“Not even my bunk mates?”
He shook his head. “Stick with at least two of them at all times.”
“You think this is the work of one person?”
His gut told him it was. But he had no proof of that.
“I hate not knowing who I can trust,” she said.
“I’ll be close at all times. I promise.”
“And now what? We’re supposed to walk in and act normal?” She laughed, a forced sound.
He nodded. “Owen is talking. Let’s get answers from him. I think he saw his assailant. This could all be over today. And then you can be freed from this burden you’ve carried.”
And return to your life. He wanted part of that daydream to be real. He wanted her to come home. But their small town didn’t hold much opportunity. She did a lot of good work and helped a lot of people. Coming back would squander her talents. Shaunitoc had nothing to offer, besides his heart.
She turned toward him. “Thank you for telling me…everything.” She lifted the corner of her mouth in a sad sort of smile. “I need to absorb the news and process what you said. I’m sorry if my reactions have seemed ungrateful.”
“Never. I understand.” After a career in law enforcement, he’d learned how differently everyone handled news. Good or bad, a shock was a shock. Most people didn’t have the reactions displayed in the movies. “Let’s get some answers and maybe get you home tonight.”
She opened her mouth and quickly shut it, opening her door.
What would she have said if she hadn’t cut herself off? Would she have protested that she wanted to stay? He didn’t want to push her away but couldn’t keep her safe with a killer on the loose. Or would she have understood the other meaning he implied? He wanted her back in town for good. Wishful thinking was worthless, and he didn’t believe in it. He needed action and prayer, following His guidance. His faith lay with the Lord.
Six
Emma wasn’t sure what to think. She was not surprised to find out that Owen had been conducting his own amateur investigation. That detail helped her find a bit of calm, illuminating what he had said to her at the scene of the accident and erasing her fears about his mental state.
With adrenaline racing through his system, Owen had uttered his suspicions. He battled horrific pain from a gunshot wound to get behind the wheel. His injuries in the wreck were the least of his problems. The very act was selfless and heroic. With what he thought were his dying breaths, Owen wanted to ease her suffering. He was a good person. Her heart ached for pulling away from him and everyone else.
Emma couldn’t explain why Owen would be a target any more than she could accept her sister’s death had been murder. But as she followed Daniel into the hospital, she reasoned she didn’t have to. Motive, opportunity, and suspects were the sheriff’s domain. She’d gladly take a backseat.
A deputy in full uniform stood outside one of the hospital rooms.
The man nodded at Daniel and stepped to the side.
Daniel opened the door and held it wide, letting Emma pass first.
She wasn’t sure what she expected to find. Last night, she had been here. She’d already seen the updates to the building, the new flooring, the LED lights, the softer color on the walls. But all of the comforting changes washed away when she spotted Owen in a gown on the bed, banged up and bruised, hooked up to machines and an IV drip.
In seconds, she traveled back to her sister’s broken and bruised body, lying flat and lifeless with a crisp sheet covering her at the morgue. An awful, metallic taste filled Emma’s mouth. She snapped to the present and swallowed a small drop of blood; she’d bitten the inside of her cheek too hard.
“Oh, you’re here,” Lucille said.
“Good morning, Mrs. T, Mr. T,” Daniel greeted both Thomases in turn. “How’s our patient doing today?” He faced the bed but addressed the room at large.
Emma stepped farther into the room, noticing Owen’s eyelids fluttering. He was in a fitful sleep, or he was pretending to doze so he could avoid questions from the sheriff. She didn’t blame him for the latter, if that was the case.
“He’s doing much better,” Lucille said. “The doctor thinks he’ll be able to go home at the end of the week.”
“Was he able to speak to you this morning?” Daniel asked.
Both Thomases nodded.
“Oh yes,” Lucille said. “His voice is a little scratchy after being intubated yesterday, but he had a lot to say. I’m so glad you came.” Lucille addressed Emma. “I’m sure this isn’t easy.”
Emma gulped. It was typical of kindhearted Lucille Thomas to think about someone else while her son was lying helpless in a hospital bed. “I’m fine.”
