The Final Victim by Wendy Corsi Staub

Author:Wendy Corsi Staub [Staub, Wendy Corsi]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

“Royce? Royce . . . Are you awake?”

Drifting along through heavy fog on a delightful cushion of tranquility, he wonders, Royce? Who’s Royce?

Then somebody shakes his arm, ever so gently, and the cloud of medication lifts enough for him to remember.

Me! I’m Royce.

And that’s Charlotte’s voice, calling me.

He opens his eyes to see his wife leaning over him, smiling tearfully. The light is so bright. Why is it so bright?

“Where . . . Where am I?” he murmurs, and tries to roll over, his effort halted by a fierce stab of pain in his leg. He goes still, trying to find his way back to the calming fog . . .

“You’re in the hospital.”

The hospital?

Why—? Oh!

A fleeting memory slams into him like a bullet, and his eyelids fly open again.

“Shot,” he manages to say, and Charlotte nods.

She’s been crying, he realizes. Her eyes are black with mascara smudges that track faintly toward her jaw.

“You’re going to be fine, Royce . . . Are you in pain?”

“My . . . leg.” He tries to move it again and winces.

“Does it hurt?”

Like hell.

She must have read his mind, because she says, “They’ve got you on some heavy stuff to relieve it. The nurse said it might make you confused and that you might not remember things at first.”

He’s silent, searching his muddled brain for details.

“Do you remember what happened, Royce?” Charlotte asks gently.

“I don’t know . . . not . . . everything.”

“They just upped the dose. It’ll probably knock you out again. But that’s good. You should just sleep.”

He nods, searching his muddled memory for details, coming up with the right question. “Who . . . shot me?”

“They don’t know. Whoever it was got away.” She leans over to kiss his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Royce. And there’s somebody else here to see you. Aimee flew in from New Orleans this morning.”

Aimee? New Orleans?

“Aimee!” he exclaims, as the light dawns. “Yes. Where is she?”

“I’ll send her in.” Charlotte brushes his cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m so thankful you’re okay, Royce.”

“Yeah.” He tries to shift position slightly, and grunts in pain. “My leg.”

“I know. But the damage was repaired in surgery, and you’re going to have full use of it again after you recover. You’ll be playing tennis again in no time.”

Tennis. Good. That’s really good. He likes tennis, doesn’t he? It’s all so fuzzy . . .

“I’ll go tell Aimee it’s her turn,” Charlotte says.

“Yes. Aimee.”

“She’s wonderful, Royce.”

He smiles, relieved that the two women in his life have met and everything is apparently fine between them.

“Wish I could have been there to introduce y’all,” he tells Charlotte.

“We did just fine on our own. And I’m going to ask her to stay with me at Oakgate. She had said she’d get a hotel, but... She’s family.”

This is more than he ever could have hoped for.

Feeling the tide of weariness sweeping toward him, he closes his eyes contentedly to wait for Aimee.

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