Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (16 page)

He closed the door and moved around to the other side of the car. He could worry about what he may or may not have seen in her eyes later. Right now, his first priority was taking care of Nicole.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Derek's usual grin was gone, his lips pursed in an angry line. Mat glanced around the bustling hall then stepped closer, ready to grab Derek around the throat, ready to tell him to keep his voice down. Better yet, to just keep his mouth shut.

But Bridget beat him to it, stepping closer to Derek's side and rubbing her hand along his back in soothing circles. At least, Mat figured they must be soothing because Derek calmed almost instantly, his mouth slowly relaxing, the color of his face fading from an angry red to a frustrated pink.

"Derek, not so loud." Bridget glanced around, her brows furrowed in concern before turning to Mat.

"Thanks, Bridget. At least you understand."

"But I don't, Mat. Not really."

Mat's jaw closed with a snap. He ran a hand through his hair then dragged it down his face. Stubble scratched his palm, the rasping sound echoing in his ear, reminding him that he hadn't shaved in more than twenty-four hours. Not since yesterday, before he left the house to pick Nicole up for their picnic date.

Had that been just yesterday? So much had happened since then, the hours warped in his mind from all the time they'd been in the hospital. He glanced at his watch, looking at it twice, his mind fighting to count the hours.

Had it really been that long? Yeah, it had been. Nearly eight hours had passed since he first pulled into the emergency room parking lot. They were upstairs now, a few feet away from Nicole's room, where she'd be spending at least one night.

She had been given some IV antibiotics and her arm had been cleaned in the ER—after waiting entirely too long to be seen. Nicole had barely been able to fill out the paperwork, she'd been so out of it with fever. So Mat had finished for her, asking the questions, waiting with infinite patience for each answer. And then they'd reach the part of financial responsibility, of who would be responsible for anything not covered by insurance. Nicole had simply looked away, shaking her head.

Mat didn't even hesitate, didn't think anything through, just entered his own personal information.

And then they waited. Nicole was finally called back and Mat went with her, standing off to the side of the cramped curtained cubicle. He'd been in a daze, his focus only on Nicole, on how she seemed to be getting worse before his eyes. He told himself that couldn't be possible, that it was nothing more than his imagination. And then he noticed the quiet murmurings, the intent looks being shot his way as one nurse helped Nicole into a hospital gown while the other examined her arm.

And then he'd been asked to leave, to wait outside. The request was too short and authoritative to be anything but a command so he complied, his concern and confusion swirling and morphing into something else, something he didn't want to acknowledge.

But he knew, just knew, what was going through their minds. They thought he was responsible for what happened to Nicole. That he had been the one to hurt her. To grab her arm hard enough to leave angry bruises on her soft skin, to gouge her flesh with his nails, opening her skin, dirtying it to the point of causing an infection.

Mat had looked over at Nicole, at her flushed and restless body stretched out on the sterile hospital bed. His stomach lurched, filling with bile, the burning acid eating its way up his throat. He swallowed it back and turned away, his jaw clenched as he stalked from the cubicle.

Then he called Derek, not sure what else to do, only knowing he needed to talk to someone. Knowing he needed advice, needed a friendly face or a voice of reason or something.

Yeah, he probably shouldn't have called Derek. Kenny would have been a better choice, with his moments of silence and calm reassurance, with his ability to see things that others missed. But he'd called Derek, somehow knowing that Bridget would come with him.

Mat thought that maybe having Bridget here, that having a woman—someone who wasn't a complete stranger—might help Nicole. Except Bridget hadn't even been in to see Nicole. There hadn't been time, not until now, not with everything else going on.

The police had actually shown up, one officer disappearing behind the curtain while the other herded Mat into an empty cubicle. The questions had come one after the other, over and over. Several questions were rephrased and asked again until Mat had even begun questioning himself, wondering if maybe he really had done something wrong.

Then the first officer, the one who'd gone in with Nicole, came back out. Some wordless communication passed between the two and then, just like that, Mat had been exonerated. But he still didn't know who had hurt Nicole, didn't even know if the officers knew.

And now Nicole was in her room with another bag of IV antibiotics and Mat was standing out in the hallway, completely speechless as Derek and Bridget studied him.

"What the hell were you thinking, man? You don't just agree to be responsible for someone like that!"

"Derek, keep your voice down." Bridget rubbed her hand along his back one more time, her eyes never leaving Mat. "Help us understand, Mat. I mean, what you did…"

"I just—" He stopped, ran a hand through his hair again, and let out a heavy sigh. He just—what? Yeah, he'd assumed financial responsibility. What the hell else was he supposed to do? No, he hadn't been thinking. But he'd do it again, no questions asked. "You're making a bigger deal out of it than it is."

