around the parking lot. A woman with a broken leg rolled her wheelchair past him, and a flashy black Mercedes peeled out of the visitor’s parking lot. No sign of the old man.
Jeremy’s shoulders sagged as he headed back into the hospital, opting this time to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how long his useless chase had lasted. Had he missed out on clues in the hospital room that could have helped him?
As he approached Heather’s room, the frantic sounds of saving a life continued. A deep voice had been added to the mix, but its tone was just as concerning as the others.
Turning away, he walked toward a small, deserted waiting room on the floor, images of Heather writhing in pain still flashing behind his closed eyelids. It was too familiar, knowing a woman was in pain and being completely helpless.
Pushing memories of the other woman out of his mind and focusing on the one he could still help, he slumped into a seat and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing an old friend, who he’d worked with on two unrelated drug cases when he started with the sheriff’s department years before, he said, “Hey, Tony.”
“Latham. How’s everything in the sheriff’s office?”
He shrugged out of habit. “Good. We’re keeping busy.”
“Yeah, I heard about that chopper crash. You working it?”
“Always.” His experience as an FAA agent supposedly made him an asset in situations like this, but the end of his time there had made it clear that he didn’t bring nearly as much to the table as the sheriff thought.
“So what can I do for you?” The tone of Tony’s voice relayed that he remembered that he and the PD owed Jeremy a favor for a tip on a case two months before.
“There was a situation at Immanuel Lutheran Hospital today.”
“You mean the one about five minutes ago?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know about it? I’m not even sure that our guys have made it down there yet.”
Jeremy ran his free hand through his wavy brown hair in desperate need of a trim. “I know. I’m here now. I was coming to talk to the crash survivor. An old guy—I think maybe homeless from the smell of him—was in her room and put something into her IV. The doctor is still working with her. I’m not sure what he dosed her with or what’s really going on, but the guy got away.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Whoa.”
“I know. So listen, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eye out at the jail just in case someone brings in a homeless guy with white hair, a gray jacket and black boots.”
“But that could be anybody. How would I even know if it’s your guy?” Tony sounded stumped.
“Just call me. I’ll come down and check it out.”
“Okay. You got it, man.”
Jeremy hung up his phone and walked back toward Heather’s room. The voices inside continued at a slightly less rattled pace, but Heather clearly wasn’t out of danger yet.
Back pressed against the wall, Jeremy slid to the floor, adrenaline leaving his system like a flood. Resting his forearms against bent knees and his chin against his chest, he sighed. God, please save Heather. He barely knew the girl—hadn’t even had a real conversation with her, but something was going on. And she needed all the help she could get.
Heather’s eyes refused to open yet again, but for the first time in forever she felt human. The fog had lifted in her brain, and she was able to quickly take account of the situation.
The beeping monitor to her left and firm pillow beneath her head told her she was still in the hospital. Her leg still ached from the surgery.
Her shoulder felt significantly more normal than it had the last time she was awake, and a quick rotation provided only a minor twinge.
And the burning in her arm was gone. It tingled a little bit, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just a memory of the pain of whatever had been injected into her arm.
All seemed normal. Now. But it hadn’t been that way.
Before.
How long had she been asleep? When had that homeless man been in her room? What had he done to her? And why had she been his target?
Why hadn’t she responded better? Years of training had gone down the tubes with a little bit of pain medication that made her feel blurry. She’d been useless. Like she had been during the crash.
A phone rang, and a hand pulled out of hers. Had someone been holding her hand? She turned her hand over, squeezing it into a loose fist, trying to recall the shape and size of the absent hand.
From the far corner of the room, came a deep voice. She recognized it, but couldn’t place it.
“Nate?” she called, while trying to pry her heavy lids apart.
The voice ended suddenly before resuming by her side. “No. It’s not Nate. It’s Jeremy.”
Finally her eyes opened, and she looked into a handsome, if only moderately familiar, face. She’d definitely seen him before, but where? Suddenly a wheezing cough racked her body. He reached for a glass and held the straw to her lips, so she could greedily sip at it. When she finally leaned back, he put the cup back on the table and scooted a chair closer to the bed.
“Jeremy Latham,” he said, reading the confusion in her eyes. “I’m a deputy with the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Have we met before? You look so familiar.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been here a couple times, but you’ve always been out. Except last time.”
“When the homeless man was here.” It was a statement, not a question, as the veil covering that memory finally lifted. She nodded slowly, but it was like trying to put a puzzle together with missing pieces. She’d lost hours…maybe even days. “When was that?”
He bit the corner of his mouth and leaned forward over his knees. “Two days ago.”
“And I haven’t been awake since then?”
“No.” His dark curls bounced as his head moved, but his eyes remained steeled against whatever he had to say next. And she was certain there was more to come. As silence reigned, she waited. He didn’t move, only stared at her with that unwavering gaze.
“So why have you been coming to see me?” A swift glance at the window proved the sun had set long before. “And after visiting hours, I’d guess.” A longer look at the window, and she realized that her neck was free of the annoying brace she’d been wearing since the crash. She tested her strength and mobility with a couple of gentle stretches.
“Are you stiff?” he asked.
“Not too bad, actually.” She glared at him, then looked away, still testing the strength of her neck. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
