LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Four

      Shortly before 11:00 a.m. on Tuesday, Connie left Jo Anne and a part-timer at the shop to go retrieve Hale, who was scheduled to be released. She didn’t usually run errands for him, but he’d earned this one.

      Besides, if someone from the police station ran him home, details would get overlooked, such as whether he had the proper medical supplies or enough frozen dinners to last the next few days. Guys neglected things like that.

      At the medical center, she dropped in to the gift shop. Marta Lawson, Connie’s cousin and the concession manager, greeted her warmly.

      “The new puzzles are selling like crazy.” Small and vibrant, Marta indicated a display of colorful devices from Japan. They were her personal find from an Internet source. “Folks in the lobby love playing while they wait. Watching them sit for hours during surgeries makes me appreciate even more what you and Rachel went through for me.”

      A decade earlier, an automobile accident had nearly claimed Marta’s life as she and Connie were driving to classes at California State University, Fullerton. Rachel, a police science student with whom they’d attended high school, had rushed from the curb and rescued her just before the vehicle burst into flames. Badly injured, Marta had spent years in rehab and still bore scars. Connie’s broken arm had quickly healed.

      Since Marta’s mother had died several years earlier, Connie and Rachel had spent many hours sitting by her bedside and, later, escorting her to therapy. In the process, the three had bonded tightly.

      “You’d do the same for either of us,” Connie pointed out. “In fact, if you hadn’t invited me to the tutoring center, I’d never have met Skip.” Despite her disabilities, Marta had helped Yolanda organize the center, known as Villa Corazon. A play on the name Villazon, it meant “Town of the Heart” in Spanish.

      “Speaking of Skip, any word about him?” her cousin asked.

      “I tried to reach my lawyer this morning, but the secretary said he’d gone out. I guess he’s in court.” Connie had also left several messages at protective services but so far had received no response.

      Across the lobby, an elevator opened. A middle-aged woman in a volunteer’s pink uniform emerged, pushing Hale in a wheelchair.

      “Oh, my gosh!” Connie said. “He’s worse off than I realized.” Then she remembered. “Oh, yeah, hospitals always put patients in wheelchairs before releasing them. Why, do you suppose?”

      “Something to do with liability if they trip on their way out, I think.” Marta indicated the volunteer following them with a pair of crutches. “He is injured, though.”

      “Sprained ankle, he mentioned.” Connie’s gaze lingered on Hale. In a sport shirt and sculpted jeans, his frame seemed too powerful to be confined. Someone had brought him fresh clothes, Connie observed, and hoped it was Joel rather than that striking red-haired fire investigator.

      “I wondered when you’d quit fighting it,” Marta murmured.

      “Quit fighting what?” Connie signaled to catch Hale’s attention. He must have cracked a joke, because both volunteers were chuckling.

      “You’ve been staring at that man like you’re dying of thirst and he’s an oasis.” Her cousin shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. But when you look at him, the air sizzles.”