“Josie,” Noah said.
Her mind fought to focus. “I think it was Rory,” she told him. “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone, but it was a shotgun. Lorelei was killed with her own shotgun. Rory’s out there.”
“We’re working on it,” Noah said. “That mountain is crawling with police. Anyone who’s out there will be found. I’ll call Mett and Gretchen. They wanted an update right away.”
“Emily?” Josie asked hopefully.
He shook his head.
“Let’s go,” said Dr. Feist. “Lieutenant, you know where to find us when you’re done.”
Noah leaned in and kissed Josie’s forehead. “I’ll find you,” he said.
Surrounded by Shannon, Trinity, Misty, and Dr. Feist, Josie found herself herded into an elevator. A few minutes later they were in Dr. Feist’s office. Josie’s gaze fell on her wedding dress hanging in the corner. She should have gotten married, she thought dimly. She should have let Mettner and Gretchen handle the case; walked down the aisle, and watched Lisette beam as they exchanged vows. Instead, she’d been plunged into her own personal hell.
Misty placed a hand between Josie’s shoulder blades and gently nudged her in the opposite direction, toward Dr. Feist’s private bathroom. “Don’t look at it,” Misty said. “One thing at a time, okay? First, we get you cleaned up.”
The women crowded into the bathroom. Although it was the same as all the other sterile bathrooms in the hospital, Dr. Feist had added a few personal touches including a small bench and cabinet. While she took towels and a set of scrubs from the cabinets, Misty sat Josie on the bench. Shannon and Trinity began peeling her shirt off. Then Misty was back with a warm, wet towel, carefully wiping away Lisette’s blood.
Shannon held up Josie’s shirt. “What should we do with this?”
“Throw it away,” said Trinity, now kneeling in front of Josie to take her sneakers off.
“No,” Josie cried. “Don’t!”
She couldn’t bear the thought of losing the shirt she’d been wearing the last time she was close to Lisette. What if that was the last time she would ever hold her grandmother? Misty, Trinity, and Shannon all stared at her. A long moment stretched out, filling the room awkwardly. Finally, Dr. Feist said, “There are patient belonging bags in the exam room. I’ll go get one.”
Silently, the women scrubbed away the blood until there was a pile of white towels stained red in the corner of the bathroom. Dr. Feist took each piece of Josie’s clothing and placed it into a bag, as promised. Josie did everything they told her to do until she was clean, her skin was damp, and she was dressed in Dr. Feist’s scrubs. Misty brushed her hair while Shannon and Dr. Feist used washcloths to clean her sneakers. They only talked to ask where something was or to give each other instructions. No one demanded anything of Josie, and for that she was glad.
Then they were back in the elevator, Josie buffeted by the four women as though they were her bodyguards. In the fourth-floor surgical waiting room, Noah waited. “No news yet,” he said.
She sat down on one of the couches and Noah sat beside her. Curling up, she rested her head in his lap. She didn’t want anyone to talk to her. She didn’t want to answer questions. She didn’t want to think. Still, a voice in her head spoke on a loop: they shouldn’t have been out there.
Twenty-Seven
Josie woke with a start. In her dreams the gunshot had gone off again and again. Lisette fell. Lisette rose. She fell again. No matter how many times it happened, Josie couldn’t change the outcome. Noah’s hand stroked her hair. “Hey,” he said.
Josie blinked and sat up. All around the room, her family dozed. Dr. Feist was no longer there. Misty had gone, probably to be with Harris and Trout, but Christian, Patrick, and Drake had brought Sawyer to sit with them. Only he was awake, slouched in his chair and staring straight ahead with glassy eyes. She looked at the clock. It was after five a.m. Eight hours had passed. “No updates?” she asked.
Noah shook his head.
She didn’t know whether to take this as a good sign or a bad sign. They were still working on Lisette, which meant she was still alive, but no updates one way or the other in over eight hours couldn’t be good, could it?
As if reading her mind, Noah said, “I’ll go see what I can find out.”
He returned twenty minutes later with a nurse. Behind them trailed Misty, who had come with a box of coffee and several breakfast items from Komorrah’s which she placed on one of the tables. As everyone began to wake up, stretch, and fix their coffees, the nurse gave them the update that Lisette was still hanging on. They’d gotten most of the pellets out and repaired as much of the damage as they could, but part of her bowel had to be resected. It would be a few more hours before she went into recovery.
Josie sat back down on the couch, waving off coffee and food until Misty insisted she eat, sitting beside her and watching her chew each bite like a mother hen. People drifted in and out, but Josie stayed on the couch, sleeping when she could because her reality was so horrific, she didn’t want to stay in it.
Finally, four hours later, a tall, burly doctor in blue scrubs and a surgical cap with dolphins on it came into the room. “Josie Quinn?” he asked.
Josie raised her hand. “I’m here.”
He walked over and shook her hand. “I understand you’re Mrs. Matson’s granddaughter.”
Josie nodded. Her gaze found Sawyer across the room and she pointed to him. “This is her grandson, Sawyer Hayes.”
“Very good. I’m Dr. Justofin. Your grandmother is in recovery in the ICU
