Finding Honor (The Searchers Book 1) Page 4

  Ryan thought about it, but Seok didn’t expect him to answer no. There had been times when the question was asked and upon further thought, the person backtracked, but he could see in his eyes his decision was made.

  “I do.”

  Leaning back again, Seok nodded.

  Ryan bound to his feet, as if he’d reigned in his energy as long as possible. “I’ll get her space ready. Her name is Nora Leslie.”

  “That’s it?” Apollo asked after Ryan’s retreating figure.

  “Yes,” he answered from the hall.

  Apollo turned around in his seat. “Okay, then.”

  He stood and followed Ryan, his massive frame blocking the hallway light and his steps even, but much heavier as he went to his room, leaving Seok, Cai, and Matisse alone.

  “Cai,” Seok asked. “Do you know her?” With his work at the youth center, Cai often knew young people who made the news.

  But he shook his head.

  “Can you use your computer programs to examine her past, Matisse?”

  Matisse’s wide eyes reflected his surprise. “Ryan says she’s innocent.”

  He has been wrong before. He reproached himself immediately, bowing his head in shame. They were all guilty of something. Who was he to use Ryan’s past against him?

  The matter was settled. If Ryan thought she was innocent, it was enough, still… “Then consider it a reference check. If we are going to have a new roommate, I would like to know with whom I am living.”

  “Will it make a difference?” Matisse asked.

  It didn’t, except the situation was so unexpected, he had to take precautions. “No. She is welcome, but we may need to be on guard.”

  “Against what?” Cai asked, his brows drawn low over his eyes. It appeared his protective instincts had come into play, making Seok pause. Was he defensive about the changes to their group, or about the girl?

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Can you do it, please?”

  Matisse nodded slowly before standing. “I’ll put what I find on your desk.”

  He nodded his thanks to Matisse, who left without another word.

  It was just Cai now, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and Seok.

  Convinced he needed time to gather his thoughts, Seok waited for him to argue. The only thing Cai did was stare at him, his golden eyes boring a hole as if he could see straight through him.

  Finally, he stood, pushing the chair back and leaving him alone in the kitchen. The chair sat in the way of the refrigerator; so Seok gently pushed it back in place. He ran his hand through his hair again, grabbed the kerchief, and wrapped it around his head.

  He tried to reassure himself. There was no reason for this to affect him; this girl would be Ryan’s responsibility. He needed to lose himself in his work, and try to ignore this feeling everything had changed.

  Five

  A Place to Start

  After Professor Bismarck and Ryan left, Nora’s room was even more sterile and empty. The nurse who came to take her pulse and blood pressure had an impatient, pissed-off demeanor, and wasn’t very good company.

  She wanted to scream, “I didn't do anything!” But she didn’t.

  Instead, she demurely allowed the nurse to check the stitches in her abdomen, and she didn’t do anything except gasp when she changed the sterile wraps on her side by tearing off the tape a little too vigorously.

  She thought back to Ryan. She trusted him. It was an odd feeling, giving someone her trust. She told him everything she knew and remembered, every detail she could think of. It left her with a sick, hollowed-out feeling, as if by talking about the events, she'd relived them.

  Except now, things had changed.

  It wasn’t a stranger who shot her. It was Reid, and instead of the shooting being something in which she'd been a victim, now she felt like a participant. He recognized her, and pulled the trigger. He must have known it was her. She hadn't changed so much in five years.

  Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t take a paper cup fast enough when the nurse shook it at her. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  All she received in response was a grunt, which she tried not to take personally. Reaching under her cart, the nurse dug out a phone, and plugged it into the wall.

  “I don't need to make a call.” She had requested a phone earlier in order to call Legal Aid, but as soon as the call was made, the nurses unplugged it and took it back.

  “You're supposed to have one at all times,” the nurse told her. Clearly she didn't agree with this allowance.

  “Oh.”

  She finished situating the phone on the bedside table and typed into her computer before turning back to Nora. “Anything else?”

  Before all of this, she might have hazarded some snark, but now, every movement and word felt like it could break the thin ice on which she stood, so she shook her head.

  Without another word, the nurse snapped the laptop closed, surprising her again when she left the door to the room open. Without an explanation, she assumed it was another concession given to her as a result of her lawyers. She leaned her head against the pillow, done-in with fighting against the hurt and exhaustion pulsing to her marrow. She let her eyes close.

  Sleep wasn’t in her future. Each time she managed to drift off, she’d hear a voice, or noise from the hallway, and jerk awake. She almost wished her door closed again, since it was much quieter. The amount of patients yelling in this wing was weird, but at the same time, it made her feel less alone.

  A shrill ringing jarred her out of her stupor, and she reached for the phone, groaning when the movement pulled at her stitches. It was far enough away not only did she need to reach, but she also had to scoot to the edge of the bed. She moved slowly, but the phone continued to ring, almost as if the person on the other end knew it would take her a while to answer.

  “Hello?” Her breath huffed out of her.

