I shrugged, then whimpered at the pain radiating through my skull.
"Will you sit?" Nancy asked, indicating to the step of her ambulance. "I promise my colleagues are doing everything they can for your friend."
I drew a deep breath, trying to make good choices. Slowly, with my eyes locked on Bree's crushed car, I sank down to the step Nancy was pointing at.
The moment I did, I caught a shift in her attitude, like a small wave of relief passed over her at my acceptance of her treatment.
"Good girl," Steele murmured, crouching beside me and linking our fingers together. "Bree's going to be okay, beautiful. She'll be just fine."
I appreciated his comforting words, but he couldn't know that. None of us could. Bree might well already be dead, for all we knew. And if she was, then it was on me.
The section of car metal the firemen had been working on came free, and the EMTs rushed in to attend to my friend, now that they could access her.
From the crush of bodies all around, I couldn't see anything except her lifeless, blood-soaked hand hanging out of the car.
Oh fuck. She was dead.
My best friend was dead because of me.
44
The next few hours passed in a blur. After they freed Bree from the wreckage of her car, she was rushed into the ambulance and carried away with sirens blaring. That gave me a small measure of hope because why would they bother unless there was some chance to save her?
Steele and Nancy convinced me to be transported too, something I probably needed, considering the sharp pain every time I turned my neck. Also, it meant that we were following Bree, and I needed to stay close to her.
We left Archer and Kody behind to clean up the mess of what was almost certainly another assassination attempt. How the hell they'd manage to do that, given the number of witnesses, property damage, and dead bodies, I had no idea. But I had faith they'd work it out. Their resources were, I was quickly learning, seemingly endless.
When we arrived at the hospital, Nancy told me that Bree had been taken into surgery, and it'd be some time before we'd know anything. She handed me off to an ER nurse, who checked me in, and gave Steele a clipboard of paperwork to fill out on my behalf.
"This seems like overkill," I mumbled, sitting on the edge of a hospital bed and watching Steele fill out the forms confidently. How he knew all that personal information about me off the top of his head, I had no idea.
"It's a precaution, Hellcat," he murmured back, not stopping his pen for even a second, "and one I'm glad they're taking. We're not taking chances with your health."
I had nothing to say back to that. Besides, if Bree would be in surgery for some hours yet, I had nowhere else I needed to be.
"It's just a bit of bruising and a headache," I said anyway. It always made me feel anxious and guilty to use medical assistance unless I really needed it. I never wanted them prioritizing me and my non-life-threatening injuries over someone else.
Steele clicked his pen off and set the clipboard aside, giving me a pointed stare. "You're getting checked out. End of discussion." He reached out and tugged my shoes off, then pointed for me to sit further back on the bed. "So just get comfy. I'm not leaving you."
Grumbling, I did as he wanted and shuffled back against the pillows. He sat on the edge of the mattress, resting his hand gently on my knee as he checked his phone. A deep frown creased his face, and he started tapping out a rapid, one-handed reply.
"Fill me in, Max," I ordered, my fingers fidgeting with the stiff blankets. "I'm a mess of nerves right now; I need the distraction."
He glanced up at me, worried, then gave an understanding nod. "Just touching base with our guys working on profiles for Scott, Bark, and your professor. They said they'll send a report through on Scott shortly."
"Okay, that's good, right? So why the frown?" I got the impression bad news was coming.
Steele sighed and shook his head, though. "No reason. I'm just worried about what they might have found. Believe it or not, we would rather Scott not be guilty in this shit."
Surprise widened my eyes. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. You trusted him when you were betrayed by the three of us. He offered you friendship when we hurt you, and if that all turned out to be fake?" He gave me a pained smile. "I never want to see you hurting, Hellcat. Not physically." He indicated the fact that we were currently in a hospital bed. "Or emotionally. Scott turning out to be a stalker? That'd be a tough blow."
I gave a faint nod, as much as my aching neck would allow, and swallowed heavily. He was right, as per usual. But the sick feeling of dread churning inside me said that result was inevitable. Scott wasn't the nice guy I'd met in Aspen. That version of him was quickly showing as totally and undeniably fake.
The doctor came to see me a few minutes later, and Steele moved aside to let them run their tests. He answered a call from Archer at some point, updating him in low tones about where we were and what my doctor had said so far.
Eventually I was given some heavy painkillers for my aches and released. The diagnosis was mild whiplash, a concussion, and some severe bruising across my neck, chest, and lower body from the seat belt. All in all, I was insanely lucky.
"You should stay the night here," Steele commented again as I filled in the discharge form and signed my name. "The doctor said your concussion needed observation for at least twelve hours."
I shot him a warning glare. "He also said that could be done from home. I'm not staying the night here, Max. Let it go."
He glowered back at me, not even remotely letting it go. "You're not going home, though. You're going to sit in the waiting room on uncomfortable plastic chairs for fuck knows how long until Bree gets out of surgery."
I gave a tiny shrug, then winced. My painkillers needed longer to kick in properly. "So what? Sitting on a plastic chair sure as fuck won't kill me. And it's an incentive not to fall asleep, right?"
Steele scowled, but I handed the discharge forms over to the nurse and slid off the bed gingerly. He was still frowning as he helped me tie my shoes back on, then wrapped a gentle arm around me to walk back out to the waiting room.
Dallas was already there, sitting with his head clasped in his hands, so I took the seat directly beside him. Neither of us spoke, but after a moment, he reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing comfortingly.
Steele—despite his protests about me staying in the waiting room—went over to the drink dispenser and cranked out a cup of coffee for each of us, then took the seat directly opposite me, his knees deliberately touching mine.
I released Dallas's hand so I could sip my coffee, then almost choked on it. "Damn, that's bad," I spluttered, wincing as the bitter taste assaulted my tongue. I still took another sip, though. Coffee was coffee when you'd been through a car crash and gunfight over lunchtime.
Dallas gave a small smile. "You're such a coffee snob, Katie."
I didn't argue with him on that. Steele just gave me a lopsided grin, then turned back to his phone again.
"Boys are on their way," he told us. "Cleanup is finished."
Dallas gave a small grunt of surprise. "That was quick for a scene that public. You guys must have some serious help on your books."