Liz Johnson - Stolen Memories

His stomach clenched.

This part never got easier.

Without a doubt this was going to be the worst night of someone’s life. That person was going to get a call that would change everything, that would shatter a heart.

But Zach would do everything he could to make sure that the person responsible never had the opportunity to do this again, to destroy a family again.

Stepping around the stain of evidence, he reached her side and squatted next to her. The part of her face that he could still make out was covered with scratches and already turning purple. A gash above her left eye disappeared into her hairline and looked to be the source of the bloodstain he’d dodged. Someone had beaten the tar out of her.

A drop slipped down her forehead, and he paused.

Dead bodies in a position like this didn’t usually keep bleeding.

He snapped his gloves at the wrists to make sure they were on tight and pressed two fingers against the spot where her left palm met her forearm. Holding his breath, he waited.

There, beneath the skin and barely palpable, was a pulse.

His heartbeat jackhammered just below his throat.

“Ma’am. Ma’am, can you hear me?”

No response.

He grabbed his phone and punched in the number for the dispatcher. He didn’t even wait for an answer. As soon as the line was picked up, he said, “This is Detective Jones.” He spit out his badge number, standing and searching the streets for any sign of the ambulance that wasn’t going to be in enough of a hurry to get there. “I’m at Webster Park, and the possible homicide victim is not DOA. Repeat, the victim is alive. I need an ambulance and backup here ASAP.”

His voice shook a little on the last word, and he took a steadying breath. He didn’t have live victims. He’d only seen one other in the three years since making detective and joining Homicide.

This one was about as close to death, but still breathing, as he’d ever seen.

“Ten-four. Paramedics are en route.”

“ETA?”

“Three minutes.”

He dropped back by her side, keeping his finger pressed against her wrist. The steady thumps under his touch kept his hope alive, but only just.

Lord, please let this one live.

He didn’t have an explanation for the intensity of the longing in his heart, but he knew she didn’t deserve to die like this, alone and abandoned in a city park that hadn’t seen much traffic since the city started massive construction on a walking bridge.

Someone didn’t want her quickly found or able to tell her tale.

Sirens carried through the trees, ringing between buildings as they drew nearer. The band around his heart loosened.

“Don’t worry. Help is on its way.”

Her only response was the steady beat at his fingertips.

“Hang in there. You just have to hang in there a little while longer. Then we’ll find whoever did this, and he’ll pay. I promise.”

* * *

Everything before that moment was blank.

It took considerable effort, but she pried her right eye open far enough to cringe at the glaring light wedged between white ceiling tiles. Pain like a knife sliced at her temple. She tried to lift her hand to press it to her skull. Maybe that would keep it from shattering. But her arm had tripled in size and weighed more than the rest of her body. She could only lift it an inch from where it lay at her side.

Fire shot from her elbow to the tip of her middle finger, a sob escaping from somewhere deep in her chest and leaving a scar inside her throat as it escaped.

“Julie?”

Julie? She turned to look in the direction of the voice to see who else was in the room, but something plastic tugged against her nose. An oxygen cannula. She didn’t even try to lift her hand to adjust it, instead rolling her eye as far as she could.

A gentle hand with cold fingers pressed against her forearm, but the face was just out of reach. “Julie? How are you feeling?”

Who was Julie? There wasn’t anyone else in her limited line of sight, but that didn’t mean the other girl wasn’t close by.

A face—round and blurry—appeared right above her. Wide-set blue eyes shone with compassion and the same brilliance as her white smile. “I’m Tammy, your ICU nurse.” Cool fingers secured the tubing back into place and brushed across her forehead. “You’ve been here quite a while. I’m glad you decided to wake up on my shift, Julie.” A low chuckle followed. “Oh dear, I’ve gotten so used to calling you that. I’ll have to stop.”

What was she doing in the ICU? On a hospital bed in the ICU? And why had the nurse been calling her Julie?

That wasn’t her name.

“I know someone who’s been looking forward to talking with you.”

She blinked and tried to ask who, but her voice cracked. Only a croak escaped before Tammy pressed a straw to her lips. “Drink a little bit of this.”

She did as the nurse instructed, the tepid water like a creek in the Sahara, soothing her throat as she swallowed it but leaving most of the area untouched. She tried for a longer sip and more water but choked on it. Tammy pulled the cup away and patted a tissue where a trickle had escaped down her chin.

She jolted at the touch, pain searing to the bone.

“I’m sorry. Your stitches are probably still a bit tender. But you’re healing nicely.”

Healing? How long had she been in the unit? How had she gotten there? Because she’d just been—

“If you’re ready, I’m going to let Detective Jones know that he can come in and see you. He’s been waiting to talk with you for three days.”

She tried to shake her head. A detective? As in a police officer? Why were the police coming to see her? What had she done?

She didn’t want to see anyone, let alone a detective. But Tammy disappeared before she could get her body to respond. Everything was moving slower than it should. Her muscles, her joints, her brain.

Only the low hum of Tammy’s voice carried across the room. “Now remember, she hasn’t even seen the doctor yet. Don’t give her a hard time.”

A deep voice agreed that he’d try not to.

As if to show off just how slow her mind was moving, Tammy reappeared almost the instant that the conversation ended, one hand resting on an arm that belonged to someone just outside her range of vision. “This is Detective Jones. He’s with the Minneapolis P.D. I’ll let you two talk while I call the doctor.”

Tammy disappeared. And then a face edged with dark hair appeared right above her. Eyes like deep amber seemed to smile even though the line of his mouth never twitched, and he pressed a hand against the mattress next to her arm, never quite touching her. But she could feel his presence, his strength.

She let out a slow breath.

“De—” Her voice cracked, and he held up a hand to stop her.

“Please. It’s Zach.” Generous lips formed the words, but they seemed to take a long time to reach her ears. He spoke with a familiarity that she couldn’t place. Was she supposed to know this man? “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Apparently not. Thank goodness. “I’ve been checking in on you every day. The doctor said you thumped your head pretty good, but the swelling has been going down.”

How was she supposed to respond? “That’s good...I guess.”

“It is, indeed.” His lip twitched, but he didn’t give her more than half a smile. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he continued, “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?”

She wanted to shake her head, but then he’d come back and interrupt her sleep again. She really just wanted to drift back into oblivion where it had been warm and quiet. Where there’d been no pain and her stuttering thoughts were neither important nor questioned.