Unscripted

by J. S. Marlo

  “Her name is Claire. And I wish you’d disturb her.”

  With a small nod of the head, Oliver sat. “Ken told me your wife was shot. I feel…actually, I’m not sure how I feel. A few inches difference in the bullet’s trajectory, and our roles could be reversed.”

  It took a moment for Blythe to realize that Ken was Riley’s nickname. “I talked to the doctor, Oliver. Riley will be fine.”

  Deflected by her iPod, the bullet had entered the side of her breast and lodged in the fatty tissue without causing any damage. Fate had spared Riley’s life, and Blythe thanked the guardian angel watching over her in the park.

  “I met him. He thinks she’ll be able to come home in a few days. Is that—” Hands clasped together, Oliver rubbed his thumbs against each other. “Is that Ken’s blood on your T-shirt?”

  Blythe glanced down at his shirt smeared with dry blood. Her blood. “My apologies. I should have taken the time to change.” Instead he’d hopped into the ambulance with her, paced between the suffocating hospital walls while she was in surgery, and stayed with her in the recovery room until he overheard one of the nurses say Oliver was on his way. Only then had Blythe left her bedside to grab something to eat at the cafeteria before seeking refuge in Claire’s room. Now he wished he’d driven home and taken a shower.

  “A nurse told me you stayed with Ken until I arrived at the hospital. Thank you for not leaving her alone.”

  Leaving her alone never crossed his mind. “She wasn’t awake when I last saw her. How is she?”

  “Groggy.” A smile livened up Oliver’s answer. “Hunter is with her in her room. He told her she sounded like a drunken college kid on a Saturday night.”

  Hunter’s peculiar sense of humor made him chuckle. “He likes to live dangerously, doesn’t he?”

  “Apparently not as dangerously as his mother.” Oliver pushed out a breath. “Who shoots a woman in a park in the middle of the day?”

  The same kind of scum that shoots women in parking lots at night. “I wish I had an answer. Did you meet with Detective Jackson?”

  “He stopped by while I was in her room, but Ken wasn’t too coherent. He’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Jackson investigated Claire’s shooting.” Jackson was a good man, but he hadn’t been too pleased to see Blythe involved in another shooting. “I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  On the rare occasions his cell phone vibrated during the morning briefing, Blythe would glance at the screen, but never answer. When he made an exception for Jackson’s call, Martin’s face turned so red he feared the man might bust a vein.

  “I need to go, Martin.”

  He’d already wreaked havoc with the schedule by missing most of yesterday’s shooting. Any more delays and Martin might decide Carson had outlived his fictional life, but he couldn’t help it, not when Detective Jackson requested his immediate presence at the hospital.

  Blythe left the conference room and drove to the hospital.

  Why Jackson wanted him in Riley’s room eluded him. He climbed the stairs of the hospital two at a time. Riley’s room was on the second floor, a different wing than Claire’s.

  The door was open, and when he entered he was relieved to see her propped up in bed. A pale shade of pink tinged her cheeks, and a soft glow shone in her eyes as she greeted him with a light nod of the head. Oliver sat by her side on the bed, her hand clasped in his, and standing near the window was a tall, athletic young man, looking at him with eyes of different colors, one pale and one as dark as the night.

  “Come in, Mr. Huxley.” In the corner of the room, a detective a bit on the heavy side straddled a chair. He held a notepad and a pen in his hand. “And close the door behind you.”

  Blythe pushed the door closed and rested his back against it before digging his hands into his pant’s pockets. “I’m not sure why I’m here, Jackson, but I’m listening.”

  “No one heard a gunshot, but Mrs. Kendrick heard some ruffling sounds in the woods moments before she was shot. We think the shooter hid behind a bush or a tree and used a silencer to shoot her.” The detective’s deduction made sense. “We’ve searched the area, and so far, we’ve found a few dozen casings, mostly forty-fives, which is the caliber the doctor retrieved from Mrs. Kendrick’s chest.”

