While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  Max stopped at a light with a snort of disgust. “This from little Miss Denial. Get over it, Kat. The sooner you do the sooner you can help me figure out who they are. Where they are.”

  “I am not in denial.”

  Max faced her fully for the first time. “I died, Kat. You never got through denial with that one.”

  “That was not denial!” She knew she was shouting, sounding like a typical hysterical female, but she’d never felt so out of control, so borderless, so terrified. Lizzie wouldn’t be in this mess except for her. She would not put Miriam through all this without cause.

  “Denial.” Max revved the engine again, done talking to her.

  “You weren’t dead! Lizzie’s not either.” She tried to reign in her voice, yank back her scattered emotions. “My father died, Max. I dealt with it fine. I dealt with your death, too, just not with the loss of you. Lizzie is not—”

  Kat never saw the eighteen-wheeler plow into her side of the truck. She saw the entire accident, though, in real time, played out in vivid detail on Max’s horrified features. The split-second of indecision to hit brakes or gas. A thrill of acceleration when he chose to floor it. Desperation when he knew he couldn’t avoid the accident. An eternity as his hands left the steering wheel, his arms closing around her, wrenching her towards him as he tried to put himself between her and the forty tons of angry metal ripping through her side of his truck. She didn’t even have time to scream.

  She heard the squeal of brakes, the sickening crunch of metal on metal, and Max’s soft grunt of pain as the daylight disappeared.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her head hurt. And her back. Somewhere behind her metal shifted, groaned. Kat forced open reluctant eyelids, disoriented and dazed. Pinned to Max’s chest, she could see his eyes were closed but when she tried to straighten, he grunted a warning.

  “Don’t move, baby,” he begged. “Not yet.”

  Kat lifted only her head, seeing first the white lines of strain around his lips. Next her gaze drifted out the mostly-shattered back window. The bed of the Max’s truck was permanently fused with the engine of a huge semi. Max’s truck was bent, directly behind her she’d find the cab of the semi. If she twisted around, which she couldn’t.

  “Where are you hurt?” Was that really her voice, so calm and detached?

  “Ribs.” Again his voice was more groan than murmur. “You okay?”

  “I think so. What about your legs?”

  “Okay. My right arm, but you’re–“

  ”Practically sitting on it, I know.“ She could feel his arm tucked in tight behind her. Moving any part of her body would inevitably jostle his right arm, not to mention that she was squashed against the very ribs that appeared to make each breath agony. “I won’t move.” She heard the wail of a siren, knew people had begun to gather outside, staring into the cab in horrified fascination. Kat ignored them, until a man stepped forward and tried to wrench open Max’s door. Then her words were harsh and hasty. “Wait for the paramedics. You don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  The young man held up both hands, signaling he’d heard and wouldn’t try the door again. “You’re bleeding, ma’am.”

  For the first time she felt the warm, sticky flow down her left cheek. “It’s not bad.”

  Max’s lips made an attempt at a smile. “That’s my girl,” he breathed. “Reassure the rescuer.”

  The siren got louder, closer. Kat rested her forehead against Max’s cheek, wishing he’d open his eyes, just once. “You saved me, you know.”

  “Only because I love fighting with you.” His breath came in shallow little bursts, hot against her skin. Beads of perspiration gathered on his brow, mute evidence of what must be horrible pain.

  “The police are here,” she whispered. “The ambulance is coming.”

  He acknowledged that with another grunt. Kat’s heart constricted and tears stung her eyes. “I won’t move.”

  “I’m counting on it.” He let out a sigh that was more of a moan. “I love you, Kat.”

  The tears she’d stemmed so far tumbled down her cheeks. She choked back the words her heart screamed. Now was not the time or the place. “The cops are here.”

  “No drugs.”

  Kat, through the mostly missing back window, gave the police a stern warning not to touch the truck as two blue-clad men swarmed forward. When she followed the warning with her qualifications and a list of their known injuries, the closest cop gave a nod. She could hear the ambulance, coming from behind her. Satisfied no one would jostle Max until the paramedics could stabilize him, she turned her attention back to him. He was even paler now. She kissed his cheek, wondering if anything was broken. His back? He’d taken the brunt of the force, cushioning her in his arms. “What did you say, love?”

  “No drugs. Don’t let them give me anything.”

  Kat frowned. “But you’re–“

  ”I’m serious, Kat.” He was, too, because he finally forced his eyes open, squinting into the misty daylight, revealing pain that tore through her heart. A steely determination rode him just as hard as the intense pain. “There’s a phone number. If I need surgery, you’re to call. It’s on speed dial on my phone. Number seven. Otherwise, you tell them. The paramedics. The hospital. No drugs.”

  She kissed his cheek again to shut him up. No drugs? He was crazy. Of course they’d give him drugs. If he’d broken any bones, they’d need to be set. She’d heard broken ribs were the worst of all. Max wasn’t thinking straight. If for some reason, he needed surgery, she’d tell only his sister, his family. Even that wouldn’t be until she could say with certainty that Max would be fine. “Tell them yourself. Personally, I think a healthy dose of strictly regulated narcotics might be good for you.”

