CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Twenty minutes later, Haddie grimaced with the bounce as the stretcher dropped to its wheels outside the hospital. Raindrops beat on the metal roof over the ambulance.

A low overhang seemed a dark entrance to the hospital. A pale-skinned paramedic climbing down out of the back ambulance grasped the stretcher with both of her hands and gave Haddie a wink. Dark beams supported the ceiling. Outside it looked like night had fallen, but they’d only been five minutes from the park. Haddie knew where the medical center was, and although she’d driven by often and seen the signs, never noticed the alcove or emergency entrance.

The wheels of her stretcher rattled across pavement and she felt her chest tighten. Bright light flared ahead, and automatic doors whispered open, unleashing a clamor and light from inside. Haddie blinked as she tried to look to each side. She imagined them running a needle and thread through the gaping cut on her forearm, and her stomach turned. Blinding lights alternated with blank white panels in the ceiling.

Relax. I’ll be fine. Cart wheels, voices, and machines added to a chaotic but consistent noise.

She’d have to call Andrea and explain. What was she supposed to say? That Mark Colman’s actual murderer had put a hit out on her? What if it was organized crime? In the movies, they just ‘leaned’ on you and told you to back off. Was that what Detective Cooper meant by coloring in the lines? He could have been clearer. Would she have dropped it? Let Mel take the fall?

The pale woman startled Haddie when she spoke.

“You’re going to be fine. They’ll have you stitched up in just a bit,” the paramedic said.

They had turned down a corridor.

Haddie offered a weak smile. “Just thinking about having to tell my boss.”

The entered a room and passed a curtain hanging from the ceiling along a track. Antiseptic, and worse, permeated the air. She found herself thirsty.

The paramedic offered a cross between a shrug and a grimace. “Not your fault. Wrong place at the wrong time. Normally we don’t get calls from that park.”

Andrea might actually be mortified that she sent Haddie. However, this had been a set up. It had to be. The anonymous call — with just the information they couldn’t ignore. How did they know she’d go? Maybe the warning was for the whole agency. No. Haddie was the one digging where no one else was. Would they have ignored Josh and tried to get at her some other way? Were they done now? Message sent. Was she? Can I let it go?

The radios on the paramedics crackled, and the man at the foot of her stretcher answered. “Victim at Sacred Heart, Hilyard Street.”

She leaned up to see as he began speaking to a nurse. Tall and square-shouldered, the woman looked over and smiled, but nodded at his description of Haddie’s wound. She pointed to one of the curtained stalls by the wall.

As Haddie rolled past, the woman turned and headed across the room toward a pale boy who lay in a T-shirt. He locked eyes with Haddie, and she could feel his panic — terror. The woman at his side, possibly his mother, scrolled through her phone.

Only once had Haddie been in an emergency room, a much smaller version in Montana. At thirteen she’d traveled on the back of her dad’s bike. Dad liked Montana and always took them biking and camping in the summer. He’d close down the garage and they’d pack up gear until his saddlebags bulged.

They would end up near Canada, or even take 93 up over the border. They’d been on 93, south of Missoula, when she’d slipped getting off the bike. Wearing shorts, a point of contention with Dad, her left calf got stuck on his pipes. She’d cried for a while, even after he’d gotten her to the doctor, and been embarrassed of the scars through most of her teenage years. Jeans replaced shorts and skirts.

The emergency room had been small compared to this room, but they’d been personal and caring. Here, she felt as though she’d been assigned a number and they’d get to her when they had time.

The paramedics got her settled, and a different nurse with brown skin and thick eyebrows dropped in behind them. She placed a clipboard on Haddie’s legs and showed her a hospital wristband. “Ms. Dawson, can you confirm your name?”

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Haddie raised her eyebrows and focused on the writing. “Yes.”

“I’m Aisha. I’ll be taking your vitals and getting you set up to see the doctor. We’ll get you taken care of right away.” She strapped the bracelet around Haddie’s right wrist. “Nasty cut I hear. Mugging?”

Haddie felt embarrassed for her assumption of a cold, uncaring staff.

The paramedics had arrived just after the middle-aged man, Jeff, had finished wrapping her wound, and they’d cut it off as soon as they had her in the ambulance to dress it again. Haddie had gotten to see the top edge twice. It split open wider than seemed right or possible.

“Yes, a mugging,” she lied. They had tried to kill her. She was sure.

Aisha slipped a cuff on Haddie’s right arm, clipped a monitor on her finger, and began rolling up her right sleeve. “I’m going to get an IV started. You’ve lost some blood.”

Haddie’s left sleeve changed from a watercolor blue to a black knot where it rolled up at her elbow. Blood had dried on her arm and down to her wrist. Her jacket lay in a clear bag at her feet, blood smeared across plastic.

