Star Witness

chapter Sixteen

Harte’s whole body hurt worse with every move he made. They’d been running for so long that he and Dani were both exhausted. He glanced back to check on Dani, but suddenly, darkness enveloped everything.

“Dani?” he cried, but she didn’t answer. “Dani, answer me.”

Nothing.

“Dani!” She was gone. His biggest fear had come to pass. He’d failed to keep her safe.

“Hey, kid? Wake up.”

Harte heard someone. Was it Dani? God, he hoped so. But the voice sounded far away. Indistinct.

“Harte? Are you trying to wake up?”

The voice beckoned him. But the closer he got to it, the more he hurt. Who was trying to keep him from finding Dani?

“Leave me alone. I’ve got to find Dani.”

“Harte, it’s Ethan. Talk to me, kid.”

Ethan? Harte felt as though the bottom had dropped out from under him. He opened his eyes to slits, which made his head hurt. Everything was an ugly, dull blue color.

“Ethan?” he rasped as his brain slowly began to process what his senses were taking in. A small TV on a stand was suspended from the ceiling in front of him. Under it, a whiteboard held a sign in big letters that read Today is_____. There was nothing written in the blank. His nostrils burned with the mingled smells of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol, and he could hear a continuous hiss-pop, hiss-pop.

From somewhere, a different voice spoke. “Everything all right? Does Mr. Delancey need ice water or towels?”

“No, thanks.”

Then everything coalesced in his brain. His eyes flew open wide. “Oh no,” he moaned. “Not the hospital.”

His brother Ethan’s face moved into his field of vision. “Can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he said, smiling. “Want some water?”

Water sounded wonderful. Harte licked his lips, or tried to. They were so dry they barely moved.

Ethan held a big cup and guided the plastic straw into Harte’s mouth. When the first splash of cold water hit his tongue, the chill shot all the way through him. He shuddered, then greedily sucked up more.

“Whoa,” Ethan said, taking the cup away. “The nurse said you could have a little.”

His lips still felt parched, but inside, he was feeling much better. He tried to push himself upright, but that turned out to be a bad idea.

“Ahhh!” he growled, and collapsed back into the soft bedclothes. He muttered a few choice curses, which actually seemed to help.

“Nice,” Ethan said, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “Good thing Mom’s not here.”

Harte growled again. “Am I in a hospital?” he asked, trying his best to control his thick tongue.

“Okay. What I think I heard is hospital. So yes, you’re in the hospital.”

Harte’s eyes were still burning, so he closed them. “What am I doing here?”

“Good. You’re getting better. You and Dani Canto were attacked at the B-and-B, so you ran and hid all night through that mother of a storm. Somewhere in there you got shot. Then you ended up at Paul’s house with the bad guys on your tail. Paul took a bullet and a couple of your pursuers were shot. The cavalry arrived and saved the day. You had surgery and voilà, here you are.”

“Not quite all that happened,” Harte muttered between gritted teeth. “Where’s Dani? Is she all right?”

Ethan nodded, his expression turning more serious. “She’s fine. The EMTs examined her at the scene and released her. You, on the other hand, have a great big surgery to recuperate from. By the way, the nurse also told me you’d be too drowsy to make sense.” Ethan’s frown faded. “I see she was right about that.”

“I’m fine,” Harte muttered. The nurse was correct. He could barely hold his eyes open and he had to concentrate like mad to keep up with what Ethan was saying. But there was no way he was going to let his older brother know that.

“Fine,” he repeated, looking out the window. He couldn’t see anything but sky and the top of a portion of the New Orleans skyline. He didn’t even try to figure out what direction the window faced. “What time is it?”

“Six-twenty.”

He stared at his brother, then blinked and gave his head a shake. “Six-twenty?”

Ethan’s mouth turned up. “Twenty minutes after six.”

“P.m.?” He reached up to rub his forehead, where the groggy haze seemed centered, and discovered that his hand had an IV hooked up to it. He growled.

“Here,” Ethan said, picking up the cup again. “Drink some more water before you fall asleep.”

This time, he reached for the cup, but the IV tubing that was inserted in his hand got caught in the bedclothes. Ethan untangled it and handed him the cup.

