by Meryl Sawyer
How was he going to break this news to Shelly, then leave her alone to face life with a disfigurement? He was all kinds of pissed. With himself. With Shelly. With the whole damn situation.
When she had been stalking him, Matt had tried to reason with her and convince her that he wasn’t interested. Shelly kept insisting he loved her and just wouldn’t admit it. He’d consulted a psychiatrist who specialized in such cases. Have no contact with the stalker. Interaction—of any kind—only reinforces the behavior because the stalker craves your attention. Any way they can get it.
Still, he had to talk to her this one last time.
He walked up to her bed, half hoping she was sedated, but he could see her blue eyes were open. They seemed different than he’d remembered, a color so rich, so intense, it caused a catch in his breath. It had to be the contrast between the blue of her eyes and the stark white gauze.
“Shelly, you’re awake. Good. You had the doctor worried.”
He smiled—or tried to—and she responded with a pathetic flutter of her left hand. There was a spark of some indefinable emotion in her eyes.
Be dead honest, he told himself as he swung a chair around backward and straddled it. But don’t give Shelly any reason to think you care too much about her.
Shelly’s hand trembled as it rose from the white sheet and shakily reached for him. Her body went rigid with the effort, and a frantic look glittered in her eyes. He was glad he’d turned the chair around. Touching Shelly would only encourage her.
“Have they explained about your injuries?” he asked, ignoring the way she was feebly reaching for him. He knew the doctor must have talked to her, but he needed a way to lead up to the bad news. “Your dislocated shoulder is better, so they’ve taken the pulley away.”
The hand imploring him to hold it was trembling violently now.
“Your leg is broken, but it’s not bad. The doctor says you’ll have one of those walking casts for a few weeks, then a canvas cast with Velcro straps. You can take it off when you sleep.”
Shelly’s eyes conveyed something he interpreted as desperation. She squeezed them shut, and her arm hit the bed with a lifeless thunk. A second later she opened her eyes again. There was something so pathetic in them that he felt like a real shit for not taking her hand.
He steeled himself, remembering what she’d said the last time he’d seen her in New York—when the police were handcuffing Shelly after she’d threatened his sister. I’ll love you until you die, Matt.
At the time he’d been too damn mad and worried about Emily to wonder what Shelly meant. Later the psychiatrist warned him that stalkers often resorted to murder when they were convinced they’d been rejected. If I can’t have you, no one else can.
He hadn’t been concerned about Shelly’s threats. They had been vague. Stay away from Matt or you’ll regret it. But what if she became violent? Emily or some other woman around him could be in danger.
The psychiatrist cautioned him that restraining orders often drove obsessive types over the edge. Court orders might be seen as proof of rejection. Each year many women were killed after taking out a restraining order.
After that incident she had disappeared from his life. Until now. Right this minute she didn’t seem the least bit threatening. If anything, he pitied her. She crooked her index finger, beckoning him to come closer.
Shelly … oh, Shelly don’t do this.
Now came the hard part. “Shelly, raise one finger if you understand me.”
The finger twitched, nothing more. He imagined the effort she’d put into reaching for him had exhausted her. Jackass that he was, he felt sorry for her, sensing her utter frustration from the pleading look in her eyes.
He might have handled this another way, but after consulting the shrink on stalkers, he’d continued to research the subject. Stalkers are persistent and often make people feel sorry for them. Most people attempt to let them down gently, which only encourages them.
Exactly what he had done.
The way to end stalking is to stop contact, he reminded himself. Do what’s right, then get the hell out of Dodge.
“You’re lucky to have survived the crash. It’s a miracle you don’t have brain damage.”
Her eyes no longer were blue. As he spoke, they had become bleak, turning as gray as the winter sky. She was no longer looking at him.
You schmuck! he cursed himself, then glanced down at her left hand, her good hand with the IV shunt, the hand he’d held while she’d been unconscious. Her fingers were splayed awkwardly on the white sheet. Why couldn’t he just walk away?
