Dust Up with the Detective (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Hell was sitting in a hospital waiting room. The quiet of the late night only made the agony he felt that much more palpable. No amount of magazines and monotonous television could keep Jeremy calm—not when Blake was through the doors that led to the OR. He clenched his fists as he stared at the entrance to the surgery area. No doubt the hospital staff would stop him if he rushed through those stupid doors.

He took a drink from the bitter, stale coffee that seemed to be ever present in hospitals. He prayed someone would come out and tell him what was happening. He needed to know that she was okay. That she was alive. That she would make it through this.

His whole life he had spent trying to protect his mother and father, their marriage, his brothers—constantly trying to fix the problems they created for themselves. He’d tried his damnedest to save his marriage. But no matter where he went, it seemed like he always screwed it up. His parents were fighting now more than ever, his marriage was over, his brother was dead, his sister-in-law was missing and the woman he cared about was fighting for her life.

Everything he struggled to keep safe had ended in disaster. To solve a problem you needed to calculate the common denominator—in this case, it was him and the curse he seemed to bring onto those nearest him. The best thing he could do for those he loved was to stay out of the equation. He could love from a distance.

All the proof he needed to prove his theory could be found in his daughter, Penny. He hadn’t seen her in three weeks. She was the only thing going right in his world...and he barely saw her. She was safe.

Gemma West slammed the door as she barged into the waiting room, Megan at her side. She looked around until she spotted him and then charged over to where he sat. “What in God’s name happened, Jeremy?”

The guilt he’d been feeling multiplied, filling every part of his soul. “I’m sorry, Mrs. West.” He couldn’t bear looking into her eyes and dropped his head into his hands in shame. “I’m so sorry. I tried to keep her safe.”

Mrs. West placed her hand on his shoulder, easing some of his self-hatred. “Jeremy, I have no doubt. I know how much you love her.”

He jerked, looking up at her as he started to argue, but he stopped as he caught her gaze. Mrs. W gave him a soft, knowing smile.

Was she right? Did he love Blake? He couldn’t argue that he felt...something.

He had never forgotten the first time he realized that he thought of her as more than a friend. She must have been about fifteen. If he closed his eyes he knew he could see her, standing out in the sunshine, her blond hair catching the rays and shining like pure gold. She had looked so happy, the light dancing through her hair and warmth radiating through her body. They’d both been so young. It wasn’t long after that she’d gotten pregnant and fallen in love with another man. It had been his first, but hardly his last, lesson in rejection.

Could the pain of that rejection finally heal? Could he love her again? It didn’t seem possible when you hurt that much that the whisper of love could make it all disappear.

No matter what he felt, life still stood in the way.

The door to the OR opened, and a doctor walked into the waiting room. The man looked around until he caught sight of them and then made his way over. “Are you the family of Blake West?”

Jeremy looked over at Mrs. West, who gave him a slight nod of the head.

“We are,” Jeremy said. “How’s she doing? Did she make it?”

The man had the dark circles under his eyes that most nightshift workers seemed to have. Jeremy looked down at his hands. His wrists were red where his latex gloves must have pressed into his skin during the surgery.

“Things are looking good. She took a round to the chest and one to the upper arm. She was extremely lucky that neither bullet hit a major blood vessel. The bullet that hit her arm only missed her brachial artery by a matter of millimeters. If it had been two millimeters to the right, she would have likely bled out on-scene.” For the first time, the doctor looked down and seemed to notice Megan standing there. “I’m sorry,” he said, motioning toward her. “Would you rather we talked about this somewhere else?”

Mrs. W turned to Megan. “Meg, would you please run and get us each a Coke? There’s a pop machine just down the hall.” She slipped her some money, and the girl edged her way toward the machine.

She looked back, her face drawn, as she made it to the door. “But, Grandma...” Megan started.

“Run along, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in as soon as we know what’s going on. I promise.”

Megan stayed glued to the spot for a moment longer, but she finally turned away.

