Jack Kilborn - Killers

Lucy

Where am I?

Think.

Think.

Think

Lucy opened her eyes to a blurry brightness.

Couldnt feel a thing but the weight of her eyelids.

Her first conscious thought was that shed been drugged, and if that was the case, this made only the third time shed lowered her guard enough to let that happen. Normally, she didnt party with guys she picked up. Sure, shed sip a beer, pretend to take a toke off a joint-never inhaled-but for her, inebriation itself was worthless. Shed never understood what people saw in getting stoned and drunk. It only dulled the senses, and for her, intensity was everything.

If theyd drugged her, then theyd probably raped her and beat the shit out of her, too.

And she wouldnt begrudge them if they had.

Good for them.

This wasnt her first rodeo, and if someone had found a way to slip something into a drink or otherwise incapacitate her before she did the same to them

Then kudos.

Hats off.

But the hole in her memory was just so gaping she couldnt quite bring herself to believe shed let herself get drugged.

No, something else had happened.

Something much, much worse.

Slowly, images were beginning to sharpen all around her.

A black cube up in the corner near the ceiling that she realized was a television set.

Empty chairs.

The railing of abedshe was lying in a bed, and those things wrapped in red and brown stained bandages were her legs. In four places, black foam dressing had been taped to her appendages and drainage tubes arched out of them.

An IV stand loomed above her, and several bags filled with clear liquid dangled from its hooks, running their contents down various intravenous lines into her left arm.

A heart monitor behind the stand displayed her rate and rhythm.

Her nose itched, and when she tried to raise her left arm to scratch it, something arrested the movement-her wrist was handcuffed to the railing.

The door to her hospital room stood open, and sitting just outside was a pudgy lawman in a khaki uniform, reading Guns amp; Ammo. His gun-looked like a. 40 mil subcompact Glock from her vantage point-bulged off his right hip next to a can of pepper spray and a sheathed baton.

What the hell happened?

Or perhaps more appropriate What the hell did I do?

She wasnt in any discomfort. The only pain of note was a steady, subtle burn in her urethra, which, to be honest, felt just a little bit nice. The kind of thing she could get off on under the right circumstances.

Then again, shed always had a soft spot for catheters.

She wiggled her bottom, and a burning flush crept up her tailbone.

Lucy glanced down at her right hand.

Thank God.

A morphine pump.

She squeezed the button.

The push was immediate.

Numbness shooting down into her veins, filling her head to toe.

Floating.

Both weightless and sinking at the same timethe mattress and pillows slowly swallowing her.

She felt relaxed and faintly itchy, and three words crossed her mind before she lost consciousness again.

Sweetest. Death. Ever.

The next time she regained consciousness, a doctor was standing bedside, studying a chart.

He was broad-shouldered and handsome in a boxy, unoriginal sort of way shed never been attracted to.

Lots of right angles.

Bland good looks.

Quarterback handsome.

When he saw that she was awake, he lowered the chart and said, Kurt Lanz, M.D. How you feeling?

She had to swallow before she could answer.

My peehole really hurts.

Want me to take a look?

Would you mind?

Dr. Lanz lifted her hospital gown, and though that prevented Lucy from seeing what he was doing, she felt a slight tug around her urethra. He seemed to fiddle with it longer than needed.

The perv.

Might be a bacterial infection from the catheter, he said. Ill have a nurse replace it.

Thank you. Where am I?

He dropped her gown. Blessed Crucifixion Hospital in Durango, Colorado. You were airlifted here two nights ago.

What happened to me?

He raised an eyebrow. You dont remember?

She shook her head.

Dr. Lanz glanced over his shoulder at the deputy outside the door.

I think the Feds want to be the first to actually talk with you about the accident, but I can go over your injuries.

Feds?

Frankly, youre lucky to be alive. You suffered a hairline fracture to the skull. Broken nose. You lost your two upper, front incisors. Sustained severe lacerations and abrasions to your back and legs.

How severe?

When you were dragged, the pavement essentially peeled away your skin over approximately eighteen percent of your body. Youve already been through two surgeries that saved your legs, but youre going to need extensive debridement and skins grafts. Right now, we have you on a regiment of negative pressure wound therapy. We can talk more about this tomorrow. I dont want to overwhelm you.

Lucy swallowed. I bet I look so pretty.

Any broken bones, Doc?

Your coccyx took a savage beating.

My coccyx?

Your tailbone. It was-I dont know exactly how to put this-ground down as you were dragged across the pavement.

Lucy smiled. Youre telling me I lost my ass?

Lanz flashed a high-beam, soap-opera-star smile.

About fifteen percent of it. But considering the car dragged you through a guardrail and down the side of a mountain, I cant quite wrap my head around how you survived. Youre a lucky young woman.

Lucy squeezed out a single tear that slid down her left cheek. She forced a sniffle. I dont feel so lucky right now.

Lanz reached forward and touched her cuffed hand, running a finger across her thumb.

Youre going to be okay.

How does my face look?

She registered the arousal in his eyes, his pupils dilating-a small tell, but one shed learned to read. If a guy was trying to fuck you, that lowered a lot of defenses.

Youre still stunningly beautiful, Lanz said. Just dont smile until we find you some new teeth.

Lucy smiled with her lips together, made herself blush.

Thanks, Doc.

Honey, whats your name? You didnt have any identification on you.

Lucy, she said.

Lucy what?

JustLucy.

Youre not wanting to tell me, or you dont remember, or-

I dont remember.

Hmm. Could be some retrograde amnesia. Itll probably clear up. You didnt sustain a traumatic brain injury. Is there any family I should call? Just to let them know youre here?

She shook her head. No one whod care.

Oh, I dont see how that could possibly be true. He winked at her and wiped the tear off her face. Theres a man outside waiting to speak with you. You feel up to that?

Sure.

The media has taken an interest in you being here.

Really?

Yes, but I want you to know that aside from your physical needs, your privacy in this hospital is our utmost concern. We wont let anyone from the press bother you.

Thanks, Doc.

Ill be back to check on you within the hour. You need anything in the meantime, just buzz Nurse Winslow.

Lucy watched Lanz turn away and head back through the door into the corridor.

The morphine must have been waning because she noted a subtle sting beginning to encompass her entire body. She activated the pump again and the drug hit her bloodstream just as a black-suited man strolled into her hospital room, closing the door after him.

He dragged a chair over from underneath the television set and unbuttoned his black jacket as he eased down into the chair.

Lucy studied him through the opiate fog.

He was lanky with short, dark hair.

A perfect shave.

Underneath that suit, she wouldve bet he owned a pair of thin, muscular arms. Wiry strength. Scrappy. A fighter when it came down to it. God, she wouldve loved to have encountered him in a hotel bar. Shed have marked him as a lawman right away-he had superficially cold eyes from his training. From the Academy and possibly a few years in state law enforcement. Maybe law school. From toting that big badge around and all the bullshit respect hed convinced himself he deserved. But there wasnt real ice underneath. Just a thin, crusty layer that she couldve shattered in about thirty seconds.