  Riley’s son exhaled a sharp breath. “That’s a lot of bullets.”

  “The park has a long and bloody reputation of attracting a different kind of crowd at night, son, and the bullets are obviously not all pertinent to your mother’s case. As we speak, the guys at the lab are working on matching her bullet to the casings. That being said, there was one shell that caught my eye yesterday.” The detective’s gaze traveled from Riley’s son to him. “It had a tiny silver star on its bottom.”

  The discovery struck Blythe like a blow to the chest. “You mean…” A casing with a silver star was found in the parking lot of Children’s Services, but Claire’s workplace was kilometers away from the park. Now he understood why the detective summoned him here.

  “What’s the significance of the silver star?” Confusion etched on Oliver’s face as he clutched Riley’s hand against his heart.

  “A similar shell was found near my wife’s body, but the man who shot her is dead. He was a drug dealer.” And a child beater.

  “Roswell, the suspect we had in Mrs. Huxley’s shooting, was affiliated with the gang operating in the park at night. It’s possible he, or one of his associates, used the same gun in an unrelated case, but I can’t ignore the coincidence. Mr. Huxley, what were you doing in the park yesterday?”

  “Me?” Under the circumstances, Blythe recognized the legitimacy of the question. “Sometimes I run with Riley, but she’d left early. I was hoping to catch up with her.”

  “Anyone knew you’d be there?” As he spoke, the detective studied him through narrow eyes.

  “No, I didn’t tell anyone, but when I stopped in her office, Andy told me where to find her.”

  Oliver draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Do you think someone targeted Ken because she knows Blythe?”

  “It’s possible, but considering your wife runs at different times on different paths every day, it’s more probable she was the victim of a random shooting. Some gang initiations involve hurting innocent people in broad daylight.” In his career, Jackson would have seen his share of senseless attacks. “Do you have any enemies, Mrs. Kendrick?” The detective aimed his penetrative gaze toward the bed.

  “My mom? Why would anyone want to hurt my mom?” A note of disbelief rang in Hunter’s voice.

  Riley graced her son with a tender smile, awakening a yearning Blythe had buried years ago. As happy as he’d been with Claire, there were moments he wished they’d had a child.

  “I’m sure there are a few people who’d like to get rid of me, Hunt, but to kill me?” She shook her head emphatically. “I can’t think of anyone.”

  One name popped into Blythe’s mind, but according to Andy, the little weasel was at the doctor’s.

  ***

  Riley preferred some degree of pain to the mind-numbing drugs the doctor had pumped into her system after the surgery.

  Moving her right arm pulled on her breast, and it hurt. But if she kept her shoulder still, she could wiggle her fingers without cringing. Typing would be excruciatingly slow, but not impossible. She could already hear Paul complaining she’d become a dead weight. How ironic.

  The nap she took after Ollie and Hunter flew home had left her feeling restless and empty. The doctor had recommended she stay at the hospital and rest for a few days until she regained her strength. She’d lost some blood, not enough to warrant a transfusion, but enough to make her weak and drowsy. The morning meeting with Jackson also added to her lethargy.

  The door of her hospital room opened, and Paul stepped in, hugging the front of his jacket with his arm, as if to protect it. “Call off the dog. I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Wh
at dog? How did you bypass the nurse?” The only visitors allowed were her family, Blythe, and the police.

  “I sneaked in.” With his back to the door, he cut off her only means of escape, not that she was in any shape to get out of bed and fight him. “It was easier than shaking him off my back.”

  A heavy curtain hovered over her mind. “You have thirty seconds to make sense, or I call the nurse.”

  “For crying out loud, Ryle, I was across town meeting an obstetrician.”

  She couldn’t care less about his meeting. “Twenty seconds.” The call button was attached to the railing of her bed. She grabbed it.

  “I get it. You can’t stand me. Fine.” Something bulged under his jacket, but he made no move to retrieve it. “While we’re at it, I hate your guts, and I want you gone, but I didn’t try to kill you.”