  “Hi Nora, it's Ryan Valore, from earlier today. I came with Professor Bismarck?”

  She smiled a little, the question in his voice plain. As if she could forget the one person she trusted in a decade.

  “I remember,” she answered. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” he said again, and she wondered how long they would go back and forth greeting each other. “So, um, I wanted to offer you a place to stay.”

  She squeezed the phone. “I don't understand. I'm not getting out of the hospital today. When I do, I'm going to go home, or...”

  “Or where?”

  “To jail?” It was a possibility.

  “You're not going to jail.” He sounded certain, except then he hesitated and sighed. “No one told you.”

  Something worse? “No. What?”

  “Your apartment, Nora. You were evicted, and the police boxed your belongings. Everything else is gone.”

  So not worse, but definitely bad. Tears threatened to choke her. She fought them, closing her eyes and focusing on breathing. She thought about her books and the few photographs she had. She thought about the quilt she'd splurged on to keep her warm when the wind whipped through the gaps in the window frame.

  “It's gone?”

  His voice was quiet. “I'm sorry, Nora.”

  “I don't have anywhere else to go.”

  “I assumed as much. You can stay with me. I live in a big house with my roommates. We have an extra room, and it's yours.”

  If she left the hospital without a place to go, she’d have to find a motel. She imagined the stares she'd get, and the way people would act toward her.

  “I don't have much money, and it will be a little while before I work again.” Could she find a way to access her bank account?

  “It's okay. We'll work it out later.”

  She nodded her head as she spoke, and he waited as if he was comfortable with the open line and silence. She got the feeling he would wait for however long it took for her to speak. Finally, she thought she could talk without sobbing. “Do you know when I might be getting out?”

  “
They didn't tell you that, either?”

  She wouldn’t have dared ask the cranky nurse. “No. I don't like to bother them.”

  He inhaled softly. “They told Bismarck the doctor will be checking on you tomorrow. They expect you'll be discharged then. We’ll be with you, because it is likely the detectives will be present.”

  “To take me to jail?”

  “You're not going to jail,” he said it again like it was carved in stone.

  Nora snorted. “We'll see.”

  “I'll come early, and I'll bring breakfast.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you tomorrow then.”

  “Bye, Ryan.”

  He disconnected without another word, leaving her alone again. It was amazing how much hearing another voice meant. It made her feel as if there was another presence in the room with her, someone who actually cared about her, and didn't resent the help she needed. Nora leaned her head against the pillow, slowly shifting herself back to the center of the bed. She didn't like this person she become. This needy, weepy, uncharacteristically quiet person; this wasn't her.

  Her body screamed at her, muscles aching and bones throbbing like she'd done jumping jacks instead of pushed herself across the bed. She was supposed to leave tomorrow, and the farthest she'd moved was the bathroom, and that was only with help. Begrudging help, true, but help.

  Panic began to rise up inside her. She agreed to move in with a boy and she couldn't walk to the bathroom unassisted. Things were such a mess. Surely, she'd lost her job. Her apartment was gone, and all her things bagged and tagged by the police. She imagined them going through everything, the scant photos she had, her clothes. She wondered what assumptions someone who didn't know her would make based on her personal effects. They'd probably come to the same conclusion she did; she was pathetic.

  ***

  That night, Nora slept fitfully. She was used to her sleep being interrupted by the nurses taking her temperature or blood pressure. Now, with her door wide open, the screams and yells from the other patients jerked her awake. It felt like she barely slept when the doctor entered her room, performing the same checks as the nurses, except with a more serious than judgmental manner.

  He wasn't there long before Professor Bismarck and Ryan entered. Meeting Ryan’s gaze, she realized she was relieved to see him.

  He gave her a half-smile. ”How was your night?”

  “Not too bad.” She shrugged.

  “Not much sleep happens in a psych ward,” the doctor explained.

  “A psych ward?” At least the yelling was explained.

  “You didn't know?”

  “How would I know? No one tells me anything. If I wasn't crazy before I got here, I might be crazy now.”

  The doctor smiled as he wrote something. “You're not crazy. All potentially dangerous patients are brought here because we have the most security in the hospital.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It's not supposed to make you feel better. If this was about you, then you wouldn't be here,” the doctor answered bluntly.

  Nora appreciated his honesty, but it still stung.

  A moment later, Detective Vance walked into the room. His eyes widened fractionally when he saw Bismarck and Ryan before his face wiped clear of all emotion.

  “We were told seven,” Ryan began before Bismarck nudged him.

  Vance took a sip of his coffee and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Were you? My mistake. Honora. You're being released today.”

  “So I've learned.”

  “Any plans? I'm sorry to say you were evicted from your apartment.”

  “I can't release her if she has nowhere to go.” She’d almost forgotten about the doctor.

  “How unfortunate,” the detective remarked.

  “She has a place to go.” Ryan brought the focus back to him. “I figured something out. I knew it might be a problem.”

