Page 18

EIGHTEEN

GRáINNE

I groan as I move toward my front door. I’m still a little tender. It’s been a week since I was attacked. After I fell unconscious at the hospital, I was kept overnight for observations. But doctors don’t make the best of patients, and I needed to get out of there. Thankfully, other than a few scrapes and bruises, I was okay and didn’t need any further treatment.

The knocking at the door gets louder, which causes the pounding in my head to intensify. I’ve got a raging headache and whoever is at the door isn’t helping matters. I wrench the door open, ready to snap at the person on the other side, but the words die on my lips as I stare at the blonde man from the hospital, the one my patient was terrified of.

“Ms. Fallon, such a pleasure to see you again,” he says with a sinister smile.

“How did you find out where I live?” I ask, my voice trembling. I know this man is dangerous. I’m not stupid. I know he’s here to kill me. “We have orders. No loose ends.” That’s what the dark-haired man said to Antoine.

My heart races as I take an involuntary step back. The man's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Oh, come now, Dr. Fallon. Finding you was child's play. You should know better than to underestimate us."

He takes a step forward, forcing me further into my apartment. I frantically scan the room for a weapon, anything I can use to defend myself.

"What do you want?" I manage to croak out, trying to buy time.

"I think you know exactly what I want," he replies smoothly. "You've seen too much, heard too much. We can't have you running around with that kind of knowledge."

My back hits the wall. I'm cornered. The man reaches into his jacket, and I know this is it. I won’t let him kill me. Hell no.

“You’re crazy. You know that, right?” I hiss as my hands reach out to my left, where I know the lamp is. “I don’t know what you think I overheard, but I didn’t. I have hundreds of patients every week. I was busy. I entered Mr. Antoine’s room and gasped as I hadn’t expected visitors.”

His eyes narrow on me as he steps forward. “You’re a good liar, Dr. Fallon,” he grunts, pulling a knife from his pocket. “But we both know that you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” I tell him, my voice trembling.

He laughs, and it sounds manic, almost crazy. He brushes the tip of his knife along my cheek. “It’s a shame,” he says, his gaze raking over me. “You are pretty, but I have instructions.”

In a flash, I grab the lamp and swing it with all my might. It connects with his head with a sickening crunch, sending shards of ceramic flying. The man staggers back, momentarily stunned. I hear the sound of his knife clattering against the floor. I don't waste a second. I bolt for the door, my heart pounding in my ears.

But he's quick to recover. His hand latches on to my arm, yanking me back with brutal force. I cry out as I'm slammed against the wall. "That wasn't very nice, Dr. Fallon," he snarls, blood trickling down his temple. "I was going to make this quick, but now... now I think I'll take my time."

Panic surges through me. I knee him in the groin, hard. He doubles over, cursing, and I make another dash for the door. Fingers grasp my hair and pull hard. I cry out as he tugs hard, causing my hair to be pulled at the root. I fall backward, needing him to release me.

I hit the floor with a thud, my head bouncing off the ground. “I do love a good fight,” he growls, before raising his hand and punching me in the face.

Stars explode behind my eyes as his fist connects with my cheek. The pain is blinding, too much. I’m struggling to breathe, to form any kind of coherent thought.

Over and over again, he lets loose on me, punching me. Pain unlike anything I’ve ever experienced hits me as my vision starts to fade. No, I can’t let this happen. I swallow the fear as adrenaline surges through me, dulling the pain just enough. I won't go down without a fight.

As he pulls back for another punch, I thrust my palm upward, catching him square in the nose. There's a satisfying crunch, and he reels back, blood gushing down his face.

"You bitch!" he roars, but his grip on me loosens.

I scramble to my feet, my vision blurry, my head spinning. The door. I need to get to the door. But my legs are wobbly, and I stumble, crashing into the side table.

The man is on me again, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around. His face is a mask of rage, blood streaming from his nose. "I'm going to enjoy this," he snarls, the knife now pressed against my throat.

How the hell did he manage to get the knife again? Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

My fingers barely graze the doorknob, when I feel a sharp, burning pain in my side. I look down to see the knife buried in my flesh, the man's hand still gripping the handle.

"No loose ends," he whispers in my ear as he twists the blade.

I scream, the pain blinding. But through the pain, fear, and panic, I hear something else—sirens. They're getting closer. Did someone call for help? I really hope so.

The man hears them too. His eyes widen with alarm. "Damn it," he mutters, yanking the knife out.

