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Blood rushed so loudly in Hank's ear, he almost missed hearing his name. It came like a soft breeze from the recesses of the bathroom and sent chills down his spine. Not bothering to get up, he crossed the three feet to the doorway on his hands and knees.
She lay so still, he couldn't stop thinking the worst had happened. “Beth?”
Her quiet moan sounded like a roar in the unnatural quiet around them.
“Darlin’, I'm right here.” He stroked her soft hair, continuing down to her shoulder, hoping to comfort her, but when he brought up his hand, a warm liquid covered it. Blood. Panic grabbed him by the throat. “Call an ambulance,” he screamed, fear tight in his voice.
“It's on the way,” the officer said.
Beth lay on her back, her thick, dark hair like a curtain across her face. Brushing it back, he sought the source of the blood. Though her eyes were closed and her face contorted with pain, he couldn't find a scratch. Drawing his gaze downward, he spotted the quickly widening circle of blood seeping through her suit jacket sleeve.
He grabbed a fluffy white towel from a shelf and pressed it against her right arm to staunch the blood flow.
She yelped and her eyes popped open, agony and confusion clear in their dark-brown depths.
“Help's coming. You got shot in the arm. I know it hurts like hell, but you'll be okay.” God, he hoped so. He needed to say the words almost as much as she needed to hear them.
Chapter Nineteen
Beth grazed her fingers over the goose egg on the back of her head. Testing, she pushed. A sharp pain made her gasp for breath. If she'd been a cartoon character, that's when colored stars would have started circling her head.
“I always wondered if you pushed hard enough on a knot like that, if the swelling would pop out somewhere else.” Chris Layton's head poked through the olive-green curtains surrounding her bed in the emergency room. He had a goofy grin, but serious eyes. “Just wait until I tell Hank I saw you without your shirt. His head will explode.”
Automatically, her hands went to her chest, pressing the thin gown to her skin. At least it tied in the back. The EMTs had cut off her dress and bra right there in front of God and everyone in the bathroom. Not her best moment. What a weird thing to be concerned with considering, she’d just been shot. Must be the medicine they'd given her for the pain.
“Chris, you're a tease.” Kidding him helped to cover her disappointment at it being Chris and not Hank. At least she hoped it did.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I know, Mom says it's all part of my charm.”
Someone she couldn't see cleared his throat behind the curtain. Chris rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion and swung open the curtain to reveal Hank's other brother, Sam.
Behind them, nurses, doctors and orderlies buzzed around the busy emergency room. Beeps and squeaks from gurneys punctuated the constant murmur of people talking in hushed tones. The whole scene looked like something from TV, except when she watched Hospital 911 in her living room, she couldn't smell the antiseptic.
“Pardon my idiot brother, the home training didn't take.” Sam held out a white plastic bag from a drugstore. “I understand you, um, lost your dress. I picked up something for you to wear. Hope they fit.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Even though she was just their little sister's best friend, the Laytons had always watched out for her. “Thank you.”
“It's nothing great. Just a tacky hoodie and sweat-pant shorts.”
“I wanted to get the hot-pink shirt that said ‘topless showgirl in training’, but Mr. No Sense of Humor vetoed it.”
Sam's jaw tightened. The two had been like this for as long as she could remember. Probably since birth.
“Thank you for that, Sam.” She didn't want to even imagine having to wear that on the plane ride home.
“The doctors released you?”
“Yeah, I’m free to go.”
Chris stepped farther into her curtained-off area and peered at her head. “Wow, that is some bump. How's the arm?”
“The doctor said it went straight through, he just had to stitch me up. No sling or anything.” Just talking about her gunshot wound made it throb.
“What were you thinking?” Chris asked. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were Claire, going off all full-on banshee like that.”
Chris put his question out there bluntly, but it wasn't as though the thought hadn't gone through her head a million times since she’d opened her eyes to find Hank's worried face inches from hers. A few months ago, a killer had targeted Claire, and when he set her Jeep on fire, she'd chased him down like a woman possessed—and that wasn’t the worst of it. She and Claire had been best friends forever, but Beth was the reserved one. Attacking someone was not her style.
It turned out gunshot wounds weren't all that unusual in Las Vegas, so she’d had plenty of time to ponder after the triage nurse declared her several rungs down the priority ladder.
