“Don’t move.”
I run off to the supply closet. I don’t know who killed those girls, but I don’t want anything to happen to Harper. I find a great deal of gauze and Band-Aids and alcohol swabs, suture kits, as well as some suture and staple removal kits. There’s a whole stack of silver-impregnated dressings, but I don’t see how that will help Harper if she runs into somebody in a dark alley. Finally, I come to the syringes.
It’s not ideal. But it’s better than nothing.
I grab the three milliliter syringe and screw on an eighteen gauge needle. I think that’s enough to do some serious damage. Of course, she’ll have to remove the cap of the needle, but it’s better than being completely unprepared.
I come out of the supply closet with the needle ready to go. I present it to Harper, who takes it gingerly, like she doesn’t quite want to touch it. She drops it in her purse. “Uh, thanks?”
“I wish I had something better,” I say. “You should go out and get some mace or something.”
Harper looks down at her purse, then back up at my face. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dr. Davis?”
No, I am not okay. I’m not even close to okay. But I don’t want Harper to know the truth about me. Nobody in my life can know. They would never look at me the same way. They would look at me the way… well, the way Detective Barber does.
Two dead bodies. Two dead patients with their hands removed. What does it mean?
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You look…” She bites her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say anything. It’s just that you always seem so composed, no matter what’s going on. You and Dr. Corey both do. But now you seem… Are you upset about that other patient who was killed?”
“It’s sad,” I say. Itissad. But that’s not why I’m feeling so shaken by the whole thing. “It just goes to show how dangerous it is out there.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promises me. “Becky and I took a self-defense course last year. We’ll be fine.”
As if a self-defense course would have protected her against somebody like my father. But I can’t say that. “Good. And if you get in any trouble, just call 911.”
“Okay,” she agrees, although I can tell she thinks I’m being ridiculous.
Right after Harper takes off, I leave as well. But the last thing I want to do is to go home. To my empty house where I’m becoming increasingly sure a letter from my father was slipped under my door.
I’ve got to get an alarm system. Alarms and cameras. Everybody says it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t feel safe right now.
As I drive home, I come up to the exit on the freeway for Christopher’s. I haven’t been there in an entire week—not since that spectacular night with Brady that ended in me running out on him. It seems so unfair that I can’t go there anymore because of him. I’ve been going there for years, and he only just started there. Christopher’s should be mine.
Against my better judgment, I find myself taking the exit and driving the rest of the way to Christopher’s. I’ll just look inside and see if Brady is working. If he is, I’ll take off. If he isn’t, then I’ll go order myself an Old Fashioned.
I don’t want to see Brady again. It has nothing to do with what that old lady said about him, which in retrospect seems even more insane than it did that day in the drugstore. I just can’t get involved with anyone right now. And if I spend more time with him, he’s going to get the wrong idea. I don’t have room in my life for that right now.
It turns out I hit the jackpot. When I look inside the bar, there’s another bartender there serving drinks—another new guy I don’t recognize. Brady is nowhere in sight. Thank God.
Although the truth is, a small part of me is disappointed.
Instead of going to the bar, I slip into a booth in the back. A waitress comes over and I order my Old Fashioned. But I don’t think it’s going to be enough to make me feel better about today. I don’t think anything will be able to do that.
“Nora?”
I jerk my head up at the sound of my name. I suck in abreath when I see Brady standing over me. He looks surprised but not unhappy to see me.
“Hi,” I say. “I, uh… I didn’t know you were working right now.”
Brady glances at the bar, then back at me. “My shift just ended.”
Wow, my timing could not have been any worse.
“I don’t suppose you feel like some company?” he asks.
I stare down at my hands on the table. “Not really. I’m sorry.”