I collapse to the floor, pressing my hand against the wound. The man hesitates, his eyes darting between me and the door. The sirens are getting louder, closer. He curses under his breath, clearly torn between finishing the job and saving his own skin.

"This isn't over," he snarls, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "We'll find you, wherever you go."

With that, he bolts for the door, wrenching it open and disappearing. I lie there, gasping, my hand pressed firmly against my side. Blood seeps through my fingers, warm and sticky. The room spins around me, and I fight to stay conscious.

The sirens stop abruptly, replaced by the sound of car doors slamming and hurried footsteps. "In here!" I try to shout, but it comes out as barely more than a whisper.

Suddenly, two gardai rush in, guns drawn. Their eyes widen as they take in the scene—the shattered lamp, the blood-stained floor, and me, crumpled against the wall.

"We need an ambulance, now!" one of them shouts into his radio as the other kneels beside me.

"Ma'am, can you hear me? Stay with us. Help is on the way," the garda says, pressing his hands over mine to stem the bleeding.

I try to speak, to warn them about the man, about the danger, but my vision is fading. The last thing I see is the garda's concerned face before darkness claims me.

I drift in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of conversation and flashes of light. The wail of an ambulance siren. Paramedics shouting medical jargon. The rush of a hospital corridor. Then nothing.

I’m beyond sore. I’ve got a broken nose, multiple contusions, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a damn truck. My entire body feels as though it’s been through the wringer.

"Dr. Fallon? Are you awake?" I hear a familiar voice ask.

I turn my head slightly to see Detective Connolly—the garda who interviewed me after Antoine attacked me at the hospital—entering my room. His face is etched with concern.

"Yes, I’m awake. You found me?" I croak, my throat dry and scratchy.

Connolly leans forward, his voice low. "Someone tried to kill you, Dr. Fallon. We got a call about a disturbance at your address. When we arrived, we found you bleeding out on the floor. The attacker had fled."

I close my eyes, the memories flooding back. The blonde man, the knife, the pain. "He said... no loose ends," I whisper.

Connolly's expression darkens. "We believe this is connected to Antoine's murder. Dr. Fallon?—”

Panic rushes through me. “Murder?” I ask. What the hell does he mean, murder? No. God no.

Connolly nods grimly. "Antoine was found dead days after he attacked you. We think whoever did it came for you next."

My heart races as the implications sink in. Antoine is dead. They killed him, just like they tried to kill me. And they won't stop until I'm silenced too.

I hear footsteps in the hall, close to my room, and my body tenses. Is it the man? Is he coming back to kill me?

“Grá.” I hear the low, anguished tone of Jerry Houlihan as he steps into my room. “God, what the fuck happened? I swear to God, girlie, you’ve about put me into an early grave. This is the second time in a week, Gráinne,” he growls. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Mr. Houlihan,” Detective Connolly begins as he rises to his feet. “I’m currently speaking with Dr. Fallon?—”

Jer cuts his gaze to the detective. “Yeah?” he spits. “Tell me what the fuck you’re doing about this shit? Hmm?”

Detective Connolly's jaw tightens as he faces Jerry. "Mr. Houlihan, I understand you're upset, but this is an ongoing investigation. I can't disclose?—"

“My daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and you're giving me the runaround? I want answers, and I want them now!"

I wince at the volume of Jerry's voice, my head still pounding. "Jer," I croak, "please, not so loud." But my heart is beating rapidly. His daughter? God, he’s the fucking best.

Jerry's gaze softens as he looks at me, concern replacing the anger. He moves to my bedside, taking my hand gently in his. "Christ, Grá. Look at you. I should've been there. I should've?—"

"You couldn't have known," I whisper, squeezing his hand weakly.

Connolly clears his throat. "Mr. Houlihan, I assure you we're taking this very seriously. We have officers stationed outside Dr. Fallon's room, and we're working on identifying her attacker."

Jerry scoffs. "And what about when she leaves the hospital? What then?"

I feel a chill run down my spine at the thought. The blonde man's words echo in my mind. "We'll find you, wherever you go."

“Why don’t you go and do your job,” Jerry hisses, turning his back on Detective Connolly and facing me. “I’ve got her.”

I hear the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, followed by footsteps. I take a deep breath when the door closes behind the detective. I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do. I thought I was safe, but today proved I’m far fucking from it.

“Grá, how are you feeling?" Jer asks softly.

"Like I've been hit by a truck." I manage a weak smile. "But I'm alive."

Jerry's eyes fill with tears. "Christ, Gráinne, when I got the call... I thought..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

I swallow hard. “I know. Me too,” I whisper. “Please don’t tell Connor,” I plead with him.

