placed a hand near Ella’s mouth, felt warm air. Still breathing, but too slow. He quickly rattled off the address. “I need an ambulance.”
He continued to answer the woman’s scripted questions even as he scanned Ella’s form on the couch, looking for any other signs of injury. Nothing. His gaze caught on the right side of her head. Her hair parted unnaturally there, revealing a red scar that would take a long time to heal.
Roman sank to his knees, his hands coming up to hold hers. Had she done this to herself? He found it hard to believe, especially after what she’d told him earlier. But it had been years since he’d seen her. People changed. His heart tore at the memory of the girl he used to know. She’d been a dreamer, always looking ahead to her next goal. Always brushing off failure when it came. But then Brooklyn died, Ella’s best friend since childhood and roommate in college.
At first, they had shared their grief. But one night, with one string of poorly chosen words, their relationship had shattered. He’d said things he hadn’t meant. He’d been careless with his words. He’d hurt Ella, practically blaming her for his sister’s death. Roman had always been ashamed, truth be told.
Ella had gone into a deep depression and the move to Colorado had seemed like her chance to break free from the darkness. What had happened to her since they’d last seen each other? Had she sunk into an even deeper depression? Started abusing drugs she would readily have available to her as a veterinarian? He turned each arm over, looking for track marks, but her skin was smooth and pale, marked only by a light spattering of freckles.
Had someone been following her as she’d suspected? Someone who wanted to make her murder look like a suicide? That seemed like a stretch. But if Ella was merely suicidal, why come to Roman for help?
The ambulance sounded in the distance and Roman unlocked the front door, leaving it open a crack. Then he remembered the syringe in the car. The doctors may need it to find out what Ella had injected herself with.
He hurried back to the garage and plucked the empty syringe from the car, then returned to the living room. A heavy sadness settled on his shoulders at the realization that the Ella he used to know might be gone forever. He crouched down again, placing a hand along her cheek. He’d missed her for years and now that she was back, she wasn’t really back at all.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered. The words were both a self-assurance and a prayer. Ambulance lights blinked into the living room through the sheer curtains and voices sounded in the yard.
Someone rapped loudly at the cracked door.
“In here!” Roman called out, and the door pushed open, two uniformed medics rushing into the room.
“Found her locked in her car in the garage, engine running,” Roman explained. He pointed to the syringe he’d set on the end table. “The syringe was in her hand.”
The pair approached Ella quickly, one securing the syringe in a Ziploc bag while the other opened a black supply case and began an assessment. The team was efficient, and in minutes they were loading Ella onto a stretcher.
“You following us or riding with her?” one of the medics asked as they started for the front door.
“I’ll be right there,” Roman said. He hurried through the kitchen and locked the back door before circling back to the living room. Spotting Ella’s purse, he grabbed it and then locked the front door on his way out, pocketing the keys.
The paramedics had just finished getting Ella situated as Roman jogged up to the ambulance. He climbed in and sat alongside Ella as the siren blared and the vehicle pulled out swiftly. Slipping a hand over Ella’s, Roman did the only thing he could do. He prayed.
He’d learned long ago that life was beyond his control. When his sister was killed, he’d seen the worst of humanity. He’d faced a choice then. A choice to turn away from God or to draw even closer.
Drawing closer had been the only thing that had made sense, and it was the only way he’d eventually been able to process his sister’s murder to try to bring something good from it. Shield Protection couldn’t ever bring Brooklyn back, but it could help keep others from meeting the same fate.
His eyes opened and settled on Ella’s pale face. He prayed she’d survive tonight and that God would restore her both physically and emotionally. And he made the decision right then that he would come alongside her—something he wished he’d done years ago.
Instead grief had torn them apart and what they’d had together was long gone. But Roman could still be the friend she needed until she was healthy again.
* * *
Darkness surrounded her. Where was she? Ella took a few cautious steps, arms out in front of her. She couldn’t even see her hands. No light.
Her footsteps echoed.
Or was that someone else?
She froze, holding her breath, straining to hear over the pounding of her heart.
And then, from nowhere, someone grabbed her arm.
She jerked away and opened her mouth to scream. But sound wouldn’t come out. Why couldn’t she run?
The hand grabbed at her arm again and she yanked away, a violent headache rearing up.
“Easy,” a calm voice said. She knew that voice. She stilled.
A warm hand came to her arm, settled on it.
“Ella?”
Roman. Where was he?
“Can you open your eyes, Ella?”
Her eyes were open. Couldn’t he see that? She squeezed them shut, then opened them again, her lids heavy under brash fluorescent lights.
She tried to push herself up. “Where—?”
“Shh,” Roman said, his hand steady on her arm. “You’re at the hospital. The nurse just needs to draw some more blood.”
The hospital? Not again. Fear pierced her heart and she looked around the room.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice a broken whisper she barely recognized. She glanced down at her arm where an IV had been taped into place. The nurse began filling a vial with blood.
Roman didn’t answer immediately. “Roman?”
“I came by your mom’s house to check on you after you...after our meeting.”
Their meeting. Right. Her skin felt hot. She’d run out on him. She’d gotten confused again. “I’m sorry, I—”
A memory flashed, a gasp escaping her lips. “Did they find him?”
Roman’s expression didn’t change. “Who?”
“The man who did this,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “He was in the house. I was in the kitchen.” The memories rushed back. “I’d opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of iced tea, and someone was there. He attacked me. He had on black gloves and...” She reached for the memory. “He injected me with something!”
She
