It’s Like That (18 page)

There was no response, just scuffling noises, and Chris’ temper exploded. He yelled, he screamed, and he slammed his brand-new phone against the dash of his truck with a frantic “God damn it!”

Finally, the mall came into view and he ran a red light and dodged a minivan to screech into the entrance. His truck roared through the dark parking lot, the lights cutting through the blackness. He heard sirens in the distance, and his temper calmed into a cool, angry resolve he was familiar with. It was the calm that had been ingrained in him through training. It was the calm he’d felt on every mission before he killed someone.

Callie blinked awake, squinting at the bright light above her. She ached everywhere, but the main source of pain was in her head. It felt like it had been split open. She reached up gingerly to find the source of the pain and winced when she touched a large lump at the back of her head.

“You have a mild concussion and a hell of a knot on your skull,” a deep, soft voice said beside her.

She blinked and turned her head to find the voice. A police officer sat in a chair beside her, and she realized with a start that she was in a hospital bed. She looked around, confused. Why was she in the hospital? It wasn’t a room because there were curtains pulled closed on either side. The curtains gaped open at the foot of the bed, and she could see doctors and nurses walking by. The emergency room then?

“Do you remember what happened?” the officer asked gently, pulling a pad and pen from his pocket.

“Uh…” She closed her eyes against the pain that speaking caused and tried to remember why she was here.

It all came back in a flash. The gun shots, Rebecca bleeding, the scruffy man with mean fists, and then…nothing.

She tried to sit up and jerked back down when her head protested with an excruciating throb.

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse squeak and the officer handed her a cup of water with a straw.

“Here,” he murmured. “Try to drink something. If you can’t talk now, I can come back later.”

His voice was soft, soothing, and Callie noted distantly that he was fairly good-looking. She drank gratefully until the icy cold water soothed her raw throat.

“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was weak and strained, and she cleared her throat in an attempt to speak more clearly. “Rebecca?” She needed to know about her friend. Rebecca had always been such a good friend to her, and it brought tears to Callie’s eyes to think such an exuberant, lively woman could have been silenced forever.

“She’s in surgery,” the officer responded. “But they think she’s going to be fine.”

Callie closed her eyes and let out the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding.
Thank God
.

“Can you walk me through what happened?” the officer pressed, leaning forward with his notebook.

Callie thought for a moment and then began, “We were walking to the car. My…my boyfriend called, and I was talking to him…” She told the story slowly, pausing every few minutes to take a sip of the water the officer held for her. When she got to the part where the stranger started hitting her, her memory went blank and she paused. “I don’t really remember…anything after that.”

He nodded, frowning down at whatever he was writing. “You were knocked unconscious. Judging by that knot on your head, I’d say he banged your head against the concrete.” He stopped writing and looked up at her. “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?”

“Chris,” she responded. Then, “Is he here?”

“No,” he said and put away his notebook. “He’s at the station. When we got there we found your friend shot, you unconscious, and two men fighting.” The side of his mouth quirked up, and he said, “Well, one guy was fighting. The other guy was…winning. We arrested them both until we got a statement.” He stood and placed his hand gently on hers and said softly, “Your boyfriend is at the station, but the other guy had to be brought to the hospital. He’s in custody here, far away from you,” he assured her. His radio crackled and he removed his hand from hers to reach back and turn it down. “Apparently he fell down while he was running away and sustained quite a few injuries.”

Just then a doctor slid in between the curtains, her blue scrubs blending in perfectly with the fabric. “Officer, she needs some rest before we discharge her.” She eyed him warily before saying, “There are also some tests I need to run. If you’re finished here…” She gestured toward the open curtains.

He grinned at her and said, “Yeah, Doc, I’m done. Give us a call when the other woman wakes up. We’ll need her statement too.” He moved to leave, and Callie turned her attention to the doctor.

“Close the curtain on your way out,” the doctor called over her shoulder. She turned her head to make sure it was closed and then took the seat he’d vacated.

