The Guard's Last Watch (A Bexley Squires Mystery) by Quinn Avery

Author:Quinn Avery [Avery, Quinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jennifer Naumann

12

A young blonde behind the reception desk in Papaya Spring General’s emergency room sat rigid when she spotted Brewer storming in her direction. One of her hands reached for a telephone while the other braced against the desk.

“Isabella Romano!” he shouted through the plexiglass, his fiancée’s name blazing through his throat like acid. “Where is she?”

The nurse held a finger up as she muttered something into the handset. Brewer shoved off from the desk, and raked his fingers through the patch of short hair on top of his skull. Ever since receiving the detective’s call, his heartbeat had throttled against his throat, and wouldn’t ease up. Paired with the massive pain in his chest, he was convinced he’d have a heart attack.

Isabella was his everything. When the detective told him she’d been attacked, he’d dropped to his knees, unable to pull in a breath. Eileen couldn’t get a response outta him, so she’d yelled out for help. When Mugsy came running in, Brewer snapped back to his senses and shoved his friend aside on his way out the door. He blew through several stop lights on his motorcycle, and went three times the legal speed.

If anything happened to Izzy—or, god help him—his son…

Hit with a violent wave of nausea, he bent over.

A rather serious looking man with a thick mustache approached Brewer. He wore a tweet sports jacket, and emitted body odor. “Mr. Hawkins? I’m Detective Baker.”

Brewer clutched one of the man’s pudgy arms. “Is she…” he wheezed, “…the baby…”

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” the man suggested, glancing around the packed room. People coughed and fussed all around them, but all Brewer heard was the wail of a small baby.

“Tell me now!” he demanded, gripping the detective harder. “What the hell happened?”

“We believe the perp entered the back door of your home without forceable entry,” the detective told him. “Either Miss Romano, your fiancée, knew the perp and let him inside, or the door was unlocked.” The man lowered his voice, eyes dark with sympathy. “I believe she was attacked while she was trying to escape. She suffered several blows to the back of her head with a metal weapon—possibly a hammer or a crowbar. The surgeon in charge said it’s too early to assess the overall damages. She’s in surgery now. They’re trying to stop the bleeding around her brain. If she survives, they’ll place her in a medically induced coma until the swelling of her brain has cleared.”

A high-pitched buzz assaulted Brewer’s ears, and the room slanted.

No.

Not his Isabella.

What kind of monster would attack a pregnant woman?

“What about the baby?” he whispered. He shook the man with all his might. “What about my boy?” he bellowed.

The detective solemnly shook his head. “I’m sorry, son. She miscarried before the first responders arrived.”

A mournful sound wrenched from Brewer’s chest.

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