His brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Dr. Ward. I’m a doctor.”
“Right, sorry. I meant Dr. Ward. Yes.”
“I can’t help you, Detective,” I said. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. This is a dead end. We’ve been at this for an hour, and I’m tired.” I leaned my head back against the pillow and feigned exhaustion.
The two detectives exchanged a look and then rose from their chairs. Detective Buckingham reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and set it down on the bedside table next to me.
“If you think of anything that might be useful, please let me know. A lot of women and children have been reported missing in the area. We just want to put a stop to it.”
Guilt rested heavily on my shoulders. But what were the cops going to do about the missing women and children? If a biker club was trying to put a stop to it and were clearly failing even though they were willing to play outside the law, what good was the local police force going to be? If they got involved, it would just put them in the middle of a bloody war where only their enemies were able to play dirty, and they’d be bound by laws and search warrants, court orders, and schedules.
“I wish you a speedy recovery,” Detective Buckingham stated.
“Thank you.”
They both left, leaving me alone again. The female detective had offered me zero sympathy and platitudes. She was abrasive and hardened. The world had gotten to her, and she was as cold as anyone I had ever met.
At least they’d waited to speak to me until the following morning, so I’d finally had a good night sleep. It had been restful, and I remembered nothing of my dreams.
Thank God for morphine.
I didn’t need to sleep to live my nightmares.
I reached for the remote on the bedside table and clicked on the television. It was mindless entertainment, something I stared at without actually seeing. The hospital room door opened, but I didn’t bother looking to see who was there. It had been a revolving door of visitors. Nurses, Chief Nelson, the Blue Angels, the police. It was suffocating. And I wished for peace and a reprieve.
It was Mia who’d come in, followed by Joni, Rachel, Darcy, and Allison.
No reprieve then.
Joni and Rachel carted in two wicker picnic baskets, and Darcy had a leather bag slung over her shoulder, which she put at the foot of my hospital bed.
“Boy, they told me you looked like hell,” Darcy said, her eyes raking over me. “Nothing like seeing it for myself, though.”
“Jesus, Darcy,” Joni muttered.
“What?” Darcy asked with a shrug. “The woman needs honesty. From the looks of it, she doesn’t need any more coddling or tiptoeing. Do you, sugar?”
A slow smile involuntarily crossed my lips. “Darcy, I think you get me.”
“We brought you lunch,” Joni said. “Fried chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad, coleslaw, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and dessert from Pinky’s.”
“I’m sure you’re dying for something other than hospital food,” Rachel added. “I would be. I can’t stand Jell-O.”
My stomach rumbled at the thought of fried chicken. “And the guys? The kids?”
“Hanging out at The Rex,” Mia explained. “Well, except for Boxer.”
“And Zip,” Joni added. “He stayed to make sure Boxer didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” I prodded.
“Didn’t march down the hallway and come in here, demanding you speak to him,” Joni finished.
“Look,” Rachel began. “We’re your family now. All of us. You want to talk about what happened to you, we’ll listen. You don’t? We’ll eat our food and shut up. We’re not here to get your story, okay?”
Joni lifted the flap of a picnic basket and pulled out a container of fried chicken. “We love people through food. We bring comfort. We bring friendship and acceptance.”