“Callie, I’m Doctor Sanders. I know you just gave your story to the officer, but I need to ask a couple of questions you may not have been comfortable discussing with him.”

Callie nodded, aware of what questions were coming. “I don’t think he raped me. He didn’t while I was conscious, but…”

Doctor Sanders nodded and said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he raped you either. Your jeans and shoes were still on when you arrived here. I doubt he undressed you, raped you, dressed you, and had time to get the crap beat out of him before the police got there. I would still like to do a rape kit, though. It takes a couple of hours.”

Callie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispered. Had he raped her? She didn’t think so, but could she be sure? Wouldn’t she feel something if he had?

Doctor Sanders stood and left the little room, and came back a few minutes later. “We’re moving you to a private room for the exam,” she explained.

Doctor Sanders and a young blonde nurse whose name tag identified her as Melissa pushed the bed down several hallways before arriving to a sterile white room. The doctor began to rummage in the bedside supplies until she pulled a white box out and efficiently snapped on some gloves. “Have you had sex in the past seventy-two hours during which your partner has ejaculated in your vagina, anus, or mouth either with or without some form of contraceptive?”

She didn’t look at Callie, for which she was eternally grateful. How embarrassing. “Yes,” she whispered.

The doctor sat down on a rolling stool and began getting the kit ready. “Which areas?”

Callie closed her eyes, certain her face was bright red. “Mouth only,” she whispered.

“I’ll need to get a sperm sample from your partner,” she said, adjusting Callie’s legs efficiently.

* * * *

Chris sat in the police station handcuffed to the row of chairs mounted in the wall. He seethed with frustrated anger, the vision of Callie limp and battered a constant torture in his mind. He needed to see her, verify for himself that she was okay. He’d tried his damnedest not to kill the son of a bitch, but a red haze had obstructed his vision, and he wasn’t entirely certain the cops had arrived in time to stop him.

“Yo, Morris!” A giant of a man called from across the station, gaining the attention of the officer in charge of filing the report. “Get the boyfriend to the hospital. They need a sample.”

“Will do,” the officer yelled back. He’d arrived less than thirty minutes ago, and informed Chris that Callie was awake and had only a few minor injuries. When Chris had asked why he was still handcuffed, the officer had sighed and responded, “The guy that attacked them is in critical condition. If he dies, I’m going to have to book you. If he lives,” he’d shrugged at this point, “then I think he probably took one hell of a fall when he was evading arrest.”

He finished writing and closed a folder before shoving into a desk drawer. He stood and pulled his handcuff key from his belt. “Let’s go, hotshot.”

Chris stood after the officer unlocked him and said, “What kind of sample?”

“Rape kit,” he responded. “If they find anything, they have to have a sample from you to rule you out.” He eyed the handcuffs for a moment before looking back at Chris. “You can do without these, right?”

At Chris’ nod, he latched them back to his belt. Chris clenched, unclenched his fists, and then asked through gritted teeth, “Did he rape her?”

“Eh, probably not,” the cop responded, leading Chris through a maze of desks to the side door they’d come in through. “It’s probably just a precaution because she was unconscious.”

A low, feral growl rose in his throat, and Chris suppressed the urge to do violence.

“Look, guy,” the cop said, stopping by the car, “I know what you’re feeling right now. I can tell you’re military, and pretty highly trained too. Am I right?” Chris jerked his head in a nod and he continued, “Thought so. But look, you beat the shit out of that guy. And even though there’s not a cop here that wants to see you go down for it, if you don’t tone it down our hands are gonna be tied. The bastard will probably live. Guys like that are like cockroaches. There’s a million of ’em, and they just won’t keel over. But you’ve got to get yourself under control.”

Chris closed his eyes and took several deep breaths trying to calm himself before biting out, “Understood.”

“Good. Let’s go.” The cop opened the back door and Chris slid in.