Things between the two of us have been awkward since our talk. I still love him but I need time. I need to adjust to everything. Having the craziness of the past week hasn’t helped. I’ve wanted to call him so many times, but haven’t.

Jerry's eyes narrow. "Don't tell Connor? Are you out of your mind, Grá? He needs to know."

I shake my head weakly. "No, please. Things are... complicated between us right now. I don't want him to worry."

Jerry sighs heavily. "Gráinne, I know you two are having issues, but this is bigger than that. You were nearly killed. Twice. He deserves to know, and you need all the support you can get right now."

I close my eyes, feeling tears well up. "I'm scared, Jer," I admit quietly. "I don't know what to do. These people, whoever they are, they're not going to stop."

Jerry squeezes my hand. "That's exactly why you need Connor. And me. And everyone else who cares about you. We'll figure this out together and keep you safe."

I know he's right, but the thought of dragging Connor into this mess makes my stomach churn. "What if they come after him too? I couldn't bear it if something happened to him because of me."

"Connor's a big boy, Grá. He can handle himself. And he'd want to be here for you, no matter what's going on between you two."

“He doesn’t,” I tell him honestly. “That’s why things are so awkward between us. He doesn’t want what I want and that’s okay. But I need space.”

Jerry's brow furrows as he processes my words. "What do you mean, he doesn't want what you want? Connor's crazy about you, Grá."

I sigh, wincing as the movement causes pain to flare in my side. "He doesn't want anything more than sex, Jer. He made that pretty clear."

Jerry's eyes widen in surprise. "He said that? To you?"

I nod, feeling the sting of tears again. "We’ve spoken about it. We're at an impasse. Jer, I’m ready to find someone who’ll love me and settle down."

Jerry runs a hand through his hair, looking troubled. "Jesus, Grá, I had no idea. But still, this situation?—"

"Is exactly why I can't drag him into it," I interrupt. "What's the point of putting him in danger?"

He shakes his head. “I don’t agree, but if this is what you want, then I’ll respect that. But Grá, anything else happens to you and I’ll be calling Connor myself.”

I sigh with relief. “Thank you,” I whisper. “When can I go home?” I hate being in the hospital. I just want to be at home where I can be alone.

“Not yet,” Jer tells me softly. “I’ve got someone currently installing extra security at your apartment. By the time you're released, your apartment will be back to normal.”

I feel like I could cry. God, what the hell did I do to deserve Jerry to love me like a child and protect me like one too? I reach out and take his hand. “Thank you.”

"Never thank me for doing all I can to protect you Grá. I'll make sure that you're not alone. Not anymore."

I give him a smile. "You're the best. You know that, Jer?"

He chuckles. "Only sometimes. Now rest, Grá. You need to rest. It's the only way your body will heal."

A knock sounds on the door, and I watch as the door opens slightly and Mike pops his head in. "Hey, Grá," he says with a big smile.

Since he asked me out, he’s backed off somewhat but has remained friendly. Which I’m thankful for.

“Hey,” I reply. Thankfully, today’s the day I get to leave here.

Mike steps into the room, his smile fading slightly as he takes in my appearance. "Wow, you look... well, you've looked better," he says, attempting humor.

I manage a weak laugh. "Thanks, Mike. Just what every girl wants to hear."

He approaches the bed, his expression growing serious. "How are you feeling? Really?"

I sigh, wincing as I shift in the bed. "Like I've been hit by a truck, stabbed, and then run over again for good measure. But hey, at least I'm alive, right?"

Mike nods solemnly. "That's the spirit. Listen, Grá, I heard about what happened. I can't believe someone would... I mean, it's just..." He trails off, clearly at a loss for words.

"Yeah, it's pretty messed up," I agree. "But I'm okay. Or I will be, anyway."

Mike hesitates for a moment before speaking again. "I know things have been a bit awkward between us since... well, you know. But I want you to know that I'm here for you. As a friend. If you need anything at all."

His sincerity touches me. "Thanks, Mike. That means a lot."

He gives me a soft smile. “The offer of a date still stands, Grá. Just say the word.”

“I appreciate that,” I tell him, but I’m not sure I’m ready for anything like that. Not now anyway.

Just then, Jerry returns with a nurse. "Alright, Grá," he says, his gaze on Mike, and I watch as his eyes narrow. "Time to get you out of here. Your chariot awaits."

I can't help but smile at the sight of the wheelchair. "Thank God,” I sigh dramatically. I’m so glad I can get out of here. I just pray that the man doesn’t return.