Don’t feel sorry for Shelly. Never forget, she’s mentally unbalanced. Possibly dangerous.
The hell of it was, she didn’t look the least bit dangerous now. Pathetic fit better. Pathetic and helpless.
Aw, hell, she was getting to him—big-time.
“Your jaw was badly broken,” he continued to talk to her. “It’s been wired shut. In about three weeks the wire will be removed,” he told her, but wondered if she was listening. Her eyes had a glazed, faraway look. “Shelly, lift a finger if you still can hear me.”
Her index finger rose a fraction of an inch, but she didn’t look at him.
“The right side of your face was badly damaged, but luckily, not your eye.” He exhaled a measured breath, then continued, his voice pitched low. “You’re going to need expensive reconstructive surgery. It’s not covered by your insurance. Do you have any money or know someone who could lend it to you? Wiggle your finger if you do.”
The only movement was the drip-drip-drip of the fluid in the IV as it flowed into her hand. Exactly what he’d figured. He could lend her the money. Hell, he could give her the money. What did it matter to him?
But if he did, she would see it as an expression of love. Life was too damn short to get involved with a nutcase like Rochelle Ralston. Still, it was impossible to look at her and not want to do something.
“Matt?” Trevor’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Amy saw the blond man standing in the doorway and a flutter of hope replaced despair. She had counted on Matt taking her hand so she could tell him what was happening. But he had pointedly ignored her efforts.
Evidently, something had gone wrong in his affair with the woman who had been driving the car. She could tell by the way he talked to her that he no longer loved the woman. He refused to even touch her.
“Shelly,” Matt said. “This is Trevor Adams.”
The astonishingly handsome man walked up to her bed with a friendly, easygoing smile. His green eyes were full of unmistakable warmth, yet there was a poignant sadness in them too, as if he’d seen the dark side of life.
She immediately was drawn to Trevor. She was almost too exhausted from trying to communicate with Matt to lift her hand, but Trevor gave her hope, and she managed to reach toward him.
Please, Trevor, help me.
Trevor hesitated, then lightly brushed her fingertips. He pulled back his hand, saying, “I have good news for you. I picked up your dog at the shelter.”
Miracle of miracles, Jiggs had survived. Thank you, God.
“He was a mess, so I took him to Groomingdale’s. My friend there gave him a bath and an avocado/papaya moisturizing treatment to soften his fur.”
He seemed so genuinely pleased he’d been able to do something to help her that tears pricked at her eyes with a hot sting. No man had ever shown her such kindness. Over the years she’d observed men like this, who were so knee-weakeningly handsome. They expected women to grovel.
She reached for him again, even though the movement caused pain to crackle up her spine and into her skull with blinding intensity. He gently squeezed her fingers, then released them.
“There’s been a wreck,” Trevor told Matt. “A motorcycle hit the Conch train and about two dozen tourists were injured. Nothing serious, cuts and bruises, but they’ve flooded the emergency room.”
“That’s what all the sirens were about.”
/> “There’s only one nurse at the station. Everyone else was called to the ER. I think we could sneak Jiggs in here.” He turned to Shelly. “Would you like that?”
She knew better than to move her head, but she couldn’t help nodding just a little. Jiggs, dear Jiggs. He’d saved her life. If she hadn’t heard him whimpering and gone out to see what the brute had done to him this time, she would have been in the house with the federal marshal when Dexxter’s man blew up the building.
Matt went outside with Trevor to get the dog. “It’s a mistake for me to stay around Shelly much longer. She keeps reaching for me, trying to hold my hand. Everything I’ve learned about obsession warns against physical contact with the stalker.”
“She kept reaching for me too. She seems frantic … or something. Does she understand the extent of her injuries?”
“Yes. The doctor explained, then I told her.”
“It must be frightening though. She doesn’t have any family or friends to see her through this.”
It wasn’t hard to miss the compassion in Trevor’s voice. Even a wacko like Shelly could get Trevor’s sympathy. If Matt didn’t handle this situation right, Trevor would take over. When it came to saving birds with broken wings, Trevor was in a class by himself.
