Dead Girl in a Green Dress (19 page)

A blood pressure cuff encircled her arm, but
Byrony
didn’t pay it any heed. "Tate!" she yelled hysterically as she watched the gurney slide into the back of the helicopter.

"Try to relax, Miss Long." The doctor soothed as he shined a light in her right eye, then her left. But
Byrony
shook him away. Whatever else Dr. Kelly said to her was drowned out by the noise of the copter lifting off.

The wind from the chopper blades dried the tears trailing down her cheeks, but it didn’t stop the sobs racking her body. As the copter rose higher and disappeared, she couldn’t escape the horrifying fear that she would never see Tate again.

Chapter 12

With Tate gone,
Byrony
laid back on the gurney, covered her eyes with her uninjured arm and fought down the sobs. Tate couldn’t die! He simply couldn’t. He hadn’t lain for hours like poor Jessica. Plus, her sister had been petite, not even a hundred pounds, while Tate was a big, hunky guy. Surely he would survive one injection. But all her rationalizations did nothing to ease the weight of the wall of cement pressing down on her shoulders, her mind,
her
heart. The burden seemed beyond her ability to bear.
 

Dr. Kelly started an IV line in her right arm, and
Byrony
didn’t argue. Then she heard him telling the fireman to load her onto the truck and drive them back to town. Past the point of exhaustion, she stopped struggling both mentally and physically and just concentrated on breathing in and out as the fire truck roared down the road.

A very short time later, they reached the clinic and the firefighters unloaded
Byrony
, gurney and all. Dr. Kelly’s nurse waited with the portable x-ray at the ready. And in spite of them arriving quickly, Sergeant Nick Brandon was also waiting for them.

"I need to take your statement, Miss Long." The young man’s severe expression didn’t bode well, not that she really cared.

But Dr. Kelly brushed him aside with a gruff, "Can’t this wait, Nicky? Miss Long is injured and in shock."

As if from a distance,
Byrony
watched Sergeant Brandon’s face twist with resentment and barely controlled anger. "No sir, it can’t! I found Mrs. Prince’s body at the bottom of the drop-off below Arch Rock. Her head’s bloody and looks like her neck is broken."

That piece of news got through to
Byrony
. "She’s dead?" She managed to gasp, trying to sit up. But the nurse pressed her shoulder down and wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth.

"Ben Thompson says you and Mrs. Prince fought--"

"She attacked me!"
Byrony
interrupted, surprising herself with the sudden burst of strength.
"After she tried to kill Tate."

The Sergeant looked unconvinced. "Did you push her, Miss Long?"

"I…" At the moment, she honestly couldn’t sort out what had happened, but she shook her head anyway. "I defended myself."

"Look at these bruises, Sergeant Brandon." The nurse pointed at
Byrony’s
neck, and the memory of Cristina Prince’s cruel fingers squeezing her windpipe rushed back to
Byrony’s
consciousness. "Miss Long is telling the truth."

The young man stared for a moment, then dropped his gaze to his feet and backed away like a pup subdued by the alpha dog.

"Happy now?"
Dr. Kelly challenged as he motioned at the door. "Wait outside while I finish with my patient."

When the nurse removed the brace from
Byrony’s
arm, the pain took her breath away. Somehow, she kept from crying out while the doctor took several exposures with the portable x-ray. While Dr. Kelly reviewed the films, the nurse finished the review of
Byrony’s
vitals and cleaned her up. "I’m going to give you something for the pain, now."

Byrony
squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the nurse poked a needle into her upper arm. As fuzziness started to cloud her mind, Dr. Kelly came in. "Well, young lady, you’ve done quite a bit of damage to your wrist. More than I can deal with in this clinic. I’m sending you to the hospital in Mac City so they can do surgery."

"Surgery?
Mac City?"
She repeated, trying hard to focus.

Dr. Kelly nodded. "That’s right.
The same hospital as Mr. Madison."