The ride to the hospital was short, probably no more than twenty minutes. When he’d asked if he’d be able to see Callie, Officer Morris had shaken his head with a murmured apology. Chris leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He rubbed his hands together and looked down in surprise when he realized they hurt. The knuckles were swelling and turning blue. Blood oozed from several cuts and scrapes.

“Had a nasty fall, did ya?” Officer Morris eyed him in the rearview mirror, and Chris nodded absently.

“Yeah. I fell. Caught myself with my knuckles.”

The hospital was noisy, doctors and nurses hurrying from one station to another, clipboards in hand. Chris was taken to a small, private room where they took saliva, skin, and hair samples before handing him a cup.

“Urine?” he asked.

“This one is for urine,” the nurse responded, handing him a larger cup. “The one with the yellow label is for semen.”

Chris blinked at her. He’d known what kind of sample they wanted, but faced with the reality he was having a hard time with it. There was a possibility his girlfriend had been raped. At the very least she’d been terrified and beaten. And they wanted him to jerk off?

He filled the urine cup easily. He’d had to piss at the police station, but no one had offered. The other cup took a little longer, though, because no matter how he tried to dispel the image of Callie being beaten and raped, he couldn’t.

He didn’t know how long he stood in there, jerking himself raw, before he finally was able to seal the little cup and put it in the sample tray they’d left on a table. He was endlessly grateful that the nurse had instructed him to leave it there instead of taking it to the desk. This was bad enough without having to hand a cup of his semen to a nurse.

Officer Morris was waiting for him when he left the room, sitting in a plastic chair in the waiting room reading a magazine.

He grinned at Chris and said, “Everything come out okay?”

Chris managed to crack a small smile at the joke, even though he didn’t feel even slightly amused. “Yep,” he responded. “What now?”

Officer Morris clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave the waiting area. “Seems the guy that attacked your girlfriend is gonna be okay. Doesn’t remember falling, but he’s a little fuzzy on some of the details. That’s understandable, though. It was a pretty nasty fall. He admitted to shooting the redhead and attacking your girlfriend. You’re free to go. We’ll be in touch, though.” With that, he walked away, adjusting his radio.

Chris looked around a little dazed. Spotting the nurse’s station at the end of the hall, he sprinted in that direction and asked for Callie’s room number. The nurse behind the desk typed a little in his computer before saying, “Doctor Sanders just released her about ten minutes ago.” He looked up at Chris and frowned. “She’s probably calling someone to give her a ride home. Sometimes the cops will do it, though.”

“Where would she be?” Chris asked, desperate to find her before she left.

“Probably in the ER,” he began, but Chris had sprinted off before he could finish.

He found her in the ER waiting room in a pair of blue scrubs. She was sitting in a chair, her hands in her lap and looking a little lost.

He swallowed against the choking feeling that rose in his throat and walked slowly toward her.

“Callie?” he called softly.

Her head jerked toward him and when she met his eyes her lips trembled.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms. She gripped him tightly and sobbed against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tortured with the knowledge that he hadn’t been there.

She continued to sob against him, soaking the fabric of his shirt, and he rocked her back and forth, murmuring what he hoped were comforting sounds.

After several long minutes her sobs quieted and she sniffed sloppily and said, “They had to keep my clothes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “I know, baby. We’ll go home and get you some more.”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “He didn’t rape me. They don’t think so, anyway. I don’t either. The doctor said…” She sniffled again, and her chin quivered before she continued shakily. “The doctor said it didn’t look like he made it that far. Maybe he just wanted to rob us.”

He took her face between his palms, trying to be as gentle as possible, but unsure if he was succeeding. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and said, “I know, baby.” He pulled her back into his arms, more for his comfort than hers this time.

A discreet cough came from behind him and Chris turned his head to see Officer Morris waiting a few feet away. He tensed instantly.

“Thought you might need a ride,” he explained. “I’ll take you home or back to the mall to get your vehicle. It’s up to you.”

Chris nodded and pulled away far enough to meet Callie’s eyes. “What do you want to do? Go home now, or go get my truck and go home?”