She heard voices—hushed, muted voices—and felt fingertips upon her bare arm.
Tentatively she squinted out of one bleary eye, only to slam her eyelid closed against the harsh rush of light.
“She’s rousing,” a woman’s soft voice said.
It took a second, then she realized she wasn’t home in her own bed, but that she was in a hospital. Fragments of her memory returned in sharp, painful shards. She remembered the panic of the fire in the shed, running outside barefoot, the stranger waiting for her, the frightened, frenzied horses, the crackling terror of the fire and then the attack, the vicious, excruciating assault.
“Ms. Flannery’s coming around,” the woman’s soft voice said again. “See if Dr. Zollner is still here.”
“I saw her about ten minutes ago in B wing,” a younger voice responded.
“Good. Find her if you can. Let the doctor know that Ms. Flannery is rousing.”
Shannon was still caught up in the memories that were returning. Who had been hiding in the stables? Who had tried to kill her?
Her heart raced, she began to breathe unevenly as she recalled the pain, the fear, the sheer horror of it all. Had the man who attacked her set the fire? And the Good Samaritan who had just happened to show up after the explosions and fire—who was he? Friend or foe? Had he started the fire, then, when she’d come out of the house, pretended to want to help her, only to wait for her in the darkened stables ready to spring and attack? Had he told her his name?
Her head pounded as she tried to think, to make sense of it.
“Shannon?”
The female voice—a nurse’s voice, Shannon guessed—was closer. “Shannon, can you hear me? Shannon?”
“Yes,” she forced out, though her mouth tasted like soot and one cheek throbbed.
“How’re you feeling? Can you open your eyes?”
Wincing, Shannon blinked a few times before she was able to force her eyelids open and focus on the petite nurse with short, streaked hair, wire-rimmed glasses and dimples.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked again, gentle fingers rimming Shannon’s wrist as she took her pulse.
Horrible!
In pain!
Like I’ve been run over by an eighteen-wheeler that took one pass, only to come around for another.
“Compared to what?” Shannon managed, her voice little more than a whisper.
The corner of the nurse’s mouth twitched. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
“After the doctor examines you, we’ll up your pain med,” the nurse said, her dark gaze compassionate. “Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital.”
“Not just any hospital, mind you. You’re an official guest of Santa Lucia General, the best in the Bay area…Well, at least that’s what we’re supposed to tell you.”
Shannon rotated her head slightly and saw she was in a private room with pale green walls, sterile medical equipment, a television mounted on the far wall and a short counter that was already laden with vases of cut flowers and potted plants.
People had already sent gifts?
That took time.
She felt a moment’s panic.
“How long have I been out?” she asked, spying the IV flowing into her arm.