No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (23 page)

Arms that had always been my shelter, my strength—now twisted, limp…lifeless.

No.

“Mom.” I reached for her. “Mom!”

No.

I gripped harder. Harder.

You shouldn’t. Don’t disturb her. Get help. Call for help.

But
I’d
always been the help. I’d always been
her
help. We’d always been there for each other, shelter and comfort and strength for each other.

Not this time.

Where had I been when she’d needed me this time?

“Mom. Mom. Mom.
Mom
!”

Please.

Please.

Please.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

“Mom!”

It was the bellow of an animal. The howl of a creature lost to the worst kind of rage and despair—because it was directed at the stubborn monster inside as much as the fucking beast who’d ordered this done to her. Perhaps had done it himself.

That answer didn’t matter anymore. Who had delivered this damage—it wasn’t important.

My mother was half-dead. Perhaps more than half.

And I was just as guilty of the violence as Declan.

Margaux

“S
he’s alive.”

It rushed out of me nearly as one word, a burst of triumph after pressing a finger to her neck and feeling the sketchy flutter of her pulse inside her clammy skin.

Not clammy. Wet. Di was taking a bath in her own blood.

But she
was
alive.

Barely.

I looked to Michael. Every cell of my body wanted to crawl into his lap and hold him. He looked like he’d just stared death in the eyes, lost the contest then retreated into himself, shoving back against the sofa. With knees clutched to his chest, he started mumbling to himself—fast, furious words I couldn’t make out.

But one of us needed to think. To move into action.

“Michael? Michael!”

He didn’t rip his gaze from his mother. Shock, disbelief, grief—probably a mix of all three—had already taken him hostage.

This shit was on me.

I answered that charge with a steeled murmur. “Do this, bitch. You know you can.”

I scrambled to the foyer credenza then whipped out my phone. Dialing emergency professionals should’ve been my first instinct but it wasn’t. I needed calming courage. Now.

My thumb jabbed the speed dial for Andre. I didn’t wait for him to finish his greeting.

“Can you come up to the condo? Are you nearby?”

“Yeah. I’m on my way over now. Everything okay?”

“No.” I fought to ignore the tremble in my voice. “Just hurry. Please.”

I hung up with him then frantically punched in three more numbers. It seemed like forever until the line connected.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Y-yes. H-hello. There is a—well, a woman—my boyfriend’s mother—here. On the floor. She’s been badly beaten.” I almost laughed. “Badly beaten” was a fucking joke compared to the carnage across Di Pearson’s body. “Sh-she’s unconscious. Can you help me? Please?”

“Yes. Can you confirm you are at seven-zero-two Ash Street?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the El Cortez.”

“Does that fucking matter?”

“Can you give me your unit number, Miss?”

Oh. Right. It did matter.
Breathe. Breathe. Think. Think.
“I’m on the fifteenth floor. I’ll have my assistant meet them in the lobby. They can’t get up without a key card.”

“Emergency services can, ma’am.”

And apparently, Declan Pearson—or whoever had carried out his dirty work.

“Oh.” Every word I stammered felt like pushing out a boulder. “Okay.”

“Stay on the line with me until they arrive. Is the woman breathing?”

“Y-yes. I think so.”

“Can you check? Take the phone with you, if you can.”

I leaned over Di. Took a second to brush a hand over her forehead, cheeks, and neck. She was even clammier—and so damn cold. “She’s breathing but it’s not right. It’s soft and shallow, not regular…like in a regular pattern. God, I’m not making any sense.”

“You’re doing a great job. Can you hear gurgling? Does it sound like there might be fluid in her mouth or throat? Blood, maybe?”

“I—I can’t tell.”

“It’s okay. Do you have something you can cover her with? A blanket, maybe? Is anyone else there with you?”

“I can get a blanket. Yes, my boyfriend’s here but I think he’s in shock. He’s—he’s freaking out. I think.”

I looked at Michael again.
Freaking out
? Was that his deal? Working at Andrea’s heels for so many years, I’d witnessed crisis reactions of all kinds—but always from a distance; never as close as this. Never caring like this. He hadn’t moved at all. Had he even taken a breath? He stared straight ahead, no longer at Diana, his lips still working on incoherent mumblings. I yearned to stop and be with him. I couldn’t. Di needed me more. Didn’t stop my heart from breaking in half at watching my strong, capable, protective man reduced to a catatonic mess.

“Do you know who did this?” The operator’s voice snapped me back into action.

“No, goddammit.” Recognizing her question had to be a formality didn’t ease my defensiveness. “There was a knock on the door. When we answered it, she was just lying there.”

“Okay. Easy.” She soothed it as I ran upstairs to get a blanket from the linen closet, taking the phone with me. “Just a few more minutes. Dispatch shows them pulling up in front of your building. You can probably hear the sirens.”

At the same time, Andre barreled through the front door. “What the fuck?”

Under other circumstances, I would’ve gaped. I couldn’t remember the last time I heard profanity come from Andre’s gentle, kind soul.

“Who’s there?” The 9-1-1 operator hadn’t missed it, either.

“It’s my assistant. My driver.”

“That’s—this—it’s Mrs. Pearson.” Andre gawked from Diana to me. “Who did this to her?” He knelt on the floor, stroking Diana’s bruised cheek, until Michael’s rapid murmuring caught his attention. “Shit. He’s in shock.” He yanked the blanket from the back of the sofa and settled it around Michael’s shoulders. I blinked, calling myself five kinds of an idiot. Why hadn’t I grabbed that blanket for Di, instead of running all the way upstairs?

You’re not thinking clearly at the moment. And nobody’s going to fault you for it.

