Shattered by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 2) (22 page)

Fluffy clouds of pink, green, and blue floated past.
Sam and I, eating cotton candy, hand in hand, laughing and walking through midway of the Sauk County Fair.

My eyelids, sewn shut with sleep, opened lash by lash and revealed a large shape next to the bed—fuzzy, shaggy-headed. Warmth like a puppy squirmed in my hand, caressing my fingers, little kisses moving from tip to tip. I smiled, giggling at the sensations, the warmth, the life flowing through me.

“Hello, beautiful.” Nick’s golden voice.
Nick.
At my bedside, holding my hand to his glorious lips. Nick to the rescue.

Nick.
Always and ever Nick.
His
were the strong arms that led me to safety, away from the fire. How had he known to come find me? How did he always seem to be in the right place at the right time? I didn’t believe in divine appointments, did I? Maybe Nick was… maybe I should…

Cold marble slabs boxed in my heart. My tongue stuck itself to the roof of my mouth. The giddy incertitude of the hospital-strength painkillers wore off. Nick was killing my buzz. With his love. What did
that
say about me?

My world-weary eyes found his. Deep brown pools of adoration and steady promises stared out at me from an impossibly handsome face, custom-stitched together in love. For me. For us. Did I deserve an ‘us’ with him? Did I even want it?

That was it.

The root of my fear—I didn’t deserve him. I wasn’t good enough for him. Between my horrible marriage and drama-laden life, how could he love me? If and when he saw the real me, the me behind the tough-girl mask I always wore, he’d bolt. He’d leave me. Just like Del. It was a risk I couldn’t take; a belief I couldn’t confront. Shame burned across my face, dragged my eyes away from his, severing the connection between us.

“Nick… I can’t.” I shook my head, eyes burning, my skin clammy. Maybe he would read the finality in my tone, in the sad turn of my head. In the words I couldn’t speak. In the shame I couldn’t escape, couldn’t outrun, couldn’t kill. My fear was a love-sucking zombie, and I was out of ammo. At the worst possible time. Surrounded by Nick’s love, unable to put my fears to death. Unable to move ahead, too scared to step back.

“Josie, I don’t care what’s in your head. I know what’s in your heart. And I’m a patient man. I can wait for you to face your fears.” He kept his steady eyes on me and traced the layers of gauze on my blistered palm with his finger.

My hand was numb. Drugs? Or fear?
Petrified in place
. I shook my head, kept my eyes trained on the wall behind him. Come on, Nick, get the message, walk away, don’t tease me any more with a love that can’t last.

He rose, scooted the chair closer to the bed, and sat back down, leaning in. I flinched. He drew back, fished in his jacket, pulled out a picture, and placed it next to a vase of Easter lilies on the table next to the bed. Easter… my favorite holiday. Was it today? Sam smiled down at me, nestled in my arms, Nick’s arms around us both. That had been a perfect day together. The warmth of the memory was better than a chocolate bunny.

He persevered. “I need you to know a few things, and then I’ll give you some time alone. I’m telling you now, and I’ll tell you again when you’re out of this place and back on your feet—fighting the world, fighting me. But, Josie, you don’t need to fight me. Not now, not ever.” He brushed my bangs out of my eyes, trailed his finger over my lips.

The hallelujah chorus sounded in my heart. Moments later, I was a country under siege. I loved his touch. My tears threatened to ruin another perfect moment between us.

I moved my head away.

He kissed the top of my head and cupped my face in his hands. “I love you. Whatever this is, this push-me-pull-you thing you’ve got going on, is not from me. And, maybe more importantly, it’s not from God. ‘God is not a God of confusion, but of peace.’”

He picked my hand up again. “And I have the deepest peace. About me… and about you. But here’s one thing I know—God is bigger than my need for you. Believe me, this is not a man saying this in his own power, because I need you more than life itself. But my God is bigger, even bigger than my love. And He’s given me an abiding peace about you. About Sam. About us.”

He sighed, sorrow creeping into his voice. “I can see and feel you trying to sabotage this relationship. But I’m here to tell you, beautiful—that can’t be done.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m a good man, a man who loves you, loves our little Samantha, and loves the God who stands behind you both. And I. Can. Wait. For. You.” He kissed my hand, his lips feather soft and damp. A tear? “And I will.”

