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“It’s fine, Blake—”
He cut her off. “No, I mean it. It was a blow to my ego, when you wouldn’t go out with me. I had this stupid dream that I would come back to KI, and you would fall straight into my arms, and life would be amazing. But I can see now, it would never work.”
Now she felt really guilty, because while Blake continued to stare at her with serious, blue eyes she knew that she owed him the apology. She’d thought the worst of him. How wrong could she have been?
“Blake, I’m really sorry. I probably didn’t handle it right. But you know…”
“I found one,” her mum chirped loudly as she bustled back into the room, a glass vase in one hand and the flowers in the other.
“Thanks, Mum,” Sierra said, with a sigh.
There was another awkward silence as Aileen fiddled with the wrapping around the flowers, and began to arrange them in the vase by her bedside.
“I’d better be going,” Blake said, already backing out of the room. “Hope your leg gets better soon.” She could see there was a lot more he wanted to say, but it was all too late now.
“Thanks, Blake. And thanks for the flowers,” she added belatedly as he disappeared around the doorframe.
“He was lovely,” Aileen said, still fiddling with the roses. But Sierra could hear the question in her voice. She hadn’t mentioned Blake to her mum when she’d dated him two years ago. It was probably a little late to try and fill her in, now. Sierra let her eyes drift to the window again, as Aileen finished arranging the flowers and went to sit in the chair by the bed.
“Morning, ladies.” Sierra whipped her head around at the familiar, deep baritone. It was Reed, and she drank in the sight of him as he stood in the door. His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorframe, the deep-blue police uniform looking fresh and clean on him.
“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to buy flowers.” His gaze drifted over the extravagant bunch of roses. She wanted to tell him they meant nothing to her. His presence was worth more than ten bunches of flowers. One hundred, even. She didn’t need flowers from him. Her heart rate skipped higher as his dark eyes settled on her, a question hovering in their depths. Reed ran a hand through his short black hair, and Sierra was startled by a sudden need coursing through her. A need for him to put his hands on her, run them through her hair, caress her neck. Strong hands. Tough hands. But also tender, knowing just where to touch her skin to get the greatest response.
“Officer Kapua, nice to see you again,” her mother replied, before Sierra could untie her tongue. “How are things going out there? Have the media left yet?”
It seemed to take him some effort to tear his gaze away from Sierra and concentrate on her mum. “Unfortunately, not.” Reed grimaced. “The vultures are still circling.”
“I bet they are,” Aileen replied with a rueful tilt of her mouth. “But still, Sierra would understand better than most of us how these things work. You know she used to be a journalist?”
“Yes, she mentioned that,” Reed replied. He drew in a deep breath, which sounded like he was fortifying himself for something to come. “Sorry, Mrs. Goldstein, but would you mind if I talked to Sierra in private for a few minutes?”
“Oh.” Aileen turned to stare at Sierra, hesitating. And Sierra was suddenly unsure if she wanted to be alone with Reed. But she’d have to face it sooner or later. Have to tell him the truth. She owed him that much. Sierra knew why her mother didn’t want to leave. All she wanted to do was protect her youngest daughter. She was terrified this new trauma might tip Sierra over the edge, put her back into that pit of misery and despair she’d fallen into after Grace’s death.
But Sierra knew she was stronger than that. She would be fine.
“Sure.” Sierra nodded toward Reed. “Mum, would you mind getting me a coffee from that vending machine in reception? I’d kill for one right now.” Sierra made shooing motions with her hands, trying to convince her mother with her eyes that she would be fine. She didn’t need her mother hovering over her like she was a wounded bird. Her mum mumbled something incoherent, but did as she was asked, looking back over her shoulder once or twice as she walked down the corridor.
“How are you?” Reed came to stand next to her bed, tall and solid. His hand reached out and covered her own. It was warm, and Sierra wanted to close her eyes at the feeling of reassurance and intimacy that touch gave her. She thought she might pull her hand away, but instead, she gave into her impulse and entwined her fingers between his. He winced as he got a good look at her face. “You wouldn’t look out of place in the middle of a rugby game with that shiner.” His lips twitched in a half-smile.
Sierra resisted the urge to reach up and feel her face. “Yeah, the doc said my nose was broken, but they re-set it last night while I was under, so it should heal fairly straight.”
“You’re still beautiful,” he said.
She stared at him, expecting a wink or a smile of amusement, to make light of the situation. But was clearly deadly serious, and her chest suddenly tightened. He honestly thought she was beautiful, after everything she’d been through? It was as if he was seeing through all the scrapes and bruises on her face and body, straight through to her soul. She needed to change the subject; she wasn’t ready for his conversation after all.
“Is he still alive?” she asked flatly, locking her gaze back on the ocean outside, removing her hand from his grasp.
“Yes, he’s in an induced coma.”
Sierra hadn’t managed to kill Evan—or Damien, or whatever the hell his name was—after all. She’d shot him in the head, and the bullet had cracked his skull and grazed his brain. But when Reed got to him yesterday—that seemed like eons ago now—he’d still been breathing. They’d flown him by medi-vac helicopter straight to The Royal Adelaide Hospital. Sierra didn’t know how she felt about it. Did he deserve to die? Probably. Did she want his death on her conscience? Probably not.
“Oh.” Perhaps things might’ve been easier, more clear-cut, if he had died. At least then Jessica’s parents might have some closure. But now, if he never woke up, the monster might never face charges, and might never pay for what he’d done.
“You’ll need to answer some more questions,” Reed continued quietly.
The Sarge had already asked her the basic stuff, just before they put her under the anesthetic so they could re-set her broken ankle last night. But she knew there would be many, many more to come before everyone was completely satisfied.
“But I think it’s all pretty well cut and dried,” he continued. “You won’t be charged. If anything, you’re already being hailed a hero by the locals.”