  Stunned by the eerie confession, she searched his expression for some hidden meaning. “I didn’t accuse you.” Despite the threats, it hadn’t occurred to her he might be responsible.

  “Then why did he corner me in the office?”

  “He?” After the detective’s visit, she’d convinced her husband and son not to waste their time at the hospital, not when duty called at home. They were 35,000 feet in the air. And as soon as the doctor released her, she intended to join them. “Who’s he?”

  “Huxley. Who else? By the way, keeping his rescue suit on your chair when your husband is in town isn’t too subtle.”

  Had she been connected to a heart monitor, the line would have spiked. “I take it Blythe had a word with you?”

  “Yes, and I didn’t like the accusations.”

  It sounded like Paul hadn’t heeded her warning to back off, and Blythe had stepped in. In many ways, he resembled Ollie, and she couldn’t fault him for protecting her. Had Ollie met Paul, her husband would have uttered many more words of the unkind variety. “Take your fight with Blythe outside my hospital room.”

  “I have a better idea.” He neared her bed, opened his jacket, and tossed a laptop on her lap—a laptop that resembled hers. “Put Hux on a leash, and let’s get back to work.”

  “Work?”

  “Andy likes the spark you add to the scenes. I tried, but I can’t replicate it. I won’t let you sabotage my career by taking the easy way out.”

  He blamed her for getting shot? “You are the most despicable—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Already got that speech. Now work your magic.”

  Had he provided her with a worthy incentive or stepped down from his pedestal and asked nicely, she might have considered his offer. “Over my dead body.”

  “Are you sure?” He gripped the railing with both hands and loomed over her like a vulture. “From what I heard, the bullet didn’t miss by much. You may not be as lucky the next time.”

  The threat wasn’t lost on her, and she pressed the call button. “You’re on your own, Paul. Get out.”

  He smiled. A cold and calculated smile that sent shivers down her spine. “You’d love to see me sacked over the finale, but you won’t let it happen, and you know why? Because you care more about the show than you care about either of our reputations.”

  “You’re wrong.” Where’s that nurse?

  “You know I’m right. You proved it to me yesterday when you let me take credit for all those ideas you bounced off me.”

  He’d seen right through her. For him, it’d been a power game. “You’re—”

  “Save the epithets for another day. We’re on a deadline.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Blythe walked to the nurses’ station with a plush polar bear tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  “Good morning, Mr. H.” Angie’s greeting hadn’t changed since the days she’d been Claire’s night nurse in intensive care. “What brings you to my new floor before sunrise? It’s not visiting hours yet. Did you step into the wrong elevator?”

  “I’m making my rounds. I have two lovely ladies to visit before I report to the studio, and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I came early to see Mrs. Kendrick.”

  “She may be asleep, but feel free to stay as long as you wish.” A halo of salt and pepper hair framed a jovial face wrinkled by years of caring. “I’m not keeping tabs on you.”

  Angie’s compassion and skills showed no equal. With her as a nurse, Riley was in good hands.

  “I’ll be quiet. I promise.” Disturbing Riley’s sleep was the last thing on his mind, but he needed to see her.

  The door to her room was open, and the curtain wasn’t pulled across the entire window. Lights from the street posts shone into the private room. Eyes closed, Riley lay on her back with the blanket pulled up her waist. Her hands folded over her stomach, she hugged…something.

  As he approached her bed, the object took form, and he sighed. The laptop didn’t belong in her arms, her bed, or her room. The doctor kept her at the hospital so she could rest, not work.

  He set the bear on the mattress near her legs, and careful not to wake her, he removed the laptop and placed it on the cart table beside a bouquet of orange and yellow lilies. A card was attached to the ribbon tied around the vase. In the dimness, he couldn’t read the card, but he assumed the flowers were from Oliver and Hunter. He picked up the plush bear and tucked it into the empty folds of her arms. Much better. With her family gone, he didn’t want her to feel lonely or abandoned.