Commitment resonated through his words. “So hear me, Jo Oliver. I’m taking a step back from you, from us. Because even I recognize this isn’t our time. But I need
you
to recognize this: our time will come. And I’ll leave that up to you and God.”

What?
Was he leaving me behind?

Wasn’t that what I said I wanted? My guts churned through the soft morphine haze.

Amusement danced in his eyes. He leaned in, his lips close to my ear. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t cry, beautiful! I’ll be back. Look, here’s how you can know.”

He leaned away from me and stood up, rummaging around in his pockets. He found what he was after and bent back to the bed, pressing something cold and hard into my hand.

I looked up into gorgeous eyes and found an ocean of love and longing. And a smirk.

“That’s right. My prized possession is now in
your
possession. And you know I’ll want it back. What could possibly be more important to a man than his Leatherman?” He winked at me, inviting me into the warmth of him—the truth of him.

He was a wonderful man. A solid man. Any other woman would kill to be in my position. Kira literally had killed to be in my position. I just held tight onto his Leatherman, blinking back tears in silence.

“All I ask is that you bring your fears into the light. Remember, God is not a God of fear. But of peace and of power. Do you hear me? Our God is a God of love. And perfect love casts out fear. That’s what I want for us—a perfect love.”

He kissed my ear, kissed my cheek. Kissed away a salty tear shed as the beauty of his words filleted me. “So I’ll stand back, but not down. To give God room to soften the edge of your fear. And help you put it down. That’s my prayer for you.”

And with that, he kissed my hand again, and stepped out of the room.

I lay in the bed, swarming with emotion. Then I pressed the button on the morphine pump. Hard.

Elephants in tutus and merchants in top hats marched up and down the dirt roads of a Wild West set. I forced my eyes open just as a giant boa constrictor’s wide-open jaws scratched the top of my head. My reward was the ceiling’s gentle swaying. Then it ratcheted up to out-of-control carousel speed, and I shut my eyes tight.

I sucked in air until my lungs ached.
God? Remember me? Are You up there?
The long, slow exhalation spread drowsiness down my body. I squeezed Nick’s Leatherman, its hard steel edges and the contrasting warmth of its leather-wrapped handle.

Large, dark swans swooped low overhead. Graceful, otherworldly, foreboding. The most beautiful of the swans fell away from the head of the formation and dove straight toward me. The beauty disintegrated into evil. Its beak turned into the vicious jaws of a great white shark. I lay there, paralyzed, while the threat careened toward me. It was less than ten feet away when I woke up.

The graceful swan loomed over me. I shook my head, blinked, and looked again at the apparition. Scrubs, hair pulled back—it was a tall nurse with dark hair. I couldn’t make out the nametag, but I knew her, didn’t I? There was something about her face. Something dark and alarming.

She looked down at me with a sneer, her lips moving. What was she saying?

Focus Josie, focus
. I closed my eyes once more, shook my head twice, and opened them again. The smooth flow of the IV drip wavered out of focus, and the lithe figure etched in white against the gray-walled backdrop of the room came into view. Her face was shining, her eyes were dark, and she held a needle in her hand.

Through the smog of morphine, I looked right at her and laughed. Dressed as a cartoon-like nurse, looming large and threatening me with an oversized needle, was hilarious.

Kira, however, was not amused.

Black rage covered her features, and the needle started to tremble. My eyes widened, but I couldn’t hold back the laughter. This was all wrong, and that made it seem even funnier. Her enraged face seemed to swell as she stood over me.

She pushed the plunger on the hypodermic needle to squeeze out any air.

“Wh, why bodder if you gonna kill me anyway?” My tongue wasn’t working. I couldn’t get the words out straight.

Her head shook angrily as she flicked the tip of the needle with the end of her middle finger. She cocked an eyebrow, staring down at me in surprise. “You’re drunk. How quaint.”

She smiled tightly while her eyes raged on.

She was going to kill me. This was it. Her one wide-open shot at getting the scopolamine overdose into my system in a way that no one would ever suspect. I’d die without a fuss, without a whimper. Without a witness. Would it hurt? Would I even feel it?