"Are you fucking insane?" Derek repeated the question for what seemed to be the hundredth time but at least he wasn't shouting it. "I don't think you have any idea how much this shit is going to cost."

"You think I give a fuck about that? You didn't see her, dude. So don't fucking tell me—"

"Knock it off, both of you." Bridget stepped between them, fire flashing in her eyes. She brushed a thick strand of red curls away from her face then placed a hand on Mat's arm. "Mat, I know you meant well but I still don't understand why you would do something like that."

"Because I had to."

"You mean because you think you're in love and hearing wedding bells."

"Fuck you, asshole—"

Something hit him in the chest. Not hard, not painful, just enough pressure to cut off his words and stop him from going after Derek. He looked down, surprised to see Bridget squaring off with him and Derek at the same time, a hand planted firmly in the middle of each of their chests. But why should he be surprised? He knew how strong-willed Bridget was, knew how stubborn she could be.

He immediately took a step back, ready to apologize. But she waved it off, her glare warning both of them to behave.

"Neither one of you are helping anything by acting like this." Bridget leveled a meaningful glance at Derek, who let out a deep breath and stepped back. Mat didn't miss the expression of irritation and impatience that crossed his face but he didn't say anything.

"Mat, what do you need from us?"

He turned back to Bridget, not sure how to answer. How could he put into words the jumbled torrent of emotions running through him? Anger, rage, concern, guilt, exhaustion, worry. And so much more. And none of it made sense, no matter how he tried to sort through it. All he knew was that someone had hurt Nicole—and he was helpless to do anything about it.

He glanced over at Derek, taking in the man's irritation and clenched jaw, then turned back to Bridget. "Could you—would you go in to talk to her?"

"And say what?"

"I don't know. You're a social worker, you have experience with this kind of thing. Maybe find out what happened. Find out…" Mat cleared his throat and looked away, no longer able to meet Bridget's clear eyes. Because she was watching him too intently? Because he was afraid of what she might see? Hell if he knew. He cleared his throat again. "Can you just talk to her? Please?"

Sympathy and understanding flashed in her eyes but she didn't move, not right away. A long minute went by, the silence agonizing. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze on Derek, then she let out her own sigh.

"I can't force her to talk, Mat."

"No. I know that. But maybe…I mean—" He didn't know what he meant, not enough to put into words. But maybe she saw something in his eyes, or maybe she could just sense whatever he was trying to say, because she finally nodded and stepped away.

Then she stopped, fixing them both with a stern glare. "But you two knock it off. No more arguing. Go to the cafeteria and get something to eat, try to relax."

"Bridget—"

"I mean it. Go." She waved her hands in their direction, dismissing both of them. "Go talk about the wedding or training camp or something. I don't care what, just not about this."

She narrowed her eyes, giving them both one final warning, then headed down the hall to Nicole's room. She knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, then walked in without another look in their direction.

Mat held his breath, waiting. Wondering if maybe she'd come back out and tell him Nicole wanted to see him. But the door remained closed.

Something tugged on Mat's elbow and he turned to see Derek standing beside him, his brows lowered in a frown.

"You need your fucking head examined, you know that, right?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about it."

Derek grunted, the sound full of impatience. "Yeah, okay. Whatever." He rolled his eyes and grabbed Mat's elbow again. "Come on, let's go get something to eat."

"But what if—"

"Let it go, man. Bridget's in there. She'll call if she needs us to come back. But you need a break because you look like shit. And yeah, we're still going to talk." Derek tugged on his arm again. Mat finally followed him, telling himself not to keep looking back at Nicole's door. Bridget was with her, talking to her.

That was a good thing, right?

Nicole came awake with a start, the gasp catching in her throat. Her lids fluttered open, long enough for harsh light to sear her eyes, then closed again. The light was wrong, all wrong. Too bright. Too white and artificial. She wasn't in her room, where the most light she ever got was a washed-out dreary gray filtering through the small dirty window.

Where was she?

Fragments of memory flashed through her mind. Just glimpses, like she would see if she was reviewing pictures on her camera. They whirled in front of her closed eyes, moving too fast for her to make sense of them.

A flash of heat rushed over her, searing, followed by an abrupt chill that pebbled her damp flesh. Her hands closed over something both soft and scratchy. A blanket? It must be, but it wasn't hers. She didn't care, just pulled it over her, trying to get warm. Five seconds later another blast of heat washed over her and she pushed the covers away. Her left arm throbbed, the pain dull and muted.