The doctor hesitated until the waiting room door closed, and then he continued. “We removed the bullet from her chest. It was lodged in her rib, and we were afraid that, left untreated, it would cause her problems down the road.”

“She was wearing a bulletproof vest,” Jeremy argued.

The doctor nodded. “The bullet hit her just to the side of her vest. In fact, you’ll have to take a look, but it actually nicked the Kevlar, which slowed it down and sent it off course. If she hadn’t been wearing the vest, things could have been much, much worse.”

“The bullet didn’t hit her lung?” Jeremy asked, relief filling him.

“Thankfully it didn’t enter the chest cavity,” the doctor said. “She was extremely lucky that whoever did this was using a small-caliber weapon. Anything larger and she would have likely suffered significantly more catastrophic wounds.”

“What is her prognosis, Doctor?” Mrs. W asked, holding on to the back of one of the blue vinyl chairs that were scattered throughout the room.

“She’ll stay in the hospital overnight, but she should be going home in the morning. She will need to take it easy for the next few days and stick to her pain meds and antibiotics. If she does, she shouldn’t have any residual problems. Though, again, she’ll have to take care of herself.”

If there was one thing Blake wasn’t good at, it was standing still. This recovery would be hard on her—especially given the circumstances of their investigation.

“Mrs. West,” Jeremy said, turning toward her. “Would you mind checking on Megan? I need to ask the doctor here a few more questions.”

Mrs. W’s face was unmoving, and Jeremy had a hard time reading her.

“Are you going to be okay, Mrs. W?” he asked, noting her pale cheeks.

“Fine, just fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “Please take care of my little girl, Doctor.”

The doctor answered with a nod, and she made her way from the room.

Jeremy watched as Mrs. W walked past the windows that looked out into the hallway. He turned to the doctor. “So about Todd O’Brien, did you treat him, as well?”

The doctor looked back toward the OR, as if he would rather be in the hot zone of the surgery center instead of standing in the icy chill of a detective’s stare.

“Doctor?” Jeremy pushed for an answer. “Did O’Brien survive?”

The doctor wrung his hands and sat down on the chair next to him. He rubbed his hands over his face like he was tired. “I evaluated Mr. O’Brien.”

“And?”

“The bullet penetrated the skull and, from the CT scans, it appears to be lodged in his frontal lobe.”

“But he’s alive. Will he make it?”

“He sustained a great deal of damage to his brain, so he may not. However, if there’s an area of the brain that can handle an injury like this, it’s the frontal lobe. It’s an incredible area, Detective. Some people who have injuries to this area have little to no effects in their daily life, however others...” He trailed off.

“Others, what?”

“Maybe it’s better if you talk to the neurologist handling his case.”

“No. I want answers now,” Jeremy urged. “What could happen to him?”

The doctor tapped his fingers together. “From where he placed the gun on his temple and the location of the lesion, he sustained the most damage to his right frontal area. Sometimes this can change a person’s social behavior. They will talk excessively, have less facial control and few facial movements as they speak.”

“Do you think his memory will be altered?”

The doctor gave a noncommittal shrug. “The frontal lobe controls the working memory. Damage can affect people in a variety of ways, so
if
he regains consciousness and begins speaking, it’s hard to say how he’ll respond. Some of these patients lose portions of their short-term and long-term memory, but others...well, there’s no effect at all.”

So Todd O’Brien might never give him a statement.

A traumatic brain injury that impaired cognitive function could be Todd’s golden ticket. Undoubtedly, as soon as he was released from the hospital he would be tried as a felon in the shooting and likely found guilty. However, with the little information they had, and no admission of guilt, it would be hard to prove his role, if any, in Robert’s death. But Jeremy had to try. He had to find more evidence. Something that proved, without a doubt, that Todd was guilty.

Or innocent.

He stopped for a second and just stared at the white fake marble squares on the floor. Could Todd be innocent? There was a tiny flicker in his core that told him it was possible. Yet if he was innocent, why had he acted out and shot Blake? He had to be guilty. No innocent man acted like Todd. He was guilty of something, something he was afraid of going to jail for, but whether or not he had pulled the trigger in Robert’s death was up for debate.

