Part 25 (1/2)

”I need to see Brienne.”

”She's in a coma.”

”Which means it'll be a short visit. And that you don't need to accompany me.”

”Fifth floor,” she says. ”Move it.”

CHAPTER 26.

Brienne is still comatose. The bullet grazed her spine and there's swelling and the possibility of lifelong damage. Hence the coma, to give her body time to rest.

There's no sneaking into her room, not in the ICU unit, but I'm glad of that. She's the only ”real” witnessthe only one whose account the police might respect. If the killers realize that, they could come back to finish the job.

I worry that I might not be allowed to visit, but when I tell the nurses who I am, they let me go in with Sloane. We stand by Brienne's bed. She looks as pale as the sheet pulled up around her. Machines hum and beep, but it's a steady and rea.s.suring sound as I hold her cool hand. Then I hear a voice in the hall.

”Brienne's my sister,” a guy says.

I go still. The news said Brienne only has one brother, which means the guy out there is the one who sent her into that therapy sleepover. The guy who played lookout for the Porters' killers.

I can't move. I'm still holding Brienne's hand, but I can't even feel that. Sloane doesn't notice. She's busy listening as the nurse explains that Brienne already has visitors.

”Who?” her brother asks.

I grip the bedside with my free hand, fingers digging in, gaze tripping around the room for an escape.

How about hiding under the bed, Riley?

That snaps me back to myself. I can't hide. I have to face him. I should face him, because now I know the truth, and as much as I might want to help Brienne, if this guy can lead me to the Porters' killers, then I'm going to turn him in. Which means, eventually, I will need to face him. Might as well do it now.

”What the h.e.l.l?” he says when the nurse tells him who's in the room. ”The girl who almost got my sister killed? You know what that crazy freak did, right? Her and her psycho boyfriend?”

Too late, I realize Sloane is on the move. She's stalking out of the room, and I jump to pull her back, but she's already in the hall, her heels clicking across the linoleum.

”h.e.l.lo,” Sloane says. ”Let me introduce myself. I'm the big sister of the freak you were just talking about.” A moment's pause, then, ”Hey, a.s.shole, my eyes are up here. You can stop checking me out. You didn't have a s...o...b..ll's chance in h.e.l.l even before you insulted my sister.”

”You little border-bunny”

”Do I sound like I crossed a border recently? Do I look like a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger? d.a.m.n, you are one dumba.s.s, white-trash trailer-park cracker. Okay, your turn.”

”My turn for what?”

”Insulting me. That's what we're doing, right? Exchanging slurs? Or maybe you're just dumba.s.s enough to think I was complimenting you.”

Stop, Sloane. Please stop.

Of course, she doesn't. She's just building up steam.

”You want to call my sister a freak? I can d.a.m.ned well guarantee that when your sister wakes up, she'll tell you that mine did everything she could to save her a.s.s. And that's not because Riley claims she did. She hasn't said a single word about what happened to Brienne. It's because I know my sister. She did her best, and they both got shot, and maybe my sister was the one Max got out of there, but it's not because he's her boyfriend, you moron. It's because your sister had been shot in the spine and couldn't move or be moved. I don't know what my sister did for yours, but I do know what Max didhe made sure the police got paramedics in there for Brienne. How does that make sense if he's the one who shot her?”

”Because he's crazy. He doesn't have to make sense. All I know is my sister is in that hospital bed while yours is up and walking around.”

”Barely up and walking around, and only because she's worried about Brienne.”

”Or maybe she was trying to finish what her boyfriend started.”

One of the nurses protests.

Sloane says, ”I'd smack you for that, if you wouldn't claim it as proof that Riley comes from a violent family. So I'll settle for saying that the opinion of anyone who wears a wife-beater is universally considered invalid. Next time you want to be taken seriously, dress like a grown-up.”

”You stuck-up little b.i.t.c.h.”

”Oh, so I've gone from a chola to a fresa? Excellent. Not entirely accurate, but much closer.”

I step from the room. ”Sloane? Can we go, please?”

I try not to look at Brienne's brother. Of course, that's impossible, given that he's standing two feet from my sister. He's average height, his blond hair cut short, dressed in jeans and a tank topthe wife-beater Sloane mentioned. Even without looking his way, I can feel his gaze on me. He was there. When the Porters died, he was there, and I have to stop thinking that before my knees give away and I fall into a whimpering puddle.

”Sure, let's do that.” Sloane quick-steps over and takes my arm. ”We're done here. Time for you to get some rest.”

She starts leading me away. Brienne's brother steps into our path, and I do a scared-cat jump. I recover fast, but he's seen it, and he doesn't say a word, he just stands there, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. I try to erase any expression. I try so d.a.m.ned hard, but reactions whip through my head at breakneck speedHe was there. He knows the people who killed the Porters. And Oh G.o.d, I can't let him see that I'm scared of him. I can't let him suspect Brienne told me anything.

Stop thinking about the Porters. Stop, stop, stop.

As Sloane pulls me away, I say, ”I didn't do anything. Whatever you think of meof Maxit wasn't like that. It really wasn't.”

Does he buy the excuse? Come to the conclusion that I'm cowering because of his insults and insinuations? I don't know. And the longer I look at him, the more suspicious he'll become, so I let Sloane lead me away.

When we get to my room, she says, ”What was that all about, Riley? And don't tell me his bulls.h.i.+t freaked you out. I hear you nearly bit the detectives' heads off for suggesting Max did it. You're not going to let a swaggering wannabe like that spook you.”

”I ...” I look over at her before I climb back into bed. ”Can I talk to you about it tomorrow?”

”Why not now?”

”Because I need to work through a few things first.”

She sits in silence for a minute. Then she says, her voice uncharacteristically quiet, ”Maybe it would help if you worked through them with me.”

”No, that's okay.”