Her left arm.

Donnie, grabbing her, his nails digging into her flesh.

Fireworks and laughter.

Sweet kisses and sweaty sex, daring, exciting.

Green eyes, deeper than any she'd ever seen, watching her. Filled with concern. With worry and anxiety.

The images, the memories, came back to her, fast and slow at the same time. Nicole remembered now. At least, bits of it. A vague recollection of Mat's concern, of him taking her…somewhere. Of being questioned, of being asked if Mat—

"No!" Nicole shot up, her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs freezing, unable to draw breath. She bent over, eyes closed as she gripped the railing, forcing air into her lungs.

"No, no, no." She repeated the words, over and over like a chant, hoping that if she said them enough, her fears would fall away.

A cool hand grabbed her arm and Nicole gasped, shaking it off and trying to scramble away at the same time. Her gaze skipped around the room, the disorientation dizzying until she saw the clear green eyes watching her.

But no, there were the wrong shade of green. Not forest green, not the green of a deep woodland lake or a mystical dragon. Nicole closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the world would right itself, that the dizzying disorientation would disappear.

One more deep breath and she reopened her eyes, her gaze slowly sweeping across the room. A hospital room, small and sterile. Things were coming back to her now, the glimpses lasting longer, a little clearer. She turned, searching for those green eyes, and swallowed back the odd disappointment.

Not Mat's eyes—Bridget's.

The woman hovered near the bed, her feathered brows pulled down in a frown. Her thick red hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail. Several thick strands of curl had come loose and framed her face, the bright light catching in the red, turning the color to a deep vibrant flame. Her gaze met Nicole's, cautious, curious, maybe a little hesitant.

Nicole blinked and looked away, searching. But there was no one else in the room, just Bridget.

"How are you feeling?"

Nicole shook her head, not sure how to answer. But the woman kept watching her with that steady gaze, silently coaxing her to answer. Nicole reached for the blanket and tugged it over her shoulders again, ignoring the pinch of pain in the back of her arm, the small pull of the IV line in her hand. She shook her head again then shrugged.

"Tired. A little woozy."

Bridget nodded, like that made perfect sense. She stood there another few seconds, so still and watchful. Then she reached behind her for the lone chair in the room and slid it next to the bed, settling into it like she had no plans to leave.

"Is there anything you wanted to talk about?" Her voice was soft, not quite a whisper but not loud or intrusive. Relaxing, coaxing. Nicole opened her mouth, caught herself and snapped it shut again as memory came rushing back.

Bridget was a social worker. Or working on becoming one. Something like that, she couldn't remember. That was how Nicole knew her, through the work she did at the hospital. Did she only work with children? Nicole didn't know. She didn't know Bridget that well at all, certainly not enough to open up to her.

Especially when there wasn't anything to open up about.

"Not really, no." Nicole waited, wondering if she was going to be asked more questions, if she was going to be subjected to a repeat of the interrogations she'd had to suffer through more than two years ago. But there was only silence. Not accusing, not demanding, just…quiet.

Nicole looked over, saw that Bridget was just watching her. The other woman met her eyes and gave her a small smile. A real smile. Like they were friends or something. Like she was actually concerned. Why would she do that? They didn't know each other, not really. They were nothing more than friendly acquaintances and they certainly didn't run in the same circles. The day of the picnic and fireworks had been the first time they'd actually spent any real time together, getting to know each other. It had been a fun day, leaving Nicole wondering if maybe they could actually be friends. But it certainly hadn't been enough for Nicole to suddenly open up, not after—

She glanced down, frowning. Was she remembering right? No, she couldn't be. Had that just been yesterday? She closed her eyes, trying to remember. The picnic. Frisbee throwing and fireworks and music. Not wanting the night to end, not wanting to go home. Going to Mat's house instead.

Her face heated and she shifted as more memories came back, flooding her with warmth. No, she wasn't likely to forget any of her time with Mat. But after that…what had happened?

Bits and pieces floated, just out of reach. She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting through the thick haze that clogged her brain. God, it
had
been just yesterday. How could that be, when it seemed so long ago?

"Did you have fun yesterday?"

Nicole moved her head to the side, her eyes widening at Bridget's question. Was the woman reading her mind? But there was only curiosity in her face, in her eyes. Nothing sinister, nothing probing. Just an innocent question, like one friend talking to another.

