“You have plans?”
“I want to go to the hospital, check on Bobby.”
When they reached the footbridge arching over Park Street, Sylvie stopped and spun to face him. “What if we’re looking at this from the wrong angle entirely?”
She’d lost him. He was still recovering from her attorney question. “What do you mean?”
“What if this doesn’t have anything to do with Ed Dryden or Diana? What if Bobby was the real target in the attack?”
“So why kidnap her?”
“To hurt him? Say there’s someone with a grudge against Bobby…”
She was grasping at straws again, and the path of her thoughts became as clear as if she’d drawn them on a map. “You’re thinking about Detective Perreth.”
“For whatever reason, he seems to hate Bobby. They worked together, I guess. So let’s say Perreth wants to get back at him for something. What better way than to attack him and kidnap Diana? God, he’s even trying to blame the whole thing on her. That would really tear Bobby apart.”
Bryce figured Sylvie wouldn’t want to hear it, but he had to speak up anyway. “Seems a little extreme.”
“Why? Because he’s a cop?”
“For starters.”
“Some cops think the law doesn’t apply to them.”
“Maybe some do. But I haven’t met them. And I’ve dealt with a lot of cops.”
“Maybe you’ve only dealt with good ones. There are bad people out there too. And some of them are cops.”
“Listen, I agree that Perreth is no gem. But I still think Diana’s connection to Ed Dryden is too strong to ignore.”
“You’re probably right. But I’m not discounting any possibilities.” She raised her chin. Her lower lip appeared to quiver slightly, but she caught it between her teeth before he could tell for sure.
The gesture dug into Bryce’s chest like a dull and rusty blade. What was he thinking? Ed Dryden wasn’t the only possibility. There were others. One came to mind immediately. “You know, of the people we talked to today, I’d be inclined to believe Red is our best bet.”
“Louis Ingersoll?” Sylvie’s brows pulled together. “He likes Diana.”
“A little too much, don’t you think?”
“You think he was stalking her?”
Bryce shrugged. “When she disappeared, she was about to marry another man—a man Ingersoll didn’t think was worthy of her.”
Sylvie looked up at him with wide eyes. “If Perreth is as innocent as you say—and that’s still an if in my mind—do you think he knows about Louis?”
“I’ll give him a call.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem.”
“I mean really. Thank you. I know you don’t have to help me with any of this. And I know I don’t say it much. But I’ve really appreciated it.”
“So is that thanks a way of telling me goodbye or will you let me drive you to the hospital?”
Sylvie paused for a moment, then broke into a wisp of a smile that made the night even more beautiful. “Why not? You’re cheaper than Uber.”
Sylvie
Sylvie convinced Bryce to drop her off, park the car, and try to call Perreth at least once more before risking probable cell phone interference within the hospital.
Really, she just wanted a few moments alone.
As it worked out, she had more than a few. Two of the three elevators were closed for repairs during the late hours, so instead of waiting for the remaining one, she’d climbed five flights of stairs to the ICU. Once there, she was stopped at the nurse’s station by a uniformed police officer.
“And you are…” he said.
“Bobby’s sister-in-law. Or at least, I was supposed to be. He and my sister...”
The officer gave her a kind smile. “Do you have identification with you?”
“Yes.” She dug in her purse, finally locating her Illinois driver’s license. Wincing at the awful picture, she handed it to the officer.
After examining it, the officer turned her over to a nurse who warned her that Bobby had been put into a medically induced coma, led her into a cubicle separated from the rest of the ICU, and pulled a curtain across the open door.
Sylvie had thought she was prepared.
She was wrong.
Swathed in white, with tubes snaking everywhere, black hair shaved clean, and face pale and lifeless as wax, Bobby barely looked human. It was as if the Bobby she knew had disappeared right along with Diana.
Sylvie touched a spot of skin on his hand that was IV-needle free. She’d heard stories about how people in comas could hear, just not respond. She knew she should talk to him. Say something. But she had no idea what. She had no good news to tell him. And if he really could hear her, he didn’t need to know the bad.
“Ms. Hayes?” A woman in a white coat pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the cubicle. “I’m Dr. Afton.”
After some hand shaking and a few pleasantries Sylvie didn’t have the patience for, the doctor got down to business.
“Tests indicate we were able to stop the bleeding in his brain,” the doctor explained. “I don’t expect long-term problems, but we’re still watching him carefully at this point.”
“When will he regain consciousness?”
“The best thing for him to do is to sleep and heal. If everything continues to go well, it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Tears stung Sylvie’s eyes. She’d never really thought of Bobby as family, but that’s what he would be right now if the wedding had gone as planned.
God knew he’d gone out of his way to include her and to encourage her and make her feel she belonged, as much as possible anyway. When Diana had walked into her life, Sylvie had gained not only a sister, but a brother. An actual blood-related family.
And now she might lose it all.
“Will you have someone call me when he wakes up? I left my number at the nurses’ station.”
“Of course.” The doctor glanced at her watch and stepped toward the curtain.
“Thank you.”
A nurse padded in on rubber soles as the doctor slipped out. “Ms. Hayes, we received a call at the nurses’ station that you’re to meet someone in the lobby. A Bryce Walker?”
“Thanks.” Why hadn’t Bryce come up? Had he found out Perreth had arranged for Bobby to have police protection and just wanted to give her time alone? Or was it something else?
Sylvie turned back to the bed, embarrassed by how relieved she felt to have a reason to leave. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m not very good at this kind of thing. But everything’s going to work out. I’ll make sure of it.”
She walked out of the ICU and down the long hall. Barely glancing at the disabled elevators, she headed directly for the stairs. She pulled the steel stairwell door open. The odor of new paint hit her again, just as strong as it had on her trip up.
Seemed as though the whole city was undergoing some kind of construction, a frantic last push before winter set in.
Sylvie started down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the first flight, a thunk from above echoed off cement walls. Apparently, someone else was as impatient as she was, paint smell or no.
She continued down the next flight. Above, the sound of footsteps echoed her own. Perfectly matched. As if whoever had entered the stairwell was doing it on purpose.
No, that was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
Of course, it was. Paranoia was setting in big time. Not surprising after all she’d been through in the last few hours, but ridiculous nonetheless. Still…
Sylvie slowed her pace.
The footsteps slowed, still matching hers.