Union Jacked by Diane Vallere

Author:Diane Vallere [Vallere, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781939197597
Publisher: Polyester Press
Published: 2019-04-08T22:00:00+00:00

17

I Lost It

Geri went to the nurses’ station, and I entered Loncar’s room. Machines beeped at regular intervals, and a screen displayed the detective’s vital signs. A saline bag hung from a metal rack next to the bed and the window at the far side of the room. I looked at the dry erase board like the ones I’d mounted in my kitchen that listed the doctor on call, the cork board filled with colorful notices about the proper way to lift a box, and the extra blanket that remained folded on the chair next to the side of the bed. I looked at everything in the room except Detective Loncar because I was afraid I’d lose it when I did.

In addition to the bed, there were two chairs and a pull-out sofa. Hospital sheets were folded and resting on the end cushion, topped with the world’s tiniest pillow. I set my handbag down. I moved a chair from the wall to the side of the bed and sat down and looked at Loncar’s face.

I lost it.

“You told me not to get involved,” I said between erratic breaths. “You told me to stay out of it and that you knew who did this, but nobody is acting like there’s an open investigation. Nobody’s treating this like you would treat it. They’re shooting darts and drinking apple juice and pretending everything is normal while you’re lying here not doing anything. You have to wake up. You have to! Ribbon needs you. I need you. I’m pregnant! I think. And I don’t know what to do!”

There was the tiniest chance that even if Loncar chose that moment to wake up, he wouldn’t know what to do about that last part either. Perhaps when I finished here, I should make a side trip to Dr. Emma and inquire about a checklist.

But Loncar didn’t choose that moment to wake up. He didn’t wake while I told him about his party (I even threw in some references to Geri Halliwell to test him).

He didn’t wake while I told him about Tradava and the memory of him tracking me down in the middle of the lingerie department on my first day.

He didn’t wake when I told him John Jones had told me the story of how he saved the day by looking out for his friend and see? We’re not all that different.

I was halfway through an inspired version of The Smiths’ eighties classic retitled, “Detective in a Coma,” when a young woman entered the room. She wore a black puffer vest over a white turtleneck and bright-blue scrubs and neon-yellow running sneakers. A backpack was strapped to her torso with a flat crossbody strap. Plastic animals hung from a silver loop on the back of the bag, and as she moved, they made little clicking noises against each other. She wore her hair in a low ponytail that hung down to her shoulder blades. The sum of the parts made her look like a Pokémon superhero.

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