Nick’s face floated across the room, and I smiled. And then the deepest sense of peace I’d ever known fell all around me like a protective shield. My heart turned to Heaven and something in me shifted.
Nick. I want Nick.

Kira’s contorted face wobbled over my bed. Her lips were still moving. She was taunting me, but her words came out as gibberish to my glazed brain. Her voice rose, and she jabbed the needle in the air, emphasizing some point.

I shrank back in my bed. Nick. His staunch declaration of love and patience, standing up next to the truth as it wound its way through the hazy spindles of my mind. The picture of the three of us, nestled happily in each other’s arms, burst through my haze in Technicolor. I wanted to live. To love. To wrap my arms around the three of us and never let go.

My right hand was wrapped around something flat, with sharp edges. A flashdrive?
Too big
. My cell phone?
Too small
. I clenched my fist again, sharp tines digging into my hand. Utensil of some kind.
The Leatherman!

Nick’s special-order Leatherman with the illegal switchblade. “
Makes it easier to fillet a fish
.” He was so proud of another of Gino’s uniquely adjusted, repurposed gifts. My thumb roved over the handle, finding the round indentation.
Gotcha.

Kira’s soliloquy continued. I turned my head from side to side and kept my eyes down, signifying defeat. She raised her voice and soldiered on. Every other word was a curse. She wasn’t very happy I was alive. And she had every intention of fixing that very soon.

I squeezed out a few tears and looked up at her.
Keep talking, Kira.
She rewarded me with a fresh onslaught. I edged my right hand down my thigh, just under the edge of the sheet to conceal it. Then I coughed and pressed the button. The thin blade swooshed out, ready for action.

Forcing more fake tears out, I gave her what satisfaction I could, buying more time. I squinted as if in fear, judging the distance.
Closer. I need to get her closer.

She was still talking, still gloating. “You think you’ve stopped me? Once your death hits our pathetic Nick, I win. It’s as good as killing both of you. Better.”

She stared at me and leaned in. My eyes opened wide as if in fear, and she smiled. I willed my dry lips to move, managed enough energy to smirk, but not open my mouth.

A spark of surprise flashed through her eyes, and she bent down to hear what I was trying to say. I slipped the blade from beneath the covers and eased my hand up to my hip, hovering an inch above the bed.
Come closer.
Then I concentrated on moving my lips. I clenched my stomach, forcing air up, and whispered to her. “Kira, what…”

Hearing her name seemed to please her. She bent her knees and drew closer, hooking her thumb over the bed frame, still holding the syringe. I moved my lips again, luring her in while dragging the Leatherman up another two inches, fully in position. It was now or never.

I thrust that thing in her belly, twisting and ripping like I was eviscerating a pig. Blood shot out over me. Her intestines spilled out, but I kept the pressure on the blade. She fell onto me, mouth opening and closing, wildly slashing the air with the scopolamine-filled needle. My free hand scrambled to find the call button, and I pressed down.

I did my best to pull the blade back, but the weight of her body and gravity teamed up against me. In the end, I inched it out as far as I could, and held on to Nick’s Leatherman like a talisman. A river of warmth flowed over my body. Was she bleeding out?

Please don’t let her die, God
.

Did I want her to live? I needed her to live, to account for her crimes. Provide some closure for the victims’ families.

The wedge of swans returned. White ones and black ones, of all shapes and sizes. Some were honking—others wore grim silence like a badge. No, not
like
badges. They
wore
badges. A bag of cement was lifted from my body. Cold, wet, sticky rolls of paper were left behind. I wanted them off, but I was unable to move. Had she plunged the scopolamine in before she fell?

Hands pulled at my fingers. What did they want from me now? Why wouldn’t they all fly away? Ah. The knife. They wanted the Leatherman. Well, they couldn’t have it.

Some women wanted diamonds. I clenched my fingers tighter around Nick’s Leatherman and smiled. He’d already given me everything I wanted, everything I needed. It might have been the drugs, but that strong, soothing sense of peace permeated me as I rode the current up into the air and floated away on swan’s wings.