  “Sweet dreams, Shamrock,” he whispered. “I’ll stop by later tonight.”

  Empty-handed, he made his way through a maze of corridors to the extended care wing. The logbook rested on the corner of the counter at the deserted nurses’ station. Why he had to sign in to visit Claire but not Riley was beyond his understanding, but who was he to argue with bureaucracy. Once he added his signature, he reviewed last night’s visitors. His in-laws had come in shortly after nine-thirty. Surprised by their late visit, he checked their departure time. They’d stayed over an hour, long past their bedtime.

  “Early morning, Mr. Huxley?” Viola, a bubbly and chatty nurse, walked down the corridor with a chart in her hand.

  “Good morning, Viola.” Between shifts, he’d caught her reading to the patients, including Claire. “Do you know if anything unusual happened last night?”

  “Not really…actually, last night was pretty quiet for a change.” As she neared him, she lowered her voice. “Why?”

  “Claire’s parents came late and stayed a while.” That was unusual.

  “Oh…there was that doctor…what was his name?” She scratched her head with the corner of the chart. “Rushi—Rutschi. That’s it. Dr. Rutschi. He was leaving with your in-laws when I arrived for my shift.”

  The name didn’t ring a bell. “Who is he?”

  “I asked Becky about him.” A seasoned nurse, Becky worked most evening shifts. “She said he was a neurologist from Germany who came to examine your wife. Something about a second opinion? Weren’t you notified?”

  “Yes, but he took his time showing up.” That second opinion had been overdue for weeks. “Any idea what he said?”

  “Nope.” She dropped the chart on the counter. “But when they left, your in-laws were smiling.”

  ***

  Riley couldn’t wait to get home and eat real, delicious meals. The food the hospital served was as appetizing as the fast food trashed underneath the picnic tables in the park. If the battery of her cell phone weren’t dead, she would have ordered pizza or Chinese food to replace the unrecognizable supper they rolled into her room.

  The small polar bear she’d awoken with in the morning rested on her rumbling stomach. About the size of a newborn kitten, it was soft and cuddly and fit in the palms of her two hands. She loved it, and with the Icelandic flag sewn on its chest, it reminded her of Rowan.

  While there was no note or card with the gift, her first thought had been of Blythe. No one else at the studio knew about Rowan. “You sit there while I work.” She placed the bear against the bouquet of lilies Ollie had given her before reaching for her laptop w
ith her left hand.

  Outside the window, the sun had long disappeared, replaced by the lights of the lampposts. The sooner she got to work and finished the script, the sooner she could fly home.

  “Is that your definition of resting?” Arms crossed over his chest, Blythe gazed at her from the doorway.

  “Come in.” Glad to see him, she discarded her laptop near her leg and took her bear. “Do you know him? I found him in my bed. His name is Ice.”

  “Ice?” Amusement wrinkled his face. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Ice.”

  “You may be a good actor, but you’re a bad liar,” she teased. “Where did you find him?”

  He pulled a chair away from the wall and sat by her bed. “A specialty toy store on Fourth. I know how much you miss Rowan. Being here alone, I thought you could hug that little guy while thinking about her.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she brought the stuffed animal close to her heart. Kind and considerate, Blythe possessed the same qualities she cherished in Ollie and Chad. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He inched closer, and with his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’re tired, Shamrock. Tell me you weren’t working.”

  She wasn’t sure when it happened, but she’d grown attached to him, and she’d miss him when she left on Saturday. “I need to finish the script in case I’m not back.”

  His expression froze, and his hand fell down, leaving behind the ghost of a caress along her cheek. “What do you mean in case you’re not back?”

  “There’s two weeks left before the show takes a two-month break. The doctor wants me to rest at least another ten days. By the time I’d fly back here, season three would be almost over. Returning for a day or two doesn’t make much sense, so I may wait until the new season begins in October.”

  “It sounds reasonable.” The tension waned from his face. “But working from your hospital bed defeats the purpose of resting. Andy and Paul can finish the script without you.”