Splashdown: A Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 3) (19 page)

He was doing something wrong. He knew that. He’d tried to give Sharee to God, but hadn’t completely. Was that why this had happened? John leapt from the truck, slammed the door and dashed into the emergency room. All Rich had said was that she’d been shot.

The waiting room was quiet, cool, and foreboding. John grimaced and approached a woman sitting behind an office window.

“I’m Sharee Jergenson’s husband. She came in with a gunshot wound. Where is she?”

The woman pulled papers from a stack to her left. “We’re going to need some information.”

“After I see her, I’ll come back. Where is she?”

The woman pointed at a door. “Third cubicle on the left. Wait. Let me get the door for you.”

He heard a click, and the door swung open. An antiseptic smell engulfed him. Quick steps brought him to the third cubicle. He pulled the curtain back and stared at the empty bed. Fear cratered in his gut. Where was she?

He had to find someone, to find out where she was. As he swung back around, something caught his eye. He moved next to the pillow. The red smear on the white cloth sent a wave of weakness through him. She had a head wound?

He took a step back then slammed his fist down on the bedside table.
“Where were you?”
The question, along with his anger, hurtled to heaven.
“Where were you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He spun around, arms falling to his side, fists clenched still. “Where is she?”

An older woman in scrubs stared at him. “The patient for this room?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re?”

He steeled his voice. “Her husband. She’s been shot.”

The woman nodded. “They’ve taken her for an MRI. Please be patient. They had to treat the wound, and now they’ve taken her to X-ray.”

“I want to see her.”

“They’ll bring her back when they’re through.”

“Now. I want to see her now.”

“Mr. …

“Jergenson.”

“I know this is stressful, but you will only interfere with the test. Please wait here.”

He swallowed the words that jumped to his mind and instead asked, “How long?”

“I’m not sure. Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He turned back to the bed, clenching and unclenching his hands. The red smear of blood met his eyes.

“Would you like something?”

“What?” His head shot back her way.

“Would you like me to bring you something? A drink?”

Again, he forced control of his voice. “No. Thank you. I just need to see my wife.”

“I understand your concern, Mr. Jergenson. I’ll try to find some information for you.”

“Thank you.”

He turned once more to the bed, his eyes focused on the stain. After a minute, he sat in the chair, ran his hands through his hair, lowered his head and prayed.

The minutes ticked by, and with the minutes, the knowledge that he still needed to release her to God. But with that knowledge came the other—he had no assurance of what God would do. Could he let go and let God have his way?

John stood and paced the small cubicle. Pain sharpened inside his chest. He pulled the curtain closed and sat back in the chair.

He’d done this two years ago when he re-surrendered his life to God, he’d surrendered Sharee, too. Whatever you want, he’d told God, and he’d meant it—at the time.

You’re asking me to do this again? Why?
The silence overpowered him. Could he do it again?

He groaned and rubbed his hand down his face. God had the best way. Always had; always would. But at this moment, it was hard to believe. He wanted to slam his hand on the bedside table again and demand his own way. Let her live; make her whole—as if that would move God.

What moved God was faith, and the only faith he had right now was in knowing that God was real and that God loved him—and loved Sharee. He sat with his heart frozen, and his desires fighting the release he knew needed to happen.

Time passed with agonizing slowness. He slid to the floor, both knees touching, head bowed. Tears clouded his vision.
Whatever you want, Lord, whatever you want. I give her to you.

The release left him calm, but empty. The cold room enveloped him. He stayed there, not moving, not thinking anymore.

Someone yanked on the curtain. His head jerked up, and he stood as they wheeled the gurney into the room. Copper curls splayed across the pillow.

“Sharee?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “John?” Relief flooded her voice, and she reached for him.

***

Rich leaned on the wall near the door of the hospital room, ostracized by the look in Lynn’s eyes. Her bandaged shoulder, the proliferation of IV’s, and the hospital gown made her look frail and delicate. It rocked his gut as much as seeing her tied to the chair did the day before.

Keith stood beside the bed taking her statement, ending just as Lynn’s strength seemed to fade. She closed her eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Keith finished writing and flipped his notebook closed. He looked at Rich and nodded toward the door.

“We’ll let you rest now, Ms. Stapleton.”

Lynn said nothing. Rich noted her pale exhaustion. Keith went by him, his eyes on Rich’s face, and indicated the door again. Rich slipped out after him.

Keith turned. “Leave the girl alone. It’s obvious she doesn’t want to see you.”

Rich tightened his fists. “Mind your own business.”

“It’s department business. We need her testimony. We need what she can give us, and she’s in a bad way right now. Don’t make it worse. Whatever happened between you two has got to wait.”

“Nothing happened. That’s—”

Keith snorted. “Give it up, Rich. Something happened. Stay away. Let me handle this.”

“Look, I’m hanging out here whether you like it or not. Someone tried to kill her. Kill them both. I’m not leaving until we know more.”

“The only way we’ll find out more is if we can trace the partial on the guy’s plate. The waiter gave us the first three numbers, that’s it. If Sharee Jergenson comes around soon...” Keith studied him a little longer. “Stay as a guard, but stay out of her room. I’ll go see how Sharee’s doing.” He sauntered down the hall.