He stood up. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Absolutely,” the doctor said, relief filling his voice. “If you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me or the neurologist handling Mr. O’Brien’s case.”

“Can I see Blake now?”

The doctor nodded. “I had my team move her to the Med-Surg floor. She’s still pretty heavily sedated, but she’s awake. If you like, you and your family are welcome to go visit her.”

He walked out with the doctor, making sure to thank him as they parted ways. Mrs. W and Megan were standing by the pop machine, each holding a can as he approached.

“Everything okay?” Mrs. West asked.

He wasn’t sure how to answer. The key suspect in their murder investigation was now an unreliable witness. Even if he confessed, Jeremy wasn’t sure that they could actually use his testimony in court.

As much as he hated to admit it, he wished that Todd would have died...that his self-inflicted gunshot wound would have done the trick. In this line of work, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Everything was supposed to be observed and held at arm’s length in order to save his sanity. Yet he couldn’t. Not on this case. He was too close.

This case was going to destroy him.

“The doctor said we could see Blake now.” He looked at Megan and took the girl’s hands in his own. “Meg, your mom’s hurt. You heard what the doctor said, right?”

Her blond hair hung limply in her face as she nodded. “I know.”

He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Your mom’s going to be all right. She’s coming home tomorrow.”

Megan looked up at him and into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, but here’s the deal...” He smiled. “I need you to help her, okay? No more messing with her handcuffs, okay? Can you do that...just for me?”

She pushed her hair out of her face and nodded. “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll even make her food and stuff. She loves potato soup.”

“Is that right?” Jeremy said, putting his arm around Megan. “I think that would be a great idea.”

Megan hugged his arm into her chest. “I wish you were always here.”

He smiled.

Mrs. W looked at him with a shimmer in her eyes as his heart moved with joy and an edge of sadness. He missed Penny. He missed these moments with his daughter. He looked at Megan. She looked so much like her...they could almost be sisters. Penny was close to the same age; they had the same blond hair and the same smatter of freckles over their noses.

Against his better judgment his thoughts moved to the future. Megan and Blake could be his life—if only he followed his heart. Penny would approve. She’d always wanted a sibling.

It was a beautiful picture he envisioned, but now was not the time for painting such thoughts.

He led Blake’s mother and daughter upstairs to the Med-Surg floor and found her room. She was wrapped in a white blanket, and IVs dripped down lines that flowed into her arm. Her eyes were closed and her hair billowed out around her head on the pillow. If it hadn’t been for the monotonous beep of the machines hooked to her body, it would have looked as though she was just in a restful slumber.

“You okay, Meg?” he asked.

She nodded, but she was biting her lip and there was a slight sheen of tears at the corners of her eyes. He wished he could shelter her from seeing her mother like this, but there was nothing he could do. Todd had hurt so many people he loved.

Megan walked to the end of the bed. She reached out and touched her mother’s toes, so softly that it looked as though she were reaching for a porcelain doll that at any moment could crack under the weight of her fingertips.

Blake opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re here.” She looked to Megan and then toward him. “I’m sorry.”

Her words struck him. How, in a moment like this—where she could have lived or died—could she have anything to be sorry for?

“No, Blake,” he started. “I should never have put you in danger. I—”
I love you.
He stopped before he finished his thought. She needed to focus on her family and not his feelings. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Blake’s smile disappeared, and she grimaced. Reaching up with her uninjured arm, she touched her side where they had removed the bullet.

All his daydreams and hopes slipped from him as he watched her writhe in pain. She was hurting because of his screwup. He should have taken the bullets. He should have made her stand back. He could have saved her from getting hurt—yet he had failed. He couldn’t fail her again.

“If you need me, give me a call.” He stepped toward the door.

He had to take himself out of the equation. The only way he could keep her safe was by distancing himself from her life.