the hospital psychologist before I discharge you.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“I strongly advise you not to leave. You suffered a traumatic event less than twenty-four hours ago, and it’s imperative you speak to a professional to discuss the attack.”

“I concur,” Detective Sluggs said, stroking his bushy mustache with tender loving care.

Dionne glanced from the detective to the doctor and rolled her eyes to show her frustration. They were giving her a headache, and she was anxious to get away from them. Determined to leave the hospital, whether or not the doctor signed the discharge papers, Dionne searched the room for her clothes. Her Escada pantsuit was probably ripped and dirty, but it was all she had. Besides, she wasn’t going to a black-tie event at the W hotel; she would be headed to her office. By the time she arrived at Pathways Center, her staff would be gone for the day, so she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing her bruised face.