Then Shelly would fall for Trevor. Legions of women had chased Trevor and had broken hearts to prove it. Matt wondered what had happened to Trevor’s latest relationship but respected Trevor’s privacy enough not to ask.
Trevor opened the door to his sleek black Porsche. A little dog cowered in the passenger seat as if waiting to be kicked.
“Now, I ask you, have you ever seen an uglier dog?”
Trevor chuckled. “You should have seen it before I took it to Groomingdale’s.”
The dog was the size of a chihuahua, with coarse, shaggy fur the color of sludge—not brown, not black. Its soulful eyes were chocolate brown, its only redeeming feature. The dog turned and Matt saw part of one ear was missing, cut off at an odd; jagged angle.
Trevor asked, “What do you suppose happened to its ear?”
“Beats me.”
Trevor scooped up the trembling animal and put it in a canvas shopping bag. “This should get us past the nurses’ station.”
It did. They walked right by the station and into the deserted ICU. The woman in the other bed appeared to be asleep, but even from the door Matt could see Shelly’s intense eyes expectantly watching them through the slits in the gauze. Trevor placed the dog between Shelly’s body and her uninjured arm.
The little mutt stopped shaking the second its paws touched the sheet. Its scrawny tail swished back and forth while the dog licked Shelly’s fingers. There was a smile in Shelly’s eyes, then the sheen of tears.
Man, oh, man. Don’t cry. Matt had never been able to handle it when a woman cried. He never knew what to do, what to say.
The tiny dog nuzzled her body. Tears silently slipped from her eyes and seeped onto the gauze, dampening the bandage below her eyes. She blinked hard, fighting back the tears, but they kept coming.
An odd twinge of something Matt couldn’t quite name struck him along with an unexpected thought. I’ll love you until you die, she’d told him many times. She claimed to love him, yet she hadn’t been nearly as glad to see him as she was this dog.
“I don’t want you to worry about your dog,” Trevor told her. “I’m going to take care of him until you’re well. You can see how great his fur looks after the moisturizing treatment.”
Trust Trevor to know what to say to a woman at a time like this. The tears slowed and the happy glimmer returned to Shelly’s eyes. Damn, if she didn’t have remarkably striking eyes.
“He wouldn’t eat the dog food the groomer had, but don’t worry,” Trevor continued. “We’re going to dinner at La Te Da in a few minutes. It’s one of the best restaurants in town. Friends of mine own it. They’ll keep bringing food until we find something he likes to eat.”
“What’s that dog doing here? It’s not allowed.”
Matt turned and saw a male nurse approaching the bed. Trevor opened his mouth to explain, but didn’t get the chance.
“Look at the patient. You’ve upset her. You’ll have to leave immediately.”
Shelly had stopped crying. She was looking at the man with an expression Matt would swear was pure hate.
The burly man glared at Matt with such an in-your-face attitude that he was tempted to deck the cocky little prick. The nurse grabbed for the dog. Without thinking, Matt thrust out his arm to stop him.
The man squared his stocky shoulders. “I’m calling the supervisor.”
“Come on, Matt.” Trevor picked up the dog. “We have a dinner reservation.” To Shelly he said, “Don’t worry about your dog. I’ll take good care of him.”
Shelly’s eyes frantically flashed from the nurse to Matt. Something was disturbing her, but he couldn’t tell what. It seemed to be more than just having her dog taken away. She lifted her head off the pillow and shook it, saying no the only way she could.
No what?
“You must keep your head on the pillow,” said the male nurse as he pushed her shoulders down.
Panic glistened in Shelly’s midnight-blue eyes now, making them almost feral in their intensity. Those eyes were locked on him, pleading.
For what?
She was a nut, Matt assured himself. Little she did made sense. How could she be so agitated about a dog that she had to know wasn’t allowed in a hospital room?
It had to be the dog, didn’t it? What else could it be?