  He stiffened underneath her, the movement wrenching another groan from his white-ringed mouth. “Promise me you’ll call.”

  When he looked at her, with those melt-her-soul eyes, she couldn’t refuse him anything. “If you need surgery, I’ll call.”

  “And no drugs.”

  Kat gave the paramedics her attention.

  ##

  Max was furious. Eight hours almost to the minute since he’d stormed out of Kat’s house this morning and they were back again. Only now he felt like a damn prisoner. Her prisoner. His attempt to kick her front door shut was barely more than a pitiful nudge that wrenched his tortured back muscles. Two hours since a nurse had cheerfully ignored his outraged refusal, injecting him with morphine. Two hours! He could still feel the haze of the blasted drug, clouding his perception, leaving him weak as a kitten. And Kat, damn her black heart, hadn’t done a thing to stop the nurse. Or the doctor who’d given him his first dose.

  Now she ignored him. His right forearm was encased in a stiff tan brace. His ribs were taped tight and even with the tape and the drugs it hurt to breathe. Hell, it hurt to blink. At least he hadn’t needed surgery, thank God.

  Kat, meanwhile, had only a square of white gauze on her forehead, opposite the band-aid from her previous injury. A very minor concussion. In contrast, he already felt like the semi had hit him, not his truck, a condition he knew would only worsen over the next few days. He should be glad that Kat’s injuries were so minor. His actions had saved her from a scenario that could have been much, much more severe. He would be glad, but he’d be glad later. Now her tender ministrations grated like a gravel spill on sunburned skin.

  He sank down on the couch in the living room, listening to her toss ice into a glass. He was insanely thirsty. Another wonderful ramification of the fucking painkiller. But he hadn’t asked her for water. Hadn’t asked her for a damn thing.

  When they’d first arrived home, he’d managed to dismantle the cameras and microphones scattered throughout her house. It was one thing to let Lizzie’s murderers spy on them while he planned. Now, now he felt helpless. Worthless. He couldn’t even take out the surveillance equipment without Kat’s help. She hadn’t said a word, either in encouragement, or protest. B
ut when he’d groaned, reaching for the first camera, she’d quietly taken the screwdriver from his left hand. She’d also found a hammer, and as he revealed and they removed each piece of electronics, after he scanned uselessly for prints, she smashed it to pieces with a vehemence revealed only in her eyes.

  Once the task was done, she’d taken the trash can full of jumbled parts and pieces, placed it carefully outside her front door and then disappeared into the kitchen. All without a word.

  Kat brought his water, then hovered over him, entirely oblivious to his murderous glare. “Are you cold? Hot? Do you want the television on? Or some music?”

  He ignored her, refusing to look at her, even when she stood, staring down at him. Finally she moved off to the computer, ostensibly to check her e-mail. There was something he had to do, a question he hadn’t asked but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. He gave his head a shake, leaned over and managed to guide the water to his mouth. His mind wandered, through the treatment at the emergency room, back to the accident. He could still see that semi, looking like a hungry shark, bearing down on Kat. Max closed his eyes, hoping that would block out the horrible memory. He recalled the heavy truck, details popping into his brain, but he discarded them. It wasn’t a hit and run. The police could get everything they needed off of the semi itself. His memories weren’t necessary. Something was, though. He waded through what felt like heavy layers of thick insulation in his mind, his destination somewhere he couldn’t quite remember. Then, suddenly, he did.

  His eyes flew open, located Kat. She was at the computer, with her back to him. “What happened to the driver?”

  She stiffened just the slightest bit, and he could nearly hear her brain, ordering her to relax. A part of him smiled. She was so damn adorable when she concentrated hard. Tension was forcibly evicted from her body and she turned to him with a painted-on smile. She was definitely concentrating hard now. Something was wrong. Max frowned. “He, um, apparently fled the scene. The police are on it, though. They’ll find him.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Max bolted to his feet, then swayed. Kat was there in an instant. As a matter of fact, two Kats were there in an instant.

  “Easy, Max,” she soothed.

  He swatted her hands away, noting that the harsh contact with his stiff splint made her wince. “I’m not going to take it easy!”

  Her cheeriness disappeared. “Fine. At least sit down so I don’t have to haul your thick-headed carcass off the floor!”

  She was probably right. Had he been clear-headed, he might have taken her advice. Since it was more than half her fault he was in this sorry condition, she could just deal with the consequences.

  Hands on her hips, she stared him down. Waiting for him to fall flat on his face in her thick carpet, no doubt. He hoped he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He managed a tight smile. “I prefer to stand, thanks.”

  She rolled her eyes and backed up a few steps. The other Kat mimicked her movement shortly after. “Fine.”

  Max struggled to bring both women into unity.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” Her voice held a warning.

  Max tried to anchor his feet more firmly. The room didn’t cooperate. He decided to ignore it. The accident wasn’t a chance encounter of the truck-totaling kind. No way.

  “Coincidence.” They said it in unison, Kat with resignation, Max’s voice expressing exasperated rage.

