Read Online Left for Dead by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kevin O'Brien
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traffic accident patients were patched up in the ER.”
Cocking his head, he glanced up at Sherita. “You sure this female coma patient is here? Or did somebody just make her up?”
“Thanks, honey.” Sherita patted his shoulder, then headed for the door. “You’re right. Somebody made her up.”
“It’s true,” Sherita said, touching up Claire’s cheeks with a powder brush. “I checked with Janice, who runs the gift shop. An orderly came in and bought a long-stem red rose from her this morning. She didn’t remember who, which is no big surprise. Janice has always been a space case.” Sherita handed Claire a mirror to check on the makeup job.
Claire eyed her skeptically, then glanced at her reflection.
“So we threw that rose away for nothing,” Sherita continued. “But let’s not sweat it. Your hubby will be here any minute, the genuine article this time.”
Claire handed the mirror back to her. She thought about what a lousy liar Sherita was. Obviously, Sherita had done a little snooping around, and found out something about the red rose. Was the truth really so awful that she didn’t want to tell her?
There was a knock on the door, then Dr. Dwoskin poked his head in. “Are you ready for some company?” he asked.
Claire nodded nervously.
Dr. Dwoskin stepped in, followed by a man in a business suit who must have been a plainclothes cop. Then Harlan came in. Tall and handsome, he wore a pressed dark blue shirt and a tie she’d bought for him last Christmas. He carried a bouquet of mixed flowers and a large manila envelope. He had tears in his eyes as he smiled at her.
“Hi, honey,” she said.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied, barely getting the words out. He took a step toward the bed, then hesitated and glanced at Sherita, Dr. Dwoskin, and the cop. He didn’t camouflage his annoyance. “Think I could have a couple of minutes in private with my wife?” he asked.
Dr. Dwoskin nodded, and the cop appeared disappointed. They filed out of the room. Sherita tailed after them, pausing at the door to give Claire a thumbs-up sign.
Once the door shut, Harlan set the flowers and the envelope on the nightstand, then he turned to Claire. “If I don’t kiss you soon, I’m gonna die,” he whispered. “Is it okay? Are you in pain, sweetheart?”
She nodded. “It’s all right. I won’t break. Just be careful around my chest.” She laughed skittishly. “Huh, that sounds funny, doesn’t it?”
Harlan rushed to the bed and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed Claire on the lips, then pressed his face against hers. His smell was familiar, Cool Water. But something very unlike Harlan Shaw was happening as he held her. He began to cry.
She’d never seen her stoic husband shed a tear, not until now. Claire stroked his salt-and-pepper hair. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered. “Everything’s all right. I’m safe now. You found me. We’re going to be fine….”
Claire figured if she kept saying it, she might actually believe it.
Sherita had guessed quite accurately that the plainclothes policeman was one of the head honchos. Lt. Roger Elmore was tall, with a crew cut and a sun-creased face. Sherita led him down the corridor—out of earshot from Taj, who sat erect in his folding chair—no reading material in sight. She told the lieutenant about the red rose and someone stalking her in the garage.
“I don’t mean to get anyone in trouble,” she explained—shooting a glance over Lt. Elmore’s shoulder at the guard. “But obviously, this maniac was in her room. And he’s in this hospital. ‘Rembrandt’ or whatever you call him, he knows where she is. He knows the weak links in your security—”
“Now, wait a minute,” the lieutenant interrupted. “What makes you so sure it’s Rembrandt? One of those guys from the press could have been following you around last night. And one of them could have left that rose for her too.”
“A reporter would go to all the
Cocking his head, he glanced up at Sherita. “You sure this female coma patient is here? Or did somebody just make her up?”
“Thanks, honey.” Sherita patted his shoulder, then headed for the door. “You’re right. Somebody made her up.”
“It’s true,” Sherita said, touching up Claire’s cheeks with a powder brush. “I checked with Janice, who runs the gift shop. An orderly came in and bought a long-stem red rose from her this morning. She didn’t remember who, which is no big surprise. Janice has always been a space case.” Sherita handed Claire a mirror to check on the makeup job.
Claire eyed her skeptically, then glanced at her reflection.
“So we threw that rose away for nothing,” Sherita continued. “But let’s not sweat it. Your hubby will be here any minute, the genuine article this time.”
Claire handed the mirror back to her. She thought about what a lousy liar Sherita was. Obviously, Sherita had done a little snooping around, and found out something about the red rose. Was the truth really so awful that she didn’t want to tell her?
There was a knock on the door, then Dr. Dwoskin poked his head in. “Are you ready for some company?” he asked.
Claire nodded nervously.
Dr. Dwoskin stepped in, followed by a man in a business suit who must have been a plainclothes cop. Then Harlan came in. Tall and handsome, he wore a pressed dark blue shirt and a tie she’d bought for him last Christmas. He carried a bouquet of mixed flowers and a large manila envelope. He had tears in his eyes as he smiled at her.
“Hi, honey,” she said.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied, barely getting the words out. He took a step toward the bed, then hesitated and glanced at Sherita, Dr. Dwoskin, and the cop. He didn’t camouflage his annoyance. “Think I could have a couple of minutes in private with my wife?” he asked.
Dr. Dwoskin nodded, and the cop appeared disappointed. They filed out of the room. Sherita tailed after them, pausing at the door to give Claire a thumbs-up sign.
Once the door shut, Harlan set the flowers and the envelope on the nightstand, then he turned to Claire. “If I don’t kiss you soon, I’m gonna die,” he whispered. “Is it okay? Are you in pain, sweetheart?”
She nodded. “It’s all right. I won’t break. Just be careful around my chest.” She laughed skittishly. “Huh, that sounds funny, doesn’t it?”
Harlan rushed to the bed and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed Claire on the lips, then pressed his face against hers. His smell was familiar, Cool Water. But something very unlike Harlan Shaw was happening as he held her. He began to cry.
She’d never seen her stoic husband shed a tear, not until now. Claire stroked his salt-and-pepper hair. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered. “Everything’s all right. I’m safe now. You found me. We’re going to be fine….”
Claire figured if she kept saying it, she might actually believe it.
Sherita had guessed quite accurately that the plainclothes policeman was one of the head honchos. Lt. Roger Elmore was tall, with a crew cut and a sun-creased face. Sherita led him down the corridor—out of earshot from Taj, who sat erect in his folding chair—no reading material in sight. She told the lieutenant about the red rose and someone stalking her in the garage.
“I don’t mean to get anyone in trouble,” she explained—shooting a glance over Lt. Elmore’s shoulder at the guard. “But obviously, this maniac was in her room. And he’s in this hospital. ‘Rembrandt’ or whatever you call him, he knows where she is. He knows the weak links in your security—”
“Now, wait a minute,” the lieutenant interrupted. “What makes you so sure it’s Rembrandt? One of those guys from the press could have been following you around last night. And one of them could have left that rose for her too.”
“A reporter would go to all the
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