Tripp jumped to his feet. “Me, sir. I’m her brother. My mom will be right back.”
Beau was already half out the door. “I’ll go get her. Sit tight.”
“Come with me,” the doctor ordered Tripp. “I’m Doctor Pitt. We need to talk.”
He jerked his head at another closed door across the hall, which ended up being a small family counseling room. Shutting the door, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Your sister is on her way to ICU. I’m the thoracic specialist who was called in to repair the damage to her throat. How she survived having it cut, as deep as it was, is beyond me. Next she’ll face spinal surgery, a procedure that will hopefully repair the extensive compression fractures she suffered.”
“She broke her back?”
“No, the man who assaulted her caused severe damage to her spine. Doctor Smith, the spinal specialist on staff, will be in as soon as he can to discuss the procedure, her care, and a way forward. She’ll need lengthy rehabilitation.”
“But she’ll live?” Tripp had to know before his mom returned.
“It’s hard to say this soon, but I believe so, yes. The guy who assaulted her crushed her larynx. I believe he attacked from behind, grabbed her head, and twisted. He just didn’t twist hard enough to kill her. I’ve repaired what I could, but her vocal cords are damaged. She may never talk again. You need to be prepared to deal with that. Also…” He jerked his head at the closed door and growled, “She’s got cervical cancer that’ll most likely require a hysterectomy, three different STDs, she’s malnourished, and what the bloody hell is she using?”
“Anything she can get,” Tripp admitted somberly. “Probably H. She used to live with my mom. That’s what she used then. Wait.” He pulled the health notice Ashley had given him out of his back pocket where he’d put it after he’d changed into his work clothes. “She was at the free clinic a couple days ago. Here. And yeah, that’s my name on her list of possible infected partners, but I would never.”
Doctor Pitt’s brow spiked when he came to Tripp’s name. “You’re clean?”
Tripp bristled at the implication. “Yes, sir, and I can prove it. She’s done this crap to me before. Thinks it’s funny. It’s not.” He was glad Andy hadn’t returned yet. She didn’t need to know this, too.
“How long has she been working the streets?”
“Years. Since she was a teenager. Before she dropped out of high school.” Christ, this was humiliating.
“There are programs—”
Tripp put a palm up. “Been there. Done them all, Doc. Trust me, Mom and I have tried everything to turn Trish around.”
“Some people only learn the hard way,” Doctor Pitt muttered.
“And some people never learn.” Tripp’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me, sir, but I have to take this.”
Doctor Pitt waved him to go ahead, then hurried out the door.
“Mrs. Harrison?” Tripp asked as he stepped into the hall and aimed for the waiting room.
“Ashley’s not answering. I knocked, Tripp. I knocked really loud, but I don’t think she’s home.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You’re welcome, young man. I slipped a note with my name and phone number under her door. The minute I hear anything, I’ll call you. I’m sure she’ll be home soon,” said his neighbor, the eternal optimist.
“Thanks again.” Tripp disconnected the call. He still had to relay the news about his sister to his mom. At least Trish was alive. But where the hell was Ashley? “I have to go,” he murmured to Jameson, afraid to leave, yet needing to run. “Mother said Ashley left HQ a while ago, but she isn’t home yet.”
“Maybe she stopped for dinner or decided to—”
“No. She’s not like that. I need to find her. Call me the second my mom gets back.”
Jameson looked at Tripp long and hard. Rather, he looked in the right direction. “Don’t give up on her.”
“Not happening.” Tripp didn’t know who Jameson meant, Trish or Ashley. But something was wrong. He could feel it. He ran for the nearest exit.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With her heart clawing its way out of her chest like a crazed squirrel, Ashley stifled a shuddering breath and waited. Just her luck. Once she’d burst into the complex lobby, thinking she was home free, she discovered the elevator was out of order. She’d run up four flights of zig-zagging stairs, and now stood at the heavy fire-door between the fourth and fifth floors. Listening. Afraid to breathe too loudly in case the person climbing the stairs behind her might hear. Just as afraid to step into the hall in case someone was there. She was positive someone had entered the lobby after the first-floor fire door closed behind her. She needed to be sure that person, whoever he or she was, exited on a lower level. Frightened that he or she might live another level up and have to pass her, she held her position.
Whoever was climbing the stairs below her now tread quietly. Stealthily. Couldn’t be Mrs. Harrison. She’d said she was tired and was probably in bed by now. Not Tripp, either. He’d be running, taking those steps two at a time. Then who was it?!
Did she dare break cover? Her key was tight in her hand. She could make it. Cautiously, she peered over the banister and down the stairwells. No one was there. Yet someone still climbed upward. She could hear them. Step by step. Drawing closer and closer. The paralysis of blind, dumb terror kept Ashley frozen in a Freddy Krueger nightmare of her own making. One where all monsters and murderers were omniscient, victims were stupid—like her—and where bad guy always won.
Not. This. Time.
Scared witless, she flung the heavy fire door open, ran into the hall, and flew past Tripp’s door. Twenty steps farther would bring her to her apartment. She could make it. Until she fumbled her key and it fell. Crouching, she grabbed the darned thing, but stabbed it so hard, it