"Tate?" She gasped, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eyes to try and clear her blurry vision and thoughts. "I get to see Tate?"

"Eventually."
The doctor opened the door and yelled for Sergeant Brandon. "Find someone to get Miss Long to the Mac City hospital stat!"

And that was the last thing
Byrony
remembered until she woke up hours later in the recovery room. A gray-haired nurse in green scrubs stood at the foot of her bed, writing on a clip board. "Hello, Miss Long. Can you tell me where you are?"

"H—hospital?"
Byrony
managed to croak through her aching throat.

Nodding, the nurse handed her a glass with a plastic straw. The water felt cool and soothing as
Byrony
swallowed. An IV line extended from her right arm, and a white plaster cast covered her left forearm to just below her knuckles. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but they refused to budge.

"Tate Madison?" she asked,
fear
churning in her gut. "Is he here? Can I see him?"

"He’s in ICU." The nurse’s expression softened when she looked into
Byrony’s
pleading eyes. "As soon as your doctor releases you, I’ll take you to Mr. Madison."

Tate’s alive and I can see him
! A warming surge of happiness raced through
Byrony
and she craned her neck searching for a glimpse of her doctor, even if she couldn’t remember what he looked like. She was about to ask the nurse when the doctor would be here, just as a man in blue scrubs walked around the corner.

The nurse handed him the clip board and after a silent moment, he addressed
Byrony
. "Miss Long, I’m Dr. Rosen. Your surgery went well, but you’ll need to wear the cast for six weeks. See your regular physician when you get back to Chicago about physical therapy." He handed the board back to the nurse. "As soon as this IV is finished, you’re free to go."

Byrony
murmured thanks and waited impatiently for the IV fluid to disappear. The nurse bustled off to tend to another patient and
Byrony
was left alone to watch the tedious drops. She was ready to scream with frustration before the pouch finally emptied. The nurse removed the IV and stuck a bandage on her elbow. Then she pulled a plastic bag with
Byrony’s
clothes from under the bed. "I’ll be back in a few minutes," she promised and closed the curtain behind her.

Struggling to dress
herself
,
Byrony
discovered a multitude of scrapes and bruises all over her arms, legs and body. She found her purse and rummaged in it until she located her comb, which she dragged through her tangled hair. Not much of an improvement, she feared, but it would have to do. She threw open the curtain to show the nurse she was ready.

After a few minutes, the older woman reappeared with a sheaf of papers for
Byrony
to sign. "Just one more and you’ll be all set."

While
Byrony
signed, the nurse tied her shoes. Then after shoving everything into her purse,
Byrony
followed the other woman to the intensive care unit. While
Byrony
shifted anxiously from foot to foot and listened to the beeping and whirring of equipment, her helpful nurse conferred quietly with another younger staff member.
Byrony’s
eager anticipation melted into anxiety.

A long moment later, the nurse told her, "Mr. Madison is in 303. He’s still unconscious and on a respirator."

"But I can see him?"
Byrony
insisted, fighting to prevent her voice from shaking.

"Five minutes." The older woman guided her to the room directly behind the nurses’ station.

Even though
Byrony
tried to steel herself, her knees buckled at the sight of Tate connected to a bunch of machines with a plastic tube down his throat. Luckily, a plastic chair was close enough for her to collapse into it.

The nurse touched her shoulder.
"You all right?"

Not trusting her voice,
Byrony
nodded. Tears clouded her vision as she scooted the chair closer to the bed and with shaky fingers, reached for Tate’s hand. His skin felt dry and cool, and his face looked deathly pale under the dark stubble of his beard.

Sorrow and helplessness rose up inside her with a hot wave of tears that she fought to keep inside. But the weight of her anguish momentarily overwhelmed her, forcing
Byrony
to lean down until her forehead rested against Tate’s arm. "Please don’t leave me," she whispered, her lips barely moving against the stiff, white sheets. "I need you, Tate. I love you."

