Fabric still clung to them. Bits of a long jacket and outdated dress. A necklace hung from her spine and tangled with her collarbone.
More pictures, measurements, and notes. Carefully moving each bone would reveal a ring long ago released from a finger as it lost its flesh.
“Any ID?” one of the voices asked.
“No,” another responded. “No ID, no wallet, no phone. Nothing.”
“So, who is she?”
Chapter Four
“Hey, Emma,” the nurse at the station waves as I walk out of the elevator.
“Hey, Gloria,” I smile. “How are you doing this afternoon?”
“Good,” she says. “Fall allergies are starting to get to me.”
“Well,” I say, “it's a good thing you work in a hospital. Just raid the drug cabinet.”
She laughs. “I think that's one of those perks, isn't it? It's listed in my benefits package as a bonus.”
“Exactly,” I say. “How is she today? Is she awake?”
“She's up,” Gloria tells me. “She seems to be recovering really well. The infection is gone, and the doctors say they can see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“That's great,” I tell her. “I'm going to go back and see her, okay?”
“Sure. You know where to find her,” she says.
I flash the round, redheaded nurse a grin and head down the hallway to the last room on the left. It's the one with the best window on the floor. I made sure of that. Rapping my knuckles on the partially open door, it edges the rest of the way open, and I step inside.
“Hello?” I whisper in.
“Emma?” Millie answers, pushing herself to sit up a little higher on the reclined back of the hospital bed.
“Hey,” I say. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I? You're not training for a marathon or getting ready for a grand ball, or anything, right?”
She laughs. “Nope, just finished with my thirty-mile run for the day. My glam team is supposed to show up in a couple of hours, but the red carpet can wait for a visit from you.”
I settle into the chair beside her bed. It's hard to see her like this so long after the shooting. But when the bullet tore through her chest, it caused extensive damage, and she's had to undergo several surgeries over the last month-and-a-half. There have been a few times when the doctors weren't sure they would be able to keep her here.
But she has turned the corner and is looking stronger. There's more color in her cheeks, and she seems to have more energy.
“How are you feeling today? Gloria tells me things are going pretty well,” I say.
Millie nods. “The last surgery was a success. I've gotten rid of the infection, and the doctors think I'm really on my way to recovery now. I might actually be able to get out of here in a couple of weeks.”
“That would be great,” I tell her. “I'm sure you're looking forward to not being in a hospital bed.”
“Definitely,” she says. “Not necessarily looking forward to going back to my house and seeing what that aftermath is like. A couple of months with no one inside probably isn't too kind to things like the food left in my refrigerator.”
“Don't worry about that,” I say. “I'll make sure it's ready for you before you go home.”
“You don't have to do that, Emma,” she protests. “You've already done so much for me.”
"Again, don't worry about it. You can't go through this alone. So, I'm here to be your not-alone person," I say.
"And I really appreciate it. I just wish I could help you."
I shift around in my seat a little. Moving a little closer, I put one hand on the bed beside her.
“I think you can, Millie,” I say. “I know you said you don't remember anything you said to me…”
“I don't,” she says. “I'm sorry. Everything the day I got shot is a blur. All I remember is getting up in the morning and going into work. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here after my first surgery. I don't remember anything else.”
“Nothing? You don't remember anything?”
“I'm sorry, Emma. I wish I did,” she says. “I keep thinking about it and trying to remember, but I just can't.”
“We were in the parking lot,” I tell her, going into the same story I've gone over with her probably a hundred times since she's been in the hospital. “I was walking across the parking lot to my car, and you came out of the bank. You said you needed to talk to me about something. You needed to tell me something about your brother. You looked as if it was really serious. Then the car came up, and you were shot. Before you passed out, you told me to stop your brother. That I should look at the alibis.”
She shakes her head. “None of that sounds familiar. I don't remember any of it.”
“But can you remember what you wanted to tell me? Or think of something you might want to say? Because I did exactly what you said. I looked at all the alibis, and that's what helped me figure out what happened. I know about The Order, Millie. I know about the temple and the wheel. I know about the elder members sponsoring new members with an initiation that involves… murder. But I think you know more,” I say.
Some of the color that gave me so much hope when I first came into the room disappears. Her eyes are a little wider, a sheer veil of tears over them. She shakes her head. I'm about to ask another question when the door opens again, and someone comes into the room.
I turn to look over my shoulder and feel my jaw tighten and my eyes narrow.
It’s Lydia Walsh. She nearly stomped all over our investigation, but that’s not the reason I’m mad at her. I’m mad at her because she randomly showed up at my ex-boyfriend Greg’s hospital bed, discharged him somehow, and less than an hour later, he wound up dead. And she still has the nerve to proclaim her innocence.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I'm here to see Millie,” she protests. The liar.
“You have no reason to be here,” I say. “You need to go.”
“I don't think that's your decision, Agent Griffin,” Lydia shoots back. “If you can come here to visit her, then I can, too.”
“I know exactly why you're here,” I snap. “And you need to stop.”
“What's going on in here?” Gloria asks, coming into the room and looking between Lydia and me with her eyebrows knitted together and a concerned expression in her eyes. “We don't need shouting on this floor. People are trying to recuperate.”
“I'm sorry,” I say. “Lydia, can you step outside and speak with me for a minute?”
“Sure,” Lydia replies coolly.
I look over at Millie. “I'll be right back.”
Millie nods, swallowing hard. Gloria fills her a glass of ice water and brings it over to her with a straw, standing by her side while she sips it. I feel guilty for upsetting her, but I can't just ignore what happened the day she was shot. As she walked across that parking lot, she told me she needed to talk to me about her brother. Only seconds later, the bullets tore through her, and she collapsed into my arms. While I tried to stop the bleeding, she told me to stop him.