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She concentrated on his voice, on doing what he said. When she stopped gulping so frantically, her throat relaxed and oxygen rushed past the swollen membranes. Weakly she let her head rest against his chest, but she managed to put a reassuring hand on his arm to let him know she was conscious.
“I couldn’t get here in time,” he said rawly. “My God, I couldn’t get here in time. I tried to call, but you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you answer the goddamn phone?”
“Reporters kept calling,” Shelley gasped. “I turned the phones off.” She winced and clutched her ribs, her face colorless.
There seemed to be a thousand sirens piercing the air, the sound reverberating in Jaine’s ears. Just when it became unbearably loud, the sound cut off in mid-shriek, and a moment later, or maybe it was several minutes later, white-shirted medics were surrounding her and Shelley, and she was taken from Sam’s supporting arms.
“No—wait!” She twisted frantically, screaming Sam’s name, except the scream was a barely audible croak. He motioned for the medics to back off a minute, and put his arms around her again.
“T.J.?” she managed to ask, scalding tears burning her eyes.
“She’s alive,” Sam said, his own voice still raw with emotion. “I got the word on the way over. They found her in a storage room at work.”
Jaine’s eyes asked what had to be asked.
Sam hesitated. “She’s hurt, honey. I don’t know how bad it is, but the important thing is, she’s alive.”
Sam didn’t stay to watch Leah’s—Corin Lee’s—body being removed from the pool. There were enough officers present to handle everything, and this wasn’t his jurisdiction anyway. He had more important things to do, such as be with Jaine. When she and Shelley were transported to a local hospital, he followed in his truck.
They were whisked away to treatment cubicles. After making certain the hospital notified Al right away, Sam leaned against the wall. He was sick to his stomach; he had sworn to serve and protect, but he hadn’t been able to protect the woman he loved more than anyone else in the world. Until the day he died, he would never forget the feeling of helpless terror as he raced through the streets, knowing he was already too late and couldn’t get to Jaine in time to save her.
He had put the pieces of the puzzle together, but too late to save her and T.J. from harm.
T.J. was in critical condition. According to Bernsen, the only thing that saved her was that when she fell, she somehow rolled so that her head was partially protected by the base of an old office chair. Something must have frightened Leah away before she could finish the job, and she had gone in search of Jaine.
Sam was slumped in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting area when Bernsen came in.
“Jesus, what a nightmare,” Roger said, dropping into the chair beside Sam’s. “I heard their injuries are minor. What’s taking so long?”
“I guess no one’s in a hurry. Shelley—Jaine’s sister—is being x-rayed for a broken rib. They’re checking Jaine’s throat. That’s all I know.” He rubbed his face. “I damn near fucked up, Roger. I didn’t put it together until it was almost too late, then I couldn’t get to Jaine in time.”
“Hey, you put it together in time to get other people to them. T.J.’s alive, which she wouldn’t be if they hadn’t found her when they did. The uniforms who dragged the women out of the pool said they all came close to drowning. If you hadn’t alerted them, got the officers there ahead of you—” Roger broke off and shrugged. “Personally, I think you did a helluva job, but I’m just a detective, what the fuck do I know?”
The E.R. doctor finally came out of Jaine’s cubicle. “We’re going to admit her, keep her overnight for observation,” he said. “Her throat is bruised and swollen, but the larynx isn’t ruptured and the hyoid bone is intact, so she’ll make a full recovery. We’re admitting her just as a precaution.”
“May I see her now?” Sam asked, standing.
“Sure. Oh—her sister has two cracked ribs, but she’ll be all right, too.” He paused. “Looks like it was one hell of a fight.”
“It was,” said Sam, and stepped into the treatment cubicle, where Jaine was sitting on a vinyl examination table. Her eyes brightened when she saw him, and though she didn’t say a word, her expression was enough as she reached out her hand to him. Gently he took it in his, then used it to pull her closer and fold her in his arms.
Twenty-two hours later, T.J. managed to open one swollen eye a tiny slit, and move her fingers just enough to squeeze Galan’s hand.
twenty-nine
I can’t believe you haven’t told your parents,” T.J. said. Her voice was still weak and slightly slurred, but the scolding tone was clear. “No, wait—I can believe you didn’t tell them, but I can’t believe neither Shelley nor David did. How can you not tell your parents someone tried to kill both you and Shelley and almost succeeded?”
Jaine rubbed her nose. “Remember when you were a kid and you’d do almost anything to keep your parents from finding out you were in trouble? It was kind of like that, but it …” She shrugged. “It was over. You were alive, and Shelley and I were both okay, and I didn’t want to talk about it. There was all the media coverage driving me crazy, Luna’s funeral to get through, and I couldn’t handle anything else.”
T.J. carefully turned her head, which was still swathed in bandages, to look out her hospital window. She had b
een out of I.C.U. for a week and change now, but much of the preceding week was forever lost to her. She remembered nothing about the day of the attack, so exactly what had happened was unknown. Sam and Detective Bernsen had put forth a logical theory, but no one would ever know for certain.
“I wish I had been able to go to her funeral,” she said, her expression sad and distant.
Jaine didn’t say anything, but inwardly she shuddered. No, you don’t, she thought. She wished she didn’t have that memory.
Two weeks had passed, and every night she had jerked awake from a sound sleep, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding in terror from a nightmare she couldn’t remember. Of course, considering Sam’s prescription for disturbed sleep, the experience hadn’t been all bad. She might wake up in terror, but she went back to sleep with every muscle limp from an overdose of pleasure.