"Uh, yeah." She cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes, I did."

"Me, too. Derek grumbled the whole way there, convinced he was going to be bored out of his mind." A broad smile lit the woman's face and sparkled in her eyes. "But he had fun in spite of himself. He likes to pretend things like that aren't his style. I think he gets that from where he grew up, just outside Boston. You could say he was a little spoiled growing up." Bridget chuckled, the sound clear and light and warm. Nicole watched her, not sure what to say. Her mind was still fuzzy, exhaustion pulling at her as another chill shook her.

"I know Mat had fun. But he enjoys things like that, more than Derek usually does. He's a great guy, by the way. He'd do anything for his friends. Someone you always want on your side, someone who always has your back."

Nicole nodded, afraid to speak even though she agreed completely. That was part of what scared her. Mat
was
a great guy, from everything she'd seen so far. She'd known it that first night, in New Orleans. That's why she went back to his room. If she was going to have a one-night stand, a night to celebrate her new freedom, a night to remember, she wanted it to be with someone nice.

She'd never meant to see him again, never even considered the possibility. Because why would such a nice guy want anything to do with someone like her? Things like that didn't happen in real life. Not in the life she knew.

"Did you know they call him the Saint?"

"I'm—" Nicole shook her head, certain she had lost track of the conversation somewhere. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who do they call that?"

"Mat. I think Derek's actually the one who started the nickname, back when we first started dating. I still don't know the whole story."

"Oh. I, uh, didn't know that." And she would have never guessed it, not after their time together. A saint? Not from what she'd seen, not unless someone with the rugged beauty and sinful talent of a fallen angel could be called a saint.

"Yeah. Mat hates it so if you ever want to irritate him, just call him that." Bridget chuckled again then shifted in the chair. She looked down, her hand smoothing the patterned material of her leggings, her fingers picking at some imaginary spot. A few minutes went by before she looked back at Nicole, her eyes serious beneath her lowered brows.

"You know the police questioned him, right? About your arm. They thought he was the one who assaulted you."

Nicole's heart thundered in her chest. Another chill shook her, one that had nothing to do with whatever was wrong with her and everything to do with fear.
Assault
. She shook her head, her mind screaming in denial. But her voice was barely more than a ragged whisper when she spoke.

"Mat didn't hurt me. It was—" Her mouth snapped shut before she said anything else. Had she told the police? She had a hazy memory of them asking her questions, of clearly telling them it hadn't been Mat, that he would never hurt her. But had she told them who? She thought maybe she had but she couldn't remember. Not that it would have made a difference, not like anything would happen. It never had in the past, why would it now?

"Who was it, Nicole?"

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

Bridget watched her, her gaze clear, studying. Waiting. But not judging. Nicole didn't understand. Why did this woman care? There was no reason for her to care.

"Was it your ex-husband?"

Nicole wanted to look away but the other woman's gaze was too strong, holding hers, refusing to let go. Nicole chewed on her lower lip, her body shaking, her mind fighting each word that wanted to tumble from her mouth. Why? Why was she fighting so hard? What difference did it make? None. Not anymore, maybe not ever.

She dropped her gaze, no longer able to meet Bridget's, and slowly nodded. "Yeah. He, uh, he showed up when I left the hospital the other day."

She took a deep breath, each word a painful struggle as she told the other woman what had happened. Nicole ended with a short laugh, the sound brittle, almost desperate as she glanced at her arm. "Do you want to know what's funny? This is mild compared to some of the things he used to do. And I think this time really was an accident, that he didn't mean it. I don't think he even realized what he did."

"He grabbed you, Nicole. Put his hands on you. That's never an accident."

There was nothing Nicole could say, not with the thickness clogging her throat and the burning in her eyes. She ran a hand across her face then took a deep breath. There was no reason for her to act like this. It was over, done with.

She thought it had been over months ago. Years ago.

She took another deep breath, forced herself to sit up straighter. Swallowed once more and hoped her voice would come out stronger. But she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, her gaze on the scratched surface of the closed door. Hoping to hide her shame, her mortification. "Please don't tell Mat."

Silence greeted her but she couldn't look over, couldn't bring herself to see whatever expression might be on Bridget's face. So she concentrated on the hushed noises floating under the door. Muted voices, louder as they passed by her room, fading as the speakers moved away. Mechanical blips, their noise softened by distance. A disembodied voice, almost robotic, paging someone's name.

And closer, just off to her side, the gentle swish of material brushing together. The creak of a chair as Bridget shifted, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Nicole, he already knows."