More poundings came at the door. My heart punched my ribs just as violently.

“That’s the police and the paramedics,” the operator told me.

I groaned. “The police. Fucking wonderful.”

“For everyone’s protection,” she clarified.

“Of course,” I replied, apology lacing the tone. If I was being honest, I was glad for the cops’ presence now. I wouldn’t put it past Declan or his men to linger nearby, looking for more chances to spill blood for water—literally.

I gave a shaky thank-you to the operator before hanging up with her. As soon as the police declared the area clear for the paramedics, I pointed to Diana. The guys dove into action, calling out vital signs and other statistics to each other. They also barked out questions relating to Di’s health, which I struggled to answer to the best of my ability, but they needed answers I just didn’t have. I curled my arms against my body, fighting the encroaching helplessness and dread.

She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay
.

She
has
to be okay. She
has
to be okay.

The mantra pulled a mantle of strength around me. I couldn’t rely on Andre for the stuff right now. Both his arms were braced to Michael’s shoulders, his entire face stamped with worry. “Michael? Michael, my man?”

His firm but gentle voice seemed to reach where I couldn’t. Michael looked up and turned a little, lips vibrating with an out-of-place smile. “Hey, Dre. What brings you here this morning?” He looked down then laughed. “And dude, why are you all octopus arms around me?”

His face changed as soon as he took in the whole scene again. Andre, face locked in sympathy, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Next to them, a paramedic with a metal clipboard, writing feverishly as his partner continued to call stats. The medic on the floor, still roll-calling Diana’s injuries—

Which yanked Michael’s gaze back to his mother. “Oh my
God
!”

“Michael.” I reached to reassure him but he lurched away.

“Mom? What the
fuck
happened?” He looked up, searching for me in the small throng now crowding our living room. “Margaux? What the fuck?” As forcefully as he’d just rejected me, he reached out for me. “Tell me!” His words were as painful and desperate as his expression.

I returned the force of his grip, as much for me as him. “Baby, do you remember opening the front door…about twenty minutes ago? And the burlap bag…from the orchard?”

His handsome features twisted with an agony that made my heart explode. “I’m going to kill him,” he seethed. “I’m going
kill
that motherfucker for this.”

I dropped to my knees to make us eye level—then leaned in and whispered for his hearing alone. “Dammit, Michael. Listen to me. You need to shut your mouth,
right now
. This place is crawling with police, and it’s not going to change anytime soon.” I clawed my fingernails into his wrists, forcing his attention. “Are you getting this? Do you understand me? We have no concrete evidence about who did this or what happened, so before you land back in jail while your mother is fighting for her life, you need to stay very,
very
quiet.”

He looked away, disgust racking his face. I was right, an acknowledgement that clearly burned him to the core. He needed to be here for Diana but his temper pushed him to the brink of losing that freedom. While we both had a good idea of who was responsible for this sick “message,” we had no physical way of linking the deed back to Declan—as if it were even a priority right now. Getting Diana to the hospital was the only goal we could or should focus on. If she had any chance of survival, the next hour of action was key.

But once she was out of the woods, Declan and his goon squad
would
get their payback. I silently vowed my allegiance to Michael on that.

There was another knock on the door, making everyone but the paramedics jump out of their skin. The medical guys were oblivious to anything but Di, moving around her to start an IV line and clean up her wounds. “That’s the ambulance, for transport to the hospital,” one of them explained. He glanced up at Michael. “We’ll be taking her up to UCSD, since they’re the closest trauma center.”

“Okay.” Michael’s answer, level and tough, indicated his head had finally gotten back in the game. I breathed easier, knowing he was getting his shit together. “Let me grab my shoes,” he said as I opened the door for the guys with the gurney, “and I’ll be ready.”

The paramedic shook his head. “Sorry, man. We’re going to need all the room we can get in the ambulance, to keep working on her. But you can meet us in the UCSD emergency department.” The guy continued informing Michael how things would go after their arrival at the hospital. I listened carefully too, just in case Michael wasn’t as together as he looked.

Everyone stood back, breath held, while they loaded Diana onto the stretcher and prepared to depart. As soon as everyone left, Michael and I sprinted upstairs to gather necessary shit like Michael’s wallet, my purse, and cell phone chargers.

When we came back down, the condo was eerily quiet, especially in the wake of the chaos and violence that had just reigned. Only Andre remained, standing in the middle of the living room, staring at his shoes like they were the most interesting things he’d ever seen.

He spoke calmly into the stillness. “Do you want me to drive?”

“Yes,” Michael answered at once. “You can take her. I’ll be in the truck.”

“No,” I protested. “Michael, I’m not sure that’s—”

But he’d already stomped out the front door, slamming it hard enough to whack the foyer wall before it bounced back and closed in the frame.

I swallowed hard, wondering for a second if I’d simply blink and wake up from this morbid dream. When I turned around slowly, reality confirmed by the blood smears remaining on the floor, I choked against a sob.

Andre held his arms. Folded me into them, letting me sob against his chest like the emotional little girl I’d become. It was pathetic but I couldn’t help myself. I indulged a minute then two, but finally pulled back, swiping angrily at my tears.

“This bullshit needs to stop.” I poked his wall of a chest.

True to form, he rumbled a deep laugh before guiding me toward the door. “It’s our little secret, Miss Margaux.”

“Damn straight it is.”

“How about getting you to the hospital to see what’s going on, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

Hours passed. Literally,
hours. I waited with Andre in the outer waiting room of the emergency department at UCSD Medical Center, hoping for word on Diana’s condition. Eventually, I marched to the nurses station, demanding to know about her treatment and possible location, thinking we might have gone to the wrong hospital.