Page 20 of Fire Fight

Being an invalid was fucking humbling.

Once that task was completed, we got me settled back into bed, Sonya propping some pillows up against my back to make resting on my right side more comfortable. Then she brought me a small Styrofoam cup of water with a lid and a straw.

“Small sips,” she instructed. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

Tentatively, I stuck the straw between my lips and sucked. The cool liquid was heaven on my tongue, and a moan slipped free.

“Good?” Sonya asked with a knowing grin.

“Best water I’ve ever tasted.”

That laugh echoed around us again. “I’m going to go see if I can scrounge you up some soup from the cafeteria. I’m assuming you have no idea when you last ate.”

“Please. I don’t even know what day it is,” I joked.

“Sunday,” she said with a wink before she disappeared.

After a few more sips of water, I set the cup on the tray at my side and closed my eyes. The trip to the bathroom had sapped nearly all of my energy, and I doubted I’d be awake when Sonya returned.

But I tried.

In an effort to see exactly where my injuries began and ended, I reached my right arm across my body and gently probed my left side, bending my left arm at an awkward angle that pulled at my skin. From what I could tell, the burns began midway down my ribcage and extended down my thigh, a few inches below the curve of my ass. The bandages felt too hot against my fingertips, like my skin was still on fire. Dropping my arm, I closed my eyes once again. I was so damn exhausted, right down to the very marrow of my bones.

I hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, wondering what kind of mess I had gotten myself into.

seven

. . .

ASPEN

Footsteps echoedin the hall outside my room and paused in the doorway. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. Maybe Sonya would leave the soup and go. I could eat it cold, right?

But the tentative shuffle on the floor of my room had them flying open anyway, and I was confronted with the looming presence of a large tattooed man in a sheriff’s uniform.

“Miss McKay?” Sheriff Lawless asked gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” I assured him. “I was only resting my eyes.”

He nodded. “You must be exhausted,” he said. “But if you’re up for it, I’d like to get your statement about what happened to you?”

The man standing before me now was a far cry from the burly, take-no-bullshit man who’d sat across from me in his office three days before. The rough edges of the tone he’d used with me before were smoothed and softened, as though I was as delicate as glass, liable to shatter under his previous harshness.

He wasn’t treating me like a common citizen or a pest he wanted to be rid of anymore.

Now…I was a fuckingvictim.

I hated that. Hated the pity in his eyes and his tentative movements. I squeezed my eyes shut, face heating with embarrassment as tears leaked out and trailed down my face.

Had I mentioned yet that I was exhausted?

Was I up for an interview? I knew as well as anyone that law enforcement wanted to strike while the iron was hot with these sorts of things before time warped my memory and tainted my recollection. But the simple truth was, at the moment, I didn’t remember much of anything.

“I-I’m not sure,” I stuttered.

“I can come back,” he said, almost as if hewantedto leave. And I couldn’t blame him. No one liked hospitals.

My mouth opened to ask him to come back later, but I stopped myself, deciding it was better to rip off that metaphoric bandage and get it the hell over with.