Harte sipped slowly. His stomach didn’t feel great, but the water—a little water—helped. “Thanks,” he said.

Ethan took the cup from his hand and set it down on the rolling table. “You’re going to fall asleep and spill that all over yourself.”

“Six-twenty,” Harte said thoughtfully. “I’ve been here all day? When can we leave?”

Ethan shook his head indulgently. “Not so fast, kid. You haven’t been here all day. You’ve been here since Saturday morning. Today’s Sunday.”

Harte stared at him in horror. “Sunday? What happened to Saturday?”

“You spent a lot of Saturday unconscious. They sedated you so they could give you blood. Then they took you into surgery. The doctor said you wouldn’t remember anything, and I guess he’s right.”

“What about—the—trial?” Harte was having a lot of trouble staying awake.

“The trial’s been set to start Thursday.”

“Okay. I can be—ready by Thursday.”

Ethan laughed. “Oh, trust me, kid. You will not be ready by Thursday. The D.A. has got another prosecutor working twenty-four-seven to get up to speed.”

“What?” Harte tried to sit up, but couldn’t. “My case!”

“Hey,” Ethan said, patting the sheet near Harte’s hand. “You don’t need to worry about the trial. You just need to rest and get better.” He stood. “I’m going to go tell the nurses that you’re awake, then I’ll head out. Mom will probably be over later to see you.”

“Wait,” Harte said. “Where’s Dani? She been here?”

“Nope. She’s in protective custody, remember? She’s not allowed to go anywhere.”

“I want to see her. Make sure she’s all right.” Harte tried to sit up. He put most of his weight on his right arm. With a lot of effort and a lot of pain, he managed to scoot a little more upright in the bed.

“Hang on,” Ethan said with an exaggerated sigh. “You’re going to rip out all of the doctor’s pretty stitching.” He leaned over and pressed a button on the console that hung from the bed rail. The head of the bed rose, pushing Harte into a more upright, seated position.

“Thanks,” he said. “I need to see Dani.”

“She’s just fine. If you’re going to be stubborn, I’ll call the head nurse. I think she was a drill sergeant.”

“Call her.”

“Harte, you haven’t seen this nurse—at least not that you remember.”

As if she were summoned by Ethan’s threat, the door to Harte’s room opened and a large, imposing woman in white slacks and an incongruous lavender scrub shirt with pink puppies and kittens on it entered. She had an IV bag in her sizeable hands.

“Mr. Delancey, you’re awake.” The nurse leveled a glare at Ethan, then the badge pinned to his jacket pocket. “And you are still here.” Stepping around the bed and past Ethan, she replaced the nearly empty IV bag with the new one and adjusted the flow.

Then she inspected the IV cannula in Harte’s hand, walked around to the other side of the bed and looked at the large bandage that covered from just beneath the collarbone to his upper abdomen. Then she lifted her head and peered through the lower half of her glasses at the LED screen of the heart monitor mounted above the bed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice gentler than her physical presence might suggest. “Having any pain?”

He gave a halfhearted right-shoulder shrug. “I’m okay,” he said.

She looked up at Ethan. “I’m going to give him a dose of morphine. I’d suggest you go interrogate somebody who’s up and around.” When she glanced back at Harte, he saw a fleeting glint of amusement in her eyes. “My patient here needs to rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes in Harte’s direction. “I’ll be back later, kid.” He stood, leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Harte’s head, sent a quelling look at the nurse when she grinned at his sentimental gesture and left.

“There you go,” the nurse said as she pressed a button on the IV flow meter of a second bag that was piggybacked into the first. “A nice little boost of morphine.”

“Not too much,” Harte murmured. He could already feel the drug doing its job.

“You aren’t getting too much. You’re getting just the right amount. You’d better sleep while you can. Tomorrow morning, your nurse is going to make you get up and walk.”

“How soon can I get out of here?” he asked.

“I’ll let you and the doctor talk about that.” She nodded toward the door. “So, I suppose that was your brother? Nice guy. You and he must be close. You look like twins.”

“He wishes he was as good-looking as me,” Harte muttered, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He heard the nurse chuckle as she went out of the room.