She’d gotten Jeff to tuck her helmet into her saddlebag and lock it before he gave her the keys. The bike couldn’t stay there.

“BP 111 over 73. Good pressure. Heart rate and oxygen are good.” Aisha tied off Haddie’s upper arm at the elbow and got out a needle. “This’ll prick, not the worst part of your day.”

One arm throbbing and the other pinned, Haddie focused impotently on the bag between her feet. Her phone would still be in her jacket pocket. Splatters of dark blood stains dotted her black slacks.

Aisha grabbed the bag and tucked it under the bed before pulling out a white blanket and draping it up to Haddie’s middle. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” She closed the curtain as she left.

Haddie frowned and sighed. She should have just said something, but she’d been in for tests where they had signs for no cell phones. There weren’t any here.

Reaching over the side with her right hand, she watched the intravenous line as she fished around with her fingertips. Shifting down until her boot heels hit the bottom rail, she inched sideways and waved below the bed. She felt a flap of plastic and returned, pinching in the area. Her index finger touched something, and she strained to get her thumb onto the bag. Grunting, she snagged the edge and dragged it closer to get a better grip.

Blood smeared where her left sleeve rubbed against the ziploc. Using her left hand sparingly to steady the seal, she opened the bag.

Haddie texted Biff. “I had to leave my bike at Campbell Park. Can you pick it up and bring it to my apartment?” She didn’t imagine she’d be in any shape to ride for a few days. He could do it without questions. She’d just have to be firm.

Each text came through separately. “Why?” “Where are you?” “Wait. Did you drop it?”

He baited her with the last line. She hadn’t dropped a bike since she was seventeen.

Be firm. “Can you do it?”

“East 11th Avenue now. Be there in four.”

He was close.

Damn. Haddie groaned. The police would still be there. Biff would tell Dad. There was no getting around it now. Nothing would stop Dad.

Haddie closed her eyes and sighed before typing out the text. “Tell Dad, Sacred Heart downtown. Emergency room. Tell him I’m okay. Just a couple stitches.”

She really didn’t want to see Dad. The images of the WWI pictures were too fresh and left too many questions with answers she did and didn’t want, but he’d be here. Soon.

Dropping the phone to her stomach, she planned a text to Andrea. Haddie didn’t want to make it out to be accusatory, even though she’d been at the park for business. Truth was, she’d have gone on her own in a heartbeat. Should she go into the whole “they’re trying to kill me” or just stick with the mugging? The minute she’d had with the police, before the paramedics had whisked her away, she’d left it at a mugging. They were following her to the hospital to get a full report.

She typed slowly, rereading before sending. “Our informant never showed. I stayed too late and got mugged in the parking lot. I am getting a couple of stitches. Nothing to be worried about.”

It took only seconds before Haddie’s phone rang. Grimacing, she answered at the start. The curtain stopped about a foot above the floor and she watched the tiles to see if anyone approached. “Andrea.”

“What happened?” Andrea sounded furious.

Haddie held the phone in front of her face, so it covered her mouth as she spoke. “I was leaving. Two guys tried to mug me. I got a little cut.” Her mouth was dry as she whispered. She wanted tea. And to be done here, and home, nestled with Rock on the couch. Or asleep.

“This was a setup then. I should have guessed. You shouldn’t have let me send you alone. No, it’s not your fault. Have you told me everything you’ve dug up?”

Haddie paused, trying to remember all their conversations over the day. “I think so.” She felt tired — groggy.

Andrea was mad, but not necessarily at her. It just felt like it. “I’m getting the police to back trace that anonymous number.”

Detective Cooper. Haddie didn’t want him involved. “No.”

“What? Why? What aren’t you telling me?” Now, Andrea sounded angry at Haddie.

Haddie went through her concerns, without bringing up the detective’s curiosity over her dad, but mentioning his “in the lines” comment. It all sounded so weak, childish, and paranoid when she finished.

“He’s not involved, Haddie. But I’ve got another resource that can get the information for us. Probably a burner anyway.” Andrea yelled at her cat, who for once hadn’t been meowing. “I’m going to go now and get some of this started. Text me when they release you. Do you need me to get you a ride?”

“No. My dad is coming.” She felt like she was fifteen again — stuck at the dojo after practice.

Haddie breathed in and out as the line dropped. Tucking the phone face down, she held her hand on top of it. She wasn’t about to tell the police that she thought someone might be trying to kill her. It could get to Detective Cooper. Trusting him was not an option; he might very well be one of them, no matter what Andrea thought.

The curtain pulled aside. Detective Cooper stood there tilting his head.