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I try to hold in my growl. I fail.
“Only a little bit. Nothing to worry anyone about. I’m fine. Look at me,” she babbles, gesturing her hand down the front of her body.
In her head, she believes she’s gesturing to a twenty-something-year-old female, but all I see is a little old lady who hates the idea of getting old. I’m all for enjoying every day life gives you, but that doesn’t mean I want to see her getting hurt for being too stubborn to admit she isn’t as young as she once was. Her fall could be the result of something life-threatening or as simple as a low blood-sugar count, but with her refusal to acknowledge she needs help, we’ll never know.
Like she can read my thoughts, she says, “I’ll have a blood test… on one condition.” She connects her glistening baby blues with my eyes. “You have to tell me every detail as to why you have arrived at my room smelling like Clara McGregor.”
I arch my brow. “Every detail?”
“Every.Sordid.Detail,” she replies, her voice slow andcalculated. “It couldn’t be any worse than the books I’ve been reading,” she adds on with a cheeky wink.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m leaving my grandmother’s room with a less heavy heart but a more twisted stomach. Although I kept my half of our discussion on a clean and even playing field, my grandmother threw out curveball after curveball. It is lucky my grandfather passed away six years ago, or I would have never been able to look him in the eye. The only good thing about being told stories that will give a grown man nightmares is that my discussion not only has my grandmother agreeing to have the blood workup Penny requested, she will allow them to install a grab bar next to the toilet and in the shower. It isn’t because she needs them. It is for any ‘visitors’ she may have. That statement had me vomiting in my mouth for the eleventh time in the past half an hour.
Slipping out of my grandma’s room, I take a left instead of my usual right. I need to ask Daniel to have the railings installed in my grandmother’s bathroom before she can change her mind. My quick strides slow to a snail’s pace when I walk past the room I spotted Clara exiting nearly six months ago. I’m taken aback when my eyes zoom in on a young woman lying still in the bed. I was expecting to see someone close to my grandmother’s age, not a lady in her early twenties.
My bewilderment grows when my eyes scan her room. From the technical equipment attached to the motionless female, I can easily derive she’s on a life-support machine. And from her frail and withered body, I’d say she has been on it for a long time. My heart pains for the young woman. It is terrible to see someone whoshould be in the prime of their life more fragile than my grandmother.
My eyes drift away from the young brunette when my name is called from a deep voice on my left. Daniel is standing halfway between his office door and the corridor. Noticing my stunned expression, he pushes off his feet and heads my way.
“I was unaware you knew Sophia,” he says, nudging his head to the door I’m standing next to.
“I don’t,” I reply with a brisk shake of my head.
Daniel seems surprised by my admission. I guess it would appear odd that I’ve stopped to gawk into Sophia’s room without knowing who she is. The only reason I stopped was because I remembered Clara’s rattled composure the day I bumped into her in this very hallway. Now her demeanor that day makes sense. I don’t even know Sophia, and I hate that she’s going through this. I can only imagine how hard it is for Clara.
I swing my eyes to Daniel. “Her last name isn’t McGregor, is it?”
I’m filled with relief when he briefly shakes his head. “No. Her name is Sophia Remy.”
My brows stitch as I try to recall the last time I heard that name.
When the reality slams into me, the twisting of my stomach extends to my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Sorry,” I apologize when my thoughtlessness has me crashing into a gentleman exiting the foyer of my apartment building in a hurry.
A fit-looking man in his mid-thirties with a military-style haircut dips his chin—accepting my apology—before increasing his pace. His brisk speed from the awning of my apartment building to a steel gray Audi parked at the curb a few spots up from the underground garage exposes he’s carrying a semi-automatic weapon. My brows scrunch when I notice the burly man sitting behind the steering wheel of the Audi also has the same style haircut and is wearing an identical suit.
I thought Ryan was holding off on putting an undercover unit on Clara?
Shrugging off my confusion, I adjust the bag of groceries I collected from the corner store and amble into the foyer. My mind has been working overtime since I left Caramine Care two hours ago. It could be a coincidence, but deep down in my soul, I know Sophia is somehow connected with Clara’s necklace. It isn’t onlymy intuition telling me this is the case, it is the fact Daniel advised me Sophia is Clara’s age, and before she was transferred to Caramine Care, she lived in Hopeton, the town where Clara grew up.
Just remembering the bleak look in Clara’s eyes when she asked about the possibility of her necklace being returned had me spending the last two hours scouring every pawn shop within a twenty-mile radius of Ravenshoe. Unfortunately, Clara’s necklace hasn’t been seen. Since the mugging was less than forty-eight hours ago, the local brokers believe it will be a few more weeks before it surfaces. I don’t care if it takes me weeks, months, or years, I won’t stop searching until I find it.
When I walk into my apartment, I’m confronted with silence.
I don’t fucking like it.
I place the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and climb the stairs to my loft. Although my room still smells like Clara, it is empty.
I don’t fucking like it.
I check the laundry room, the bathroom, and the patio attached to my living area. Clara is nowhere to be seen.
I don’t fucking like it.
I hated leaving her alone, but she assured me she could take care of herself and didn’t need a babysitter. When I failed to see any untruth in her eyes, I left, expecting her to still be here when I returned.