  Pushing away from the door, Vance shot his cup into the nearby bin. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “She’ll be staying with me.” Ryan pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to him. “If you need us, here is all my contact information.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

  Ryan shook his head. “No. I’m an intern. An unpaid intern. There is no conflict of interest for Professor Bismarck, since Nora is currently his only client.”

  The two of them volleyed back and forth like they were having a verbal tennis match. Vance shoved his hands in his pockets, and cracked his neck. Nora hoped it was a sign Ryan had smashed the ball and won.

  It seemed he had because Vance flashed a tight smile at all of them before turning to her. “Don’t leave town.”

  “Do you have a court order, Detective Vance?” It was the first time Professor Bismarck spoke since greeting her and the authority in his voice comforted Nora. The detective played mind games and her lawyer knew it.

  “I’ll get it if I need it.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “You’re cleared to leave, Miss Leslie. Wait for the nurse to come in and give you the discharge paperwork and your prescription. I’m not recommending rehab since three of the four shots were grazes, but the fourth is going to hurt. It hit your rib, and it needs time to heal. Walk at regular intervals no matter how much you want to lie still.”

  “Okay.”

  “Check in with your primary if anything seems off with your wound. You should be fine otherwise.” He left without saying goodbye, or even making eye contact with the people in the room.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you’ll heal, Miss Leslie,” Detective Vance said, heading toward the door. “It’s more than five other people at the high school can say.”

  It felt like he struck her across the face.

  “Nora?” Ryan’s voice filtered to her through the pain. “Nora?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah?” She turned her head to Ryan. His brows were drawn low over his eyes and he frowned. He stared at her and then back at the retreating figure of Vance, opening his mouth as if he wanted to call him back.

  “Ryan.” There was a warning in Professor Bismarck’s voice.

  A nurse arrived before he could argue, pushing a wheelchair with a clipboard. She held it out to Nora, distracting her from whatever he wanted to say. It was far enough out of her reach she had to swing her legs over the side of the bed and bend forward. As she stretched out her hand, another crossed her sight, swiping the board from the nurse and placing it in her lap.

  “Here you go.” Ryan’s face was even tighter than before, his lips pressed together so hard they were white.

  She scanned the highlighted portion of her discharge paperwork, reading it over quickly and barely taking in a word. She started to give it back, but he got to it first, shoving it toward the nurse. “Anything she needs to know?” he asked impatiently.

  “Cover the stitches with plastic when you shower. Tylenol and Advil for the pain. See your doctor if the wound turns red or feels hot.” She turned to Nora. “Need help dressing before you go?”

  The truth was she did, and it wouldn’t do her any good to tell the nurse to piss off.

  “We’ll wait for you in the hall.” Bismarck said, and they left her. For the first time in a week, she put her legs in a pair of pants. They were scrubs, yes, but they were pants. Opening a cabinet she hadn’t noticed before, the nurse took out a shirt with buttons similar to those on baby clothes. Lifting her arms was torture, so she was grateful for the buttons. She’d never get a shirt over her head when she was on her own later.

  After she was dressed, the nurse unlocked the brake lever on the wheelchair, holding it steady for her before opening the door.

  “Well, Miss Leslie,” Professor Bismarck grinned. “Allow me to drive you home.”

  Ryan pushed her wheelchair through the halls, giving Nora her first glimpse of the wing where she spent the last week. No one said goodbye; the nurses pointedly ignored her, even when Ryan and Bismarck sig
ned out and needed to be buzzed through the locked doors.

  Their journey through the hospital was silent. Professor Bismarck led the way, always a step or two ahead of them. When they arrived at the lobby, he stopped. “Wait here.” He hurried away, fishing something out of his pocket.

  The hospital lobby was busy. Taxis drove to the front door, leaving patients and accepting new ones. She watched it all, as did Ryan. He kept one hand on her wheelchair and the other massaged the back of his neck.

  It was her fault he seemed stressed.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. If you’ve changed your mind, I can stay here if I have to.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  The cars continued to come and go, and they both watched through the large glass windows.

  “I have four roommates,” he said suddenly. “They’ll be home when we get there. They’re nice, but there’s a lot of them. I wanted you to be prepared.”

  “Do they know about me?” She wondered what sort of preparation she needed.

  He shrugged. “Sort of.”

  Without thinking about it, she gently smacked the side of his leg with the back of her hand. When he met her eyes, she glared at him and he smiled. “They know what they need to know.”

  “Did you tell them I’m an accused murderer?” A woman walking by overheard her and hurried past them, clutching her purse more tightly to her body.

  Instead of answering right away, he squinted at the windows. “I told them you were innocent.”

  She felt a wave of affection for him and she hesitantly squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t reply, but he didn’t tear his hand away from hers, either.

  “There he is.” He gestured with his chin toward a small silver car parking in front of the doors. The moment they shared was over, and with it the comfort she’d momentarily accepted. Gently, he extracted his hand from hers, and she had the urge to clutch at it. The little bit of camaraderie he offered was precious, and she wanted it back. A burst of air whipped through the doors and she trembled. There was nothing standing between her and the cold.