then slid behind the wheel. It felt good to get out of the stiff coat and the pouring rain. “You wait here for the wrecker,” he said, tossing the woman's purse and his hat onto the passenger's seat. “I'll follow the ambulance into town. I live only a couple of blocks away from the hospital. I'll go home after I've talked to the woman, and I'll file a report in the morning.”
“Whatever you say, Sergeant.” Evans sketched a salute of thanks for being spared the chore of the extra paperwork, then strode to his car.
Royce tailed the ambulance into the small town of Conifer, Pennsylvania, and pulled alongside the covered, brightly lit entrance to Conifer General Hospital's emergency unit, where the ambulance had parked.
Having been alerted to expect an accident victim, a nurse and two orderlies were awaiting their arrival. Since Royce's assistance was obviously not required, he took a few minutes to fish the woman's wallet from her purse before stepping out of the car. Flipping it open, he read the information on her driver's license.
The first thing that caught his eye was her picture. It was not great, yet even with the inferior quality of the photograph, she was clearly not unattractive. Then his eyes shifted to her name.
Megan Delaney. Nice name, Royce thought absently, his eyes moving up the laminated card, past the issue date, to the medical restrictions. Must wear corrective lenses. Hmm... There had been no sign of glasses when he brushed her hair away from her face. Had they flown off on impact, or was she wearing contact lenses? Check it out.
His eyes moved again, skimming over the expiration date, classes, endorsements and driver ID number, and came to rest on birth date.
The woman was twenty-seven years and three months old—eight years his junior.
Old enough to know better than to drink and drive, Royce thought, especially on a rain-slick road.
His eyes skipped over the top line of information, and settled on one tiny section. Blue eyes. Big surprise, for a redhead he reflected, closing the wallet.
Royce glanced up at the sound of the automatic entrance doors swishing open. With the nurse leading the way, the orderlies were pushing the gurney into the building. Gripping the purse, he stepped out of the car, gave a casual wave to the paramedics and followed the group inside.
“Hey, Sarge!” a fresh-faced young nurse called out cheekily from behind the desk just inside the doors. “Don't tell me you've given up the desk job to go back on road duty again!”
“Okay, I won't tell you that,” Royce drawled, flashing a teasing grin at her. “You want to hit the release?” he said, inclining his head toward the second set of automatic doors, which for safety reasons were activated by buttons accessible only to hospital personnel.
“Sure.”
The doors parted, and with a murmured thank-you, Royce stepped through the opening.
“Are you back on highway duty?” the nurse called after him.
Royce paused in the opening, keeping the doors apart. “No,” he answered. “I was on my way home when this woman crashed into the guardrail. And, since I was coming into town anyway...” He shrugged.
“Gotcha.” The nurse turned her attention to a man who came limping up to the desk, but slyly observed, “By the way, Sarge, I must tell you that your red handbag definitely clashes with your uniform.”
Responding to her teasing comment with a dry look, Royce continued past the doors, which closed behind him, and to the doorway of a long room containing a row of curtained cubicles. The orderlies were pushing the now-empty gurney from the last cubicle.
“Hi, Sarge,” one of the men said as Royce passed by on his way to the cubicle. “Haven't seen you in here for a while. Where have you been hiding out?”
“Behind a desk,” Royce answered. “Where it's dry and warm. No mangled bodies. No blood. No gore.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” the other man said, grinning. As he pushed the gurney through the doorway, he called over his shoulder, “I just love your purse.”
“Yeah.” Royce didn't return the grin or respond to the good-natured gibe as he normally would have. This little jaunt to the hospital stirred too many unpleasant memories, strongly reminding him of his reasons for having accepted the desk job when it was offered to him six months ago.
Royce was a good cop. If pressed, he would have had to admit, without exaggeration or conceit, that he was a damn good cop. But, with over ten years with the state police, investigating robberies, working on drug busts and patrolling the highways, he had had his fill of trips to the hospital with torn, bleeding and sometimes dead bodies.
The day would come when, restless and tired of pushing papers, Royce would request a transfer back to highway patrol. But until that day arrived, he'd just as soon avoid the distinctive scents of disinfectant and medicine.
Royce wrinkled his nose at the assault on his senses by the familiar smell, and shoved the curtain aside.
“Doc Louis not here, Jill?” he asked the nurse, a middle-aged woman who had been on duty in Emergency for as long as he had been on duty in the Conifer district. She was standing by the gurney where the woman lay, taking her pulse.
The nurse frowned, concentrating on the pulse count. “Busy down the line,” she said, gently laying the woman's arm by her side. “He's stitching a head wound.”
“Accident?”
“No.” Jill gave him a tired smile, and a shrug of resignation. “Knife fight in a barroom. As you can see, we're pretty busy, and stretched mighty thin. Dr. Hawk's splinting a finger—a slightly inebriated teenager slammed a car door on it.” She sighed. “Just the usual Friday-night fun and games.”
“Yeah.” Royce grimaced.
The nurse frowned. “What are you doing here? I thought you were riding a desk now.”
“I am.” Royce suppressed his growing impatience; he was getting pretty tired of answering the same question. “I just happened to be close by when the lady decided to test the strength of the guardrail.” He shifted his eyes to the ashen-faced woman. “She all right?”
“Looks like all surface injuries. A few cuts, abrasions, bruises—a lot of bruises—but...” She lifted her shoulders in another shrug. “I'm sure the doctor will want X rays after a more thorough examination.”
Royce nodded.
The woman on the gurney moaned.
Jill gave her a sharp-eyed look. “She's coming around. If you'll stay here with her, make sure she doesn't roll off the gurney—” she moved past him “—I'll go see if I can take over for one of the doctors.”
“Will do,” Royce agreed. “Don't stop for a coffee break along the way...okay?”
She grinned at him. “Not even if I bring you a cup on the house?”
“No, thanks.” He grimaced. “I've tasted what that machine passes off as coffee.”
“It grows on you,” she said, laughing, as she pushed aside the curtain.
“That's
