The screened-in front porch—a point of pride from the man, so mosquitos couldn’t eat him up while he enjoyed a beer or two—was left open, the door to it off its hinges. The wicker furniture was scattered around the space. Nothing else on the outside looked disturbed but what he’d seen was enough.
Without waiting for backup, Matt got out of his car as quietly as he could. If he hadn’t heard the woman scream he might have been more cautious. But he had. Which meant his gun came out and his attention turned to the house.
A small SUV he didn’t recognize was parked at the side but Dwayne’s truck was nowhere to be seen. Lights were on inside the house but as Matt got closer, he didn’t hear any voices or movement. The darkness of night had fallen around him, offering cover, but it also might give an assailant the same advantage. It was a thought that made him slow as he got to the front door. It was cracked open. Something Dwayne would never do.
Matt held his gun high and pushed the door the rest of the way open, adrenaline spiking and ready to confront whatever had gone wrong.
Or so he thought.
“What the hell?”
The room looked like a tornado had torn through it. Furniture was overturned, books and trinkets were scattered and, with a drop of his gut, Matt realized blood was smeared across parts of the hardwood floor. Which shouldn’t have been surprising, considering Dwayne was lying in the middle of the room, beaten badly, bloodied and unmoving.
What Matt couldn’t have prepared himself for was the body next to Dwayne’s.
It was Maggie. She was holding a bat covered in blood in one hand while a folder was next to the other. Matt felt like he was dreaming as his eyes focused on the name written across the top of it.
It was his name.
It was her college graduation party all over again. Or, rather, the aftermath of it. Maggie’s head was pounding. Worse than the hangover she’d had after her roommate, Barb, had decided bringing cake-flavored vodka was a good idea. While it had been a hit at the time, Maggie had felt like she was the one who had been hit the next day.
Which was how she felt as she sat on a hospital bed, staring at an IV in one arm and a pair of handcuffs around her other wrist. It connected her to the hospital bed and, according to a deputy she didn’t know, had been an order. It was one of many things that had confused her since she’d come to in an ambulance, staring up at a woman asking her what her name was and if she could hear her.
While Maggie knew the hospital staff was doing all they could to make sure she was getting the treatment she needed, they sure as heck hadn’t bothered to fill her in on a few details. Like why she’d wound up in an ambulance to begin with, where she had been before the ambulance had been called and why she was barefoot. That last detail, of all things, irrationally bothered her more than the rest. Because, much like the aftermath of her graduation party, she seemed to be missing a chunk of memory. This time, though, she hadn’t the faintest idea what had prompted it.
A knock sounded on the door before a nurse pushed it open.
“How are you doing, Ms. Carson?”
A redheaded woman with bold lipstick and an easy smile slid into the room. When her gaze went to the handcuffs that smile tightened. Maggie decided to address the obvious.
“I’d really like to not be handcuffed,” she said. “And to not be in the hospital. Neither were on my to-do list today. Or, at least I don’t remember them if they were.”
The nurse gravitated over to the IV.
“The cuffs I can’t help,” she admitted. “But what I can do is ask how your head is feeling. So, Ms. Carson, how is your head?” She met Maggie’s stare. It was a look that was equal parts concerned and authoritative. She was trying to do her job and Maggie was being snarky. She sighed.
“There are few people in this world who ever use my last name and usually it’s when they’re about to yell at me. So, please, call me Maggie. But on the head-hurting front, it’s throbbing. Not as bad as before, but it’s there.”
The nurse looked at Maggie’s chart.
“And you’re still having trouble with recall?”
Maggie nodded. It hurt.
“I’m also having trouble understanding why my head hurts in the first place.” Maggie lowered her voice, trying to convey something she often tried to hide. Vulnerability. “Because no one, and I mean no one, has told me what happened to me since I woke up in an ambulance with my shirt and bra cut open and monitors stuck to my chest. So, please—” Maggie glanced down at the woman’s name tag “—Nurse Bean, give me something.”
For a moment the nurse looked like she was going to shake her head and try to offer another polite smile. Instead, she surprised Maggie by answering.
“To be honest, I just started my shift so I don’t know all of the details. What I do know is that you being knocked out wasn’t an accident.” Her lips thinned. “But as for who did it, why and where... I’m sorry. Those are questions I can’t answer.”
Maggie’s stomach turned cold. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that she had been attacked since it wasn’t every day she lost hours of memory, but having a nurse say it aloud was on the surreal side of uncomfortable.
“Well, I guess I’m glad to know I didn’t wind up this way after tripping and bumping my head or anything,” Maggie deadpanned. Sarcasm was her safety blanket. The throbbing from her head now made a fraction of sense. That in itself should have been comforting. But it wasn’t. “Thank you for leveling with me,” she added on. “I don’t want to say I’m scared but, well, it’s not a good feeling to be me right now. Thanks.”
The nurse gave a quick nod and smile of acceptance.
“Like you, I prefer to go by my first name. So call me Kortnie.” She took the chart and started to turn away. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”
Maggie was ready to let her go and wait for someone who did know the inside scoop but then the cold steel of the handcuffs against her skin brought her attention to one more question.
“You have to at least know why I’m handcuffed, right?”
Kortnie’s smile faltered.
“That’s a question you should ask Detective Walker.”
* * *
“IS HE GOING to make it?”
Matt roused from the large square tile he’d been standing on for what felt like hours. It was outside Dwayne’s room and was better than standing and staring inside it. Matt didn’t like hospitals. Or, really, he didn’t like the helplessness that came with them. He couldn’t help Dwayne in his current condition. He couldn’t make him heal any faster. He couldn’t make him survive. All he could do was help from where he hovered and tried to puzzle out what had happened the night before. Not that he’d had much success in that department.
The
