Just like Daniel had told her. She was in danger. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to ask anything more for fear of what she might learn. Owen hadn’t answered her questions. The most important thing to ask remained unspoken. Because she worried if she did try to get him to remember his assailant, she’d trigger an adverse reaction. At the moment, he wasn’t whole. He would recover, and she had time to push later. If he ended up in coma, he wouldn’t be of any help.
She scrambled for something gentle. “Do you remember what you told me? After the accident?”
He opened his eyes fully and then looked at her. “We spoke?” His voice was thick and rusty.
She almost recoiled at the bloodshot vacant stare, looking back. But she held her ground. “You told me no accidents, Liz. What did tha?—”
The power cut.
She jumped.
The room darkened but not completely. The window curtain was cracked open, a thin shaft of natural light cast a gentle glow.
“That scared me,” she admitted with a drudging laugh.
“You both were always afraid of the dark as kids,” Owen said.
Emma sighed. The tidbit didn’t offer any illumination to the past. “Most kids are.”
She strode toward the window and pulled back the curtains wider.
Emergency power sources kicked on. All sorts of buzzes and beeps sounded from seemingly every inch of the room.
“It’s so loud.” He flinched.
“I’ll go get help,” she told him. “Stay here.”
He rolled his eyes at her bad joke.
In the hallway, Emma didn’t find either the deputy or the sheriff outside the door. Wasn’t the room supposed to be guarded? Alarms blared and machines beeped, noisier than the room.
Emma pressed her fingers to her ears.
A masked nurse brushed past her and strode into Owen’s room, shutting the door behind her.
One problem down but Emma couldn’t shake the dread snaking over her. Where was law enforcement? Why tell her she was potentially a target and then abandon her? Her pulse picked up, and her vision blurred. Nothing felt right about the situation.
She shut her eyes, focusing on her breathing and calming herself down.
Emma was jostled and lost her balance, falling to the ground.
Two POPs sounded in the rapid succession. The window in the door behind her shattered.
She covered her head with her hands as she crouched on the ground, the glass falling on her. What happened? A gunshot? Ducking, she scampered across the hall and into the shelter of the nurse’s station.
The door opened, and the nurse exited, turning to glance around before dashing down the hall. Why was the figure dressed for surgery? With hair covered under a cap and a mask covering the lower half of the face, Emma couldn’t identify the individual. Was that the point?
Emma’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She had to get back to Owen. She hurried to his room. Maybe there was an explanation for the door. Maybe he was okay. She swallowed, fighting the rising bile of her instincts telling her what she feared most.
“Owen, what’s going on? What did you mean? Why did you ask us to return? Why did you want to hold the reunion?”
She heard no response. A metallic scent lingered in the air.
One noise rise above all others, a solid, consistent beep. Flatline.
“No, no, no.” She raced to his side, clutching his hand. But his fingers were cold, and his arm was heavy as she tried to lift it.
His head lolled on the pillow, blood pouring out from a shot to his temple.