Unless she didn’t want him to leave. Just as this thought crossed his mind, Shelly lurched sideways, grabbing for his hand, something akin to terror in her eyes. Despite his better judgment, Matt would have taken her hand to reassure her, but the nurse blocked him with his body.
“Matt, we should go,” Trevor said. “We’re upsetting her.”
“Shelly, I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
At the door he looked back. The nurse was scribbling on the chart. Shelly was staring at Matt, her eyelashes fluttering in a rapid, frenzied way as if she were trying to tell him something.
Matt left the ICU and walked down the hall beside Trevor. “Is it my imagination, or did Shelly seem more than just a little weird to you?”
“I thought her reaction to the pooch was normal.” Trevor grinned at the dog that only its mother could love. “She has no way of communicating with us, but she didn’t need words with the dog. He loves her and missed her.”
Matt shouldered his way through the swinging doors and walked out into the early evening heat. A warm breeze was blowing the clouds around a lopsided moon that was just visible in the darkening sky. The scent of the tropics invaded his nostrils, and he welcomed the change from the antiseptic smell of the hospital.
Trevor opened the Porsche’s door and placed the dog on the ledge behind the seats. Matt went around to the passenger side and almost opened the door, but stopped.
“You know, I’m going to walk around the corner of the building and look into the ICU. I want to see if she’s okay now.”
“I’ll come with you.” Trevor shut the car door.
They walked in silence across the asphalt parking lot. Even though it was almost dark, heat still shimmered from the surface. They stood beneath the twin palms outside the brightly lit ICU. The nurse was bustling around the room, changing IV bags and checking monitors.
From this angle it was impossible to see much of Shelly’s face. They were too far away to read any emotion in her eyes.
“She’s settled down,” Trevor said. “We should get over to La Te Da.”
Matt’s sixth sense kicked in. “Just a minute.”
The nurse was preparing a syringe for the other patient now. He gave her the injection, then stood there. The peculiar half-smile on the jackass of a nurse kept Matt watching. The man reached under the sheet.
“Is he doing what I think he’s doing?” Trev
or asked.
The male nurse fondled the woman’s breasts for a moment, then tucked the sheet into place.
“You dumb shit!” Matt cursed himself. “That’s what Shelly was trying to tell you.”
“From where she is, she can’t see what he’s doing.”
“She saw something or he did something to her. That’s why she was so frantic.”
The man headed toward Shelly’s bed. Matt sprinted around the corner, slammed aside the entrance doors, raced down the hall, and charged into the ICU. The nurse had a syringe in his hand. As he bent down, Shelly’s arm shot upward to ward off the needle, ripping the IV from her skin. Blood spurted from Shelly’s hand, splattering the nurse.
He spun around, obviously shocked to see Matt thundering into the room. Matt grabbed him and shoved him flush against the wall.
“You little shit!” Matt clamped his hand around the guy’s throat just as he rammed his fist into his soft gut.
“L-let go,” he whimpered.
Matt whacked the son of a bitch’s head against the wall.
“Matt, stop!” yelled Trevor.
Behind Trevor, another voice distracted Matt. He took his hand away from the bastard’s throat, but kept his fist solidly planted in his beefy belly.
“This man’s been copping feels—maybe worse,” Matt said. “Shelly didn’t want to be put under because she was afraid of what this asshole was going to do.”
“That’s absurd,” insisted a prim-looking older woman in a nurse’s uniform. “Simon’s been with us for years.”
“On the night shift, right?” Matt asked. “That way there isn’t anyone around to see what he does.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We trust Simon implicitly.”
“We were watching,” Trevor informed her. “We saw him fondling the other patient’s breasts. We’re calling the police.”
“Oh, goodness me. I’ll get my supervisor.”
The woman scurried away, and Matt took advantage of her absence to slam his knee into the prick’s groin. The man’s eyes crossed and he gagged as he crumpled to the floor. Matt cocked his fist, ready to let him have it again.