Page 87 of Love Always

“She was working two jobs and going to school and fell asleep at the wheel.” He pulls himself out of some reverie. “You two were so lucky. Some side effects, maybe of Narcan and three stitches for her. But that’s it. It could have been so much worse.”

My stomach twists. Hard. “What stitches?”

Carlson shakes his head. “I thought your team debriefed you last night.”

“I was pretty out of it. Out until this morning.”

“There was a one inch cut on her right forearm. It needed stitches. Your buddy Bryce said when he found you two in the car, he thought you’d been stabbed or shot. But it was her blood.”

The room tilted for a second. “She had no injury when I gave her the Narcan. None. She was unresponsive.”

The obvious is clear to both of us. “That’s the DNA evidence then,” he says quietly. “I bet something mysteriously shows up in the next few days.”

Bile rises, hits the back of my throat, and I swallow it down. This meant that asshole opened the car door just before she came to and stabbed her arm while the two of us were unconscious.

A beat behind me, Carlson stands and begins dialing. “I’m alerting the D.A.” he says. He shakes my hand and leaves, the phone still pressed to his ear.

The round hospital clock shows eight fifty-five. I’m sure Laurel’s up by now. Her phone rings and rings. I try a few more times and then call the landline. Devon answers, sounding sleepy.

“She left about half an hour ago to see you. She should be there any sec,” she says.

I try again. Voice mail.

At ten after nine, I think I’m going to jump out of my skin. A nurse brings in release papers and starts to instruct me what to do if I have any side effects and then moves on to treatment and facilities.

“I was poisoned. This was not intentional.”

She looks at my leg and then nods as if she and I have shared some little secret. She thinks I’m hooked on painkillers because of my leg. With a thumb pointing at the clock, she urges me to vacate the room.

I don’t want to leave. The hospital is the largest in Portland. I don’t know which door she might enter through and her phone is turned off.

Or lost. Or taken. Or she can’t pick up.

I call Carlson. No, they haven’t found Cruz yet.

Then another nurse arrives and leaves, gently telling me in between that I really must go. But I can’t. I don’t know where Laurel is and just as I’m about to call Carlson again to tell him she’s missing, she walks in through the door. The purple coat is wadded up under an arm, and she’s wearing a white button-down shirt under a dark green sweater with the sleeves rolled up. There’s the white patch of a gauze bandage and her hospital bracelet is still strapped around her wrist. She rushes in, her gaze at my empty bed, then turns to me and drops the coat. I move so quickly I think I scare her.

When I touch her, hold her, clasp her to me, it’s like I’m starving and I need her—need her to thrive. My heart pounds so hard from relief, I’m sure she can hear it through the layers of clothing. I hold her tight in my arms and then, slowly, easing my grip, I release her. Her face searches mine for explanations.

“You didn’t answer your phone. Finn didn’t know where you were. Devon told me you left at eight-thirty.” My voice shakes.

Laurel looks slightly bewildered then guilty. “I stopped for gas. And I guess I left my phone at home.”

This time, I take her slowly into my arms and kiss her. The scent of the sea and the sweet perfume of lavender leave me breathless when we pull apart. My phone buzzes. It’s Carlson. They’ve got Kevin Barr in custody for questioning.

When I tell Laurel, her jaw sets and she shoves her arms into her coat. “I’m going too,” she says, “and don’t try to talk me out of it.”

΅

Kevin Barr is in the interrogation room, arms folded, dressed in a thin windbreaker, torn jeans and work boots. There are pictures of Colleen’s body spread out on the table in front of him and several of the two of them together. Bryce leans against the wall talking to Nic who looks uncharacteristically rumpled.

The person I don’t expect to see is Chris Proctor. He’s sitting out in the hall when we arrive, and his parents are with him. Chris jumps up and for the first time he has color in his face. Out of everyone in the station, Laurel and I are the only two faces he would recognize.

“Do you know why they asked me to come?” Chris seems eager to be helpful.

I don’t, so I follow up with a question of my own. “Did you ever hang out with Kevin?” I nod toward the room.

His face makes clear this is not something he would consider. “I mean he was in my composition class, but no. Hey,” he says, suddenly seeing Laurel, “did they ask you to come, too?”