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“I don’t know. All of them.” My voice broke as the image of Penelope’s lifeless and marred body flashed in my brain.
“Cancer? Broken bone? Internal—”
“Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Unable to breathe on her own. Swelling on the brain. Punctured lung. So a pulmonologist. Possible loss of sight in one eye. A head injury. We need a neurologist. The best one,” I rambled, uncertain what all she faced despite having been briefed by Dr. Schaffer. “Penelope was in a car accident.”
“Your niece?”
I jolted. I hadn’t had a chance to tell Elliott she was my daughter, but of course he could recall my family tree at the snap of his fingers. He knew everything about everybody.
“Daughter,” I corrected.
“I’ll make some calls,” he said, completely unfazed by my revelation.
“Give me some numbers too. I need something to do. I can’t just sit here while she’s barely breathing.” I slammed the fist I’d never unballed onto the floor. The pain barely registered. “Send some to Whitley too,” I said after a second thought.
The phone line went dead.
That was one of the things I liked about Elliott. He was no-nonsense.
I dialed the number for Dr. Anderson again while I waited for the text of other specialists’ phone numbers.
Still no answer.
I despised this helpless feeling. Like all I could do was sit here and wait while Penelope’s fate was at someone else’s mercy.
What color is Alma’s car?
I recoiled as if someone had punched me in the chest.
“Kane?” JoJo’s concerned voice barely registered as Whitley’s question hit me.
“Where is she?” I snarled to no one.
Whitley had seen her not too far from the crash. I was all about innocence until evidence, but there was no way she wasn’t involved.
She’s gone too far.
“I’ll kill her.”
JoJo squeezed my thigh. “Kane. What are you talking about?”
I stabbed the call button on Elliott’s contact again.
“Yeah?”
“Find Alma. Take her to Salvatore. Make her tell him exactly what she did by any means necessary. Preferably a cinder block.”
I hung up.
Hate.
I thought for a moment I’d hated JoJo, but it was child’s play compared to this.
I needed to focus on Penelope. On seeing her through. But the urge to find Alma and . . . violent thoughts clouded my brain.
The logical thing was to let the police handle the investigation. To let them do what they do.
But this was too personal.
