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“I would like to press charges,” I said smoothly. “But not against Greer. She didn’t do this. The hospital should have informed you that I know who did it. So why don’t you get off your ass and go pick up Eugenia Meade.”
“Eugenia Meade? That older lady?”
“Yeah, the old lady who was right under your noses this whole time,” I bit out. “She attacked Greer out by the old cemetery near Richmond House. And she admitted to killing Linus Hawkins and Amato.”
“She told you that?”
“She told Greer.”
The detective shook his head as if to clear it before standing up.
“I’m going to speak to Ms. Richmond now. Don’t go anywhere.”
As if perfectly timed, the detective passed the doctor again on his way out into the hallway. I relaxed back onto the bed. It was over. Finally. Greer and I were back together. In minutes there’d be an APB out on Eugenia. After that, we could all go on with our lives.
“Mr. Blackwell,” Stevenson said cheerily. “I had a nurse drop off a gown to Greer and I’m happy to confirm that she’s wearing it—I passed her talking to the detective in the hallway.”
My annoyance at him being on a first-name basis with Greer when he called me “Mr. Blackwell” warred with my relief that she was at least covered while she spoke with the cops.
“Thank you,” I finally said curtly.
“Let’s talk about these wounds.”
“I was stabbed with a small knife.”
“Yeah, well, small or not, several more of those stabs would have meant a fatal loss of blood. You’re lucky. As it is, with several bags of blood at least, you’ll probably be right as rain, ready for discharge within the week.”
Greer chose that unfortunate moment to re-enter the room.
“A week? No. No way in hell.”
“Jace—” she tried.
“Are you going to stay here with me?”
“Sure. I’ll probably have to go back to the house at some point or run by your house. There are things you’re going to need and—”
“That’s what I thought. The answer is no. There’s no way I’m going to be lying in this hospital bed while you’re running all over town, and we don’t know where the fuck that psycho is.”
“Don’t call her that,” Greer said quietly. “She’s unstable. It’s more complicated than you’re making it seem, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t ‘know it.’ But you can explain it to me back at the house.”
“I don’t want to stay at Richmond House anymore. Can we stay at your place?”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Greer had been back for weeks and not once had she expressed any interest in staying at my place before now.
“Sure, sweetheart.”
In the end, I’d had to compromise. Greer’s forearms were badly bruised, not broken. I’d stayed in the hospital for two nights, selfishly refusing to let Greer out of my sight except to go down to the hospital gift shop—escorted by Detective Scott, who’d come back twice to question her further—to get a toothbrush and a couple of overpriced T-shirts, one to wear, one to sleep in. We’d talked, watched television, played cards, and for the first time in seven years, I’d gone more than a day without doing any work. For the first time, I had Greer all to myself for more than a night. Janae kept the wolf from the door, explaining to anyone who called that I had the stomach flu. I’d told her she didn’t have to lie, that I wasn’t ashamed of what happened, but she’d insisted on keeping “private things private.”
The night before I was discharged, Greer had curled up next to me on the hospital bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment that we’d wanted to be close to each other.
“Jace?”
“Sweetheart?” I’d replied sleepily.
“I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.”