She tightened her grip on his hand but got no response. A sob worked its way out in spite of her best efforts to prevent it. Then, somewhere behind her, she heard a man’s voice demanding, "Where’s Tate Madison? I need to see him. He’s my brother."

Byrony
raised her head as a brunet man barged into the room. Though he was obviously younger and darker than Tate, he was dressed similarly in jeans and a leather jacket, and he carried a motorcycle helmet under one arm. His
blue eyes, so like Tate’s
, swept the room, and
Byrony
heard him curse under his breath before his gaze settled on her. "I’m Sloan Madison. Who are you?"

"I – I’m
Byrony
Long."

"Oh, right, Paige’s friend." Sloan’s sharp eyes softened and he extended his hand. Nodding,
Byrony
tentatively offered her right hand and he shook it vigorously. "I actually met you at Taylor’s christening." Without waiting for her to make a reply, he turned and studied the various pieces of equipment surrounding Tate’s bed. Then frowning, he addressed the nurse. "I need to speak to my brother’s attending. I want him taken off this respirator immediately!"

Byrony’s
helpful friend looked Sloan Madison up and down with a critical eye. "I’ll get the charge nurse."

As the woman walked away, Sloan came to stand on the opposite side of Tate’s bed. Biting his lower lip, the younger man ran his finger across his brother’s forearm. "Were you here when they put that thing in?"

Emphatically shaking her head,
Byrony
whispered hoarsely, "But if they take him off the respirator, he might die."

"If you know Tate at all, then you know he wouldn’t want to be hooked to any machine." His words were like an ice pick stabbing into her soul, but even in the midst of her anguish, she knew Sloan was right.

She could see Tate’s stubbornly determined
expression,
hear his hint of a drawl saying, "No way, Doc. Get that contraption away from me."

Her grip on Tate’s hand tightened and she drew in a shaky breath. "You’re right. And you’re his next-of-kin."

"Paige is on her way. Her husband can’t leave the station house so she had to drop Taylor off with her mother-in-law, but she’s flying up. I know she’ll agree with me."

Before
Byrony
could reply, the nurse walked in. "Mr. Madison, I’m Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve paged Dr. Blair and he’ll be here shortly." Then she turned to
Byrony
. "Miss Long? A Detective Shaffer is looking for you. He’s in the waiting area at the end of the hall."

Reluctantly,
Byrony
stood, and after one more lingering look at Tate’s inert form, she followed the nurse out of the room. Her legs wobbled as she walked past the nurse’s station and out the door of the ICU. Halfway down the hall, she stopped at a drinking fountain and let the cool water trickle down her tight throat.

Detective Shaffer rose from his chair when he saw her approach. "You okay Miss Long?"

"I’ve been better." She avoided his offered hand and sat in the corner of the empty couch. "I suppose you want to ask me questions."

"I’ve already talked to Sergeant Brandon and Ben Thompson." He pulled a chair closer to the couch and sat facing her. "Why don’t you just tell me what happened?"

With a weary sigh,
Byrony
leaned her head against the back of the couch and spoke to the ceiling. She started with Tate confronting Cristina Prince yesterday at Arch Rock. Then she told Shaffer how she’d found the green dress and the saleslady described the customer who’d bought two of the same dresses, the customer wearing a red wig and a ring exactly like Cristina Prince’s. Her voice faltered when she described arriving at Arch Rock and seeing that witch leaning over an unconscious Tate.

"Let me get you some water," Shaffer offered, and she nodded, glad for the temporary break.

While he was gone,
Byrony
drew her legs up under her and stared out the window, but didn’t really see anything. All she could see was Tate’s lifeless looking body on the ground, then in the ICU surrounded by machines. She couldn’t lose him now. But maybe he was already gone.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Shaffer who hurried back and handed her a tiny paper cup, hovering over her while she swallowed the single gulp of water. "Can you continue, Miss Long? I really need you to tell me the rest."