  Kat sighed. “They took you out of commission.”

  “They could have killed you!”

  Both Kats advanced, one at a time. He wished they’d coordinate their movements. They finally did, but only when she slid between his wrists to flatten her hands against his chest. With her fingers touching lightly on his shoulders, she turned him, then gave a slight shove.

  Max went down with a grunt. The butter soft leather of her couch felt like it would swallow him whole. It didn’t do a thing to soften the pain. Kat followed so quickly he didn’t have time to be angry. She knelt between his knees, taking his face between her soft palms. “You’ve got to tell me, Max. No more secrets.”

  He stared at her, this woman who haunted his life, wishing he had the answers. She smelled like heaven, like hints of moonbeams in a summer garden. There was fear in her eyes, and a horrible dread. But there was love, too, for him, and an ache for the pain he couldn’t feel but knew was waiting. “No more secrets,” he agreed, mesmerized by the spell she cast as she soothed his eyebrows, stroked his nose, pressed the soft pads of her thumbs against the hollows of his cheeks. “I love you, Kat. I’m not keeping any secrets.”

  “Then where are they? Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.” The quiet whisper filled the room with darkness and despair. “If he’d call–“

  His cell phone rang and Kat backed up, eyes wide and expectant. Max fumbled with the holster, managed to hook the phone with his thumb and remove it from his belt, but it slid off the splint to the floor when he tried to anchor it. Kat dove for it, flipping it open and lifting it to his ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “You all right, Crayton?” Reicher. The knot of anxiety tightened in his gut.

  “No. Yes.” He most certainly didn’t want to discuss his condition. “What?”

  “I got the final DNA back.”

  Max waited.

  “It’s confirmed. It is Lizzie’s toe. She is your daughter. The test for a live-tissue cut wasn’t conclusive.”

  Black, bottomless fury came from nowhere, engulfing him. “Tell me something I can use, Reicher! Tell me who the fuck killed my daughter!”

  Kat yanked the phone from his hand, lifted it to her ear. “Detective. This is Kat Jannsen.” Max made a grab for the phone but Kat deftly, and far too easily, avoided him, all while staying put between his knees. His anger, every righteous ounce of it, got swallowed in a horrible cloud of despair.

  He watched the detective’s news send a shudder over Kat’s features, a violent shudder that swept her and then disappeared like he’d imagined it. For a moment he wished he could live there, where she did, in denial of their daughter’s death. When he’d returned to find her married, he’d tried it, actually. But lies didn’t suit. Not any more. Why couldn’t she see that was all it was?

  “Yes. We’re fine. In for the night, actually. Keep in touch.”

  The cool, silky strands of her voice coiled through the despair and yanked it tighter around his soul. How could she be calm? Reicher had just confirmed her daughter’s death. He wanted to scream, to roar. . .to break down the barrier of her denial. He wanted–needed–to share this horrible anguish with her. Instead, he couldn’t even get off the couch without her help. Useless. Lizzie’s murderers were out there. Still free. And he couldn’t stop a couch from swallowing him whole.

  ##

  Kat pulled a pan full of lasagna out of the oven two hours later. Max hadn’t moved. The grief in his soul spilled out from his eyes, nearly filling the room. She couldn’t stay close to him for long periods of time—couldn’t bear to watch him destroy himself with guilt. He wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t answer her question about the charts he’d constructed on her computer–not about what they meant, or how they were connected to Lizzie. She’d tried everything she knew to get him to let it out, cajoling, yelling, silence as deep as his own–nothing worked.

  She couldn’t say why she’d made lasagna, except it was something to do. Something that didn’t involve him and his dark world. Sliding the steaming, fragrant dish on the kitchen island, she reached for the foil. She’d let it cool and maybe tomorrow. . ..

  The phone rang. Hers, not his. She stole another glance at Max as she silenced the ringing. He still hadn’t moved. The lines around his mouth showed white again. The medication should be wearing off soon, but he’d never agree to take another dose. Guilt was more powerful than any medicine. She knew.

  “Dr. Jannsen speaking.”

  “Katherine?”

  “Yes?” She turned her back on Max, hope springing wild
from her heart.

  “It’s Mitch, ma’am. From the copier store.”

  Steady! Her thoughts flew. If he wanted to meet. . .would Max agree? Never. Not without his rifle. With his right arm in a splint, Max couldn’t hold his rifle, let alone fire it. “Hold on just a minute, would you? I–I need to get my calendar.” She hurried down the hall, into her bedroom, easing the door closed behind her. “Yes, I’m ready. Where shall we meet? I’m very anxious to see the demo.”

  “I have an opening tomorrow at noon.” Mitch sounded calmer.

  Play the game. Bring Lizzie home. “We can’t do it tonight?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m booked tonight.”

  You’re not booked, you son of a bitch! Where the hell is my daughter? Kat closed her eyes, fingers choking the phone. “Tomorrow then. At noon.” She scrambled to the nightstand for a pencil to write down the address that would surely follow, until his next words penetrated.