Fallen Angel (Hqn) Read Free Page A

latex gloves. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand the damn scent of it.
    Blood everywhere, like a crimson flood flowing out of her neck. That bastard grinning at him victoriously before the band of them took off with Abby’s purse. The feel of her body heavy in his arms. The warmth of her blood beneath his hand as he pressed over the wound. Fucking impossible to stop it, her neck sliced all the way across. Her brown eyes staring at him helplessly. She was still in there, damn it!
    Don’t go…
    Too damn late. Too late before it even happened.
    “Dec? You okay?”
    His father’s voice cut through the images playing in his mind like a movie he couldn’t shut off. He was sweating. Shaking. Fucking awful that his old man had seen him like this.
    He shrugged his father’s hand from his arm. “Yeah, what? I’m fine. Fine.”
    He took a few steps away from his dad, whose hands were raised, palms up, as if warding off his son’s anger. He didn’t blame him. But he had to fucking distance himself. Catch his breath.
    He looked back at the young woman on the table. Her long, blond hair hung over the edge, nearly touching the floor. He wished she wasn’t going to die. Wished he could know her, that he could have saved her. Moving to the window, he touched the glass. He knew from experience that wishing wasn’t enough. But he was doing it anyway.
    Who was this girl? He would probably never know.
    Another flurry of activity as her heart monitor flatlined. His own heart hammered in his chest, slamming into his lungs. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t look away, even though he knew he was watching her die.
    Too damn late. Too late before it even happened. Again.
    * * *
    D ECLAN RUBBED AT HIS grainy eyes. He couldn’t believe she’d survived the night, but somehow, she had. A glance at his watch told him it was
7:00 a.m. The hospital ward was just beginning to stir, a metal cart with breakfast trays rolling down the halls, leaving a trail of starchy scent in its wake.
    They’d taken her from the E.R. and admitted her late last night. Not even into ICU. How could she have lived through a fall like that?
    He was stiff from having spent the night in the hard, blue plastic chair in the sterile hallway. But he was not going to leave her. His father had tried to talk him into going home and getting some rest, and they’d had some words. No surprise there.
    The local cops had shown up, as promised, some baby-faced kid and his even younger sidekick, neither of them guys he knew. He’d gone over what had happened a dozen times before they realized he really didn’t have any more to tell aside from the sparse details they’d already written down in their notebooks. They’d finally left with a promise to come back when the woman woke up.
    If.
    Declan ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. He needed a shave. A shower to wash the stink of hospital from his skin. Desperately needed a cup of coffee. But he wasn’t going anywhere until he talked to someone about her.
    It was another hour before the doctor showed up. He was glad to see it was someone he knew.
    Declan stood, took a moment to clench his jaw against a wave of exhaustion-induced dizziness. “Stephen. How is she?”
    “She’s doing well, considering.”
    “Considering what, exactly? I want to know everything. No one would tell me yesterday. And the people on the night shift were even more closemouthed.”
    “We were too busy working on her yesterday. And last night there still wasn’t much to tell.”
    “I know.” He shrugged impatiently. “So, tell me now.”
    “Her right leg was broken pretty badly, but I think you knew that. Surgery is scheduled for later today. Her right shoulder was dislocated, but that was easy to fix. The wrist is sprained. Plenty of cuts and bruises. Several small facial wounds and a severe concussion, which is what I’m most concerned about. But the strangest injuries are these two cuts along her shoulder blades, about six inches