Rich watched him disappear before he stepped back into Lynn’s doorway. A truckload of thoughts and feelings had tugged at him since he left her at the crime scene yesterday. Before that, he’d spent days balancing each argument against the other, tossing them into the air to look at them, knowing when they came down he had to make a decision.

Could the relationship continue on her terms? Only, he had argued with himself, if he saw some possible future in it. But he had dismissed that type of future when his mother deserted their family. He knew he’d made the right decision when his sister appeared at his apartment two years ago. Her husband had walked out, leaving his sister and their two-month-old baby without funds or other means of support. Marriage, he’d told himself then, was a gamble at best. And he did not gamble.

So, he juggled the decision about Lynn—leave and let her play this game with someone else or stay and walk a line he hadn’t in a long time. Her faith challenged him. She appeared to live it—as did Sharee and John—something new to him. Church people living their faith.

His mother had been a Christian, and he and his sister had followed in her footsteps. Both had accepted God’s offer of salvation before they hit middle school. Then their mom had left with a man from the church, and he’d never set foot inside again.

He studied Lynn’s pale features, and his heart squeezed. She’d made the decision herself obviously, and that solved his dilemma. No relationship, no future. Now they could both move on.

Seeing her tied up yesterday had tugged feelings upward from a depth he hadn’t known he had. Cradling her in his arms when she fainted brought more. Follow that with her rejection of him—first in her eyes and then in that physical push—well, he’d forced himself to walk out and told himself to forget her. He didn’t need this in his life.

Of course, that decision hadn’t lasted long. He’d wanted to make sure she was okay, but she hadn’t answered his calls—until this morning. And she’d hung up on him.

Her eyes opened and settled on him. His heart jerked. After a moment, she closed her eyes. A tear slipped from behind her eyelid. She turned her head as if to hide it, and he moved to her bedside.

“Lynn.”

She shook her head.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head again. Another tear started down her cheek. He touched it with his finger, and he felt the pain go through her.

“I care for you,” he said and wondered where that came from.

Another tear. Still, she did not open her eyes. Her resistance slapped him.

“Okay.” He inhaled and shoved his feelings down. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything you forgot to tell Keith? We need to catch this guy.”

She swallowed and opened her eyes. Her gaze slid away from his. She cleared her throat. “He was going to shoot Sharee again. He drove up to make sure. He tried to shoot me, but…I think…he wanted to make sure Sharee was dead.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because he pulled forward to get a better shot. He pointed the gun at her, and I jumped up and screamed.”

“You what?”

“I jumped up, swung my purse and yelled at him.”

His chest compressed. “You made yourself a target?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose? That’s when you got shot.” When she said nothing, he leaned forward. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You almost got yourself killed.” He heard the roughness in his voice, felt his throat tighten.

“I had to do something. He was going to shoot Sharee.”

He made no comment. She’d risked her life for her friend’s. He’d thought that kind of loyalty was there. Now he knew for sure. He tapped down the emotion that her statement had caused. Now was not the time…

Something didn’t fit. The same woman who almost fainted at the homeless camp—who did faint yesterday and again today as someone had said—she’d jumped in front of a gunman?

“Tell me something. How do you explain having enough guts to step into someone’s line of fire and the fact that you faint at the drop of a hat? I’m seeing two different people here, and I’m having trouble understanding it.”

Lynn frowned at him but said nothing.

“Are you going to explain this to me? You jumped into this man’s line of fire swinging a
purse
?”

“You don’t have to believe me.”

“Well, that’s a good thing.”

The scowl she wore deepened. “You asked what I hadn’t told Detective Carpenter, and I told you.”

“I’m just trying to figure this out. There’s a disconnect somewhere. I want to know what it is.”

She turned her head away.

“Tell me you have a physical problem or something. A heart condition, whatever, that causes you to faint, because this does not make sense.”

“That’s not it, and it’s none of your—”

“Right. That’s not it, is it? So what is?”

She stared at him belligerently, her jaw tight, but after a moment, she straightened. “Okay. You want the truth? My mother was killed when I was six. Her boyfriend—
her abusive boyfriend
—shot her four times. Good enough for you?”

He straightened and nodded. An abusive boyfriend. Now things were beginning to make sense. “Okay.”

“We planned to leave that night, run away. He must have found out. I was just home from school, just walked from the bus stop, and I heard the shots.” She stopped and swallowed. “I ran into the house, screaming for Momma. He’d said before that if we ever tried to leave, he would kill us both; but when I ran in the front, he ran out the back. She…she was in the hall. Blood everywhere. I ran through it to get to her. I slipped…I …” Tears slid down her cheeks.

He watched the tears and didn’t know what to say. The woman tugged more emotion from him than he’d felt in years. He sat on the bed and gathered her into his arms. She jumped when he touched her, but then she put her head against his chest and cried.

In a moment, she sniffed and tried to draw away. “I fell in the blood. It was all over me. I have nightmares still.”

“It’s all right. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
God, help her.

“I faint sometimes when I see blood.” Her voice picked up its belligerence again. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s all right, Lynn. I’m sorry.” He studied her wet face as she drew away. “The man who did this. Did they catch him?”

“No. They never caught him. He just disappeared.”

“So when you met Victoria, and she gave you her story, you understood what she was talking about.”

“That’s why I hated to think her husband might get away with killing her.” She dropped her head. “But, that wasn’t the case, anyway.”

“I have news. Marianne Stablowski became a PI after divorcing an abusive husband.”