LITMIR.BIZ

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heart.

      “Nicole? I’m Doctor Wendell,” a female voice said.

      A doctor? Wait, where was she? She blinked her eyes open and squinted. A woman’s face came into focus, concern creasing her forehead. She looked as if she was in her fifties, with dark hair pulled back into a bun.

      Two more people came into view, strangers in scrubs.

      Memories of the time her monster father put her in the hospital flooded her entire body. They say your cells hold on to every memory. Nicole would attest to that, as she felt the familiar anxiety skitter across her nerve endings. Even back then no one would listen to her.

      No one could protect her.

      “Do you remember what happened to you? How you got here?” the doctor asked.

      A shudder ran down her spine at the memory. She was cold. Helpless. Struggling to call out for help.

      Her vision blurred.

      Unable to fight anymore.

      The lake pulled her down, swallowing her.

      Then she was yanked to the surface by firm hands.

      Detective Donovan’s blue eyes stared down at her.

      “Detective Donovan?” she managed to get out.

      “I’m here.”

      Nic turned her head toward the sound, and that’s when she realized her entire body was swaddled in layers of blankets. She actually wasn’t cold anymore.

      The detective stepped toward her bed. He hadn’t changed out of his wet clothes, but gripped a blanket around his shoulders.

      “You’re still wet,” she said.

      “We couldn’t get him to leave you long enough to change.” The doctor pursed her lips.

      Alex stepped even closer, his remarkable blue eyes focused and sincere. “You’re okay now.”

      “You promised I would be.”

      It was the first time that a cop had actually kept his word.

      “How do you feel?” he said, placing his hand on the blankets above her right arm. Even through the layers of cotton she could feel the warmth of his touch. How was that possible?

      “Okay, I guess,” she said. “Am I at the hospital?”

      “Medical center.”

      “I’d like to determine if you fell unconscious from the head injury or the hypothermia.” The doctor pulled out a penlight to examine Nic’s eyes. “Okay, without moving your head, follow my fingers.”

      Nicole followed the doctor’s instructions as she tested her vision, hearing, memory and concentration.

      “Good,” the doctor said. “If symptoms develop, like trouble with short-term memory, we can schedule a CT scan.”

      “I’m hoping to head back to Seattle soon,” Nic said.

      “Is that where you live?”

      Nic nodded.

      “When you get there, check in with your primary care provider. Are you feeling light-headed right now?”

      “No.”

      “I don’t think it was the bump to the head as much as the hypothermia that knocked you out.”

      Or, try door number three: emotional trauma of nearly being killed twice in one night.

      “I guess you’ll need my insurance card.” Nic glanced around the room for her messenger bag.

      “I’ve already handled it,” Alex said to the doctor.

      “Wait, Detective Donovan—”

      “Alex,” he corrected Nicole. “I found your insurance card in your wallet and gave them the information. I hope that’s okay.”

      “Yeah, sure, fine.”

      She found herself shutting down, a little off balance that he’d taken care of her.

      Because you’re his star witness, that’s all.

      She leaned back against the pillow and released a quiet sigh.

      “Her blood pressure looks good,” the doctor said. “Vitals are normal. You’re a lucky girl, Nicole. Not everyone knows how to perform CPR properly. When you’re ready, Detective Donovan can take you home.”

      “Thanks.”

      The word home held no meaning for Nicole. It was a nebulous image of something she didn’t understand since she’d never experienced the true sense of home. Even her studio apartment on Seattle’s north side never quite felt like home. Maybe because she was always ready to pack up and flee in the middle of the night.

      The doctor and support staff left the small examining room, but Detective Donovan—Alex—did not. He reached for something on the counter and handed it to her: a coffee cup with a plastic lid.

      “This might help,” he said.

      “Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.”

      “It’s hot chocolate.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “Nope. They treat a lot of kids here.”

      She took the cup and he helped her sit up. This close, she couldn’t help but notice well-defined muscles spanning his chest through his soaked shirt.

      “You must be freezing,” she said.

      “I’ll dry off later.”

      “But you could catch cold.”

      “I’m taking care of you, remember?” he said with a smile.

      “Right.” She popped off the lid and took a sip of cocoa.

      Stepping back, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”

      “Sure.”

      “Why did you take off like that?”

      She ripped her gaze from his assessing blue eyes and studied her cocoa. This was too complicated to explain in three sentences or less.

      “You can trust me,” he said.

      Trust me, Nicole. I’ll fix this somehow. But Officer Wheeler didn’t fix it, and Nicole spent nine more years dodging fists and protecting her little brother and sister.

      “That bad, huh?” Alex said.

      “What?” She glanced up.

      “By the look on your face I’m guessing you haven’t had much luck trusting people.”

      “Cops especially,” she let slip.

      “Okay, now that deserves an explanation.”

      Instead, she shut down, wrapping both hands around the cup to warm her fingers.

      “You dated a cop,” he guessed.

      “That would never happen,” she muttered.

      “Now you’ve piqued my interest.”

      This man had saved her life. She owed him an explanation about why she vilified his occupation.

      “I depended on cops and they let me down.”

      “Cops, plural? What kind of sordid past do you have, Miss Harris?”

      He was teasing, but the story was far from funny. And not one she necessarily wanted to repeat to a stranger.

      “I could always do a little digging of my own,” he said. “What would I find? A string of broken-hearted police officers in your wake?”

      She pinned him with

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