Lying on the bed, she took one deep breath after another until the pain subsided. Carefully, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and scrubbed her hand over her face. She felt grungy and dirty and she smelled of smoke.
Sighing, she levered herself off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, stopping only to grab the bag she'd packed. She was feeling shaky and knew she needed to get cleaned up and get something to eat. Cyndi flicked on the bathroom light and stared at the woman in the mirror.
Her hair was matted and dirty, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. She shuddered and turned away, grateful she'd stopped at home for a change of clothing. Everything she was wearing was only fit for the garbage.
Dumping the bag on the floor, she dug out her soap and shampoo, and placed them on the side of the tub. With great care, she eased off her sweater before removing the scrub top that the nurse had given her. She quickly toed off her sneakers and kicked them aside. Her jeans followed, leaving her totally bare. Underwear and socks hadn't been a priority last night.
Turning to the shower, she flicked on the taps and adjusted the water to the right temperature before stepping into the spray. She knew that she probably shouldn't get her bandage wet, but she didn't care. She needed to be clean.
She did her hair first, shampooing it three times before she was satisfied that it was clean. Her body was next. She soaped herself from head to toe, which took a while because she was suddenly very aware of a myriad of aches and pains all over her body. The water ran cold before she was truly satisfied, but she wasn't about to stand in the shower and shiver.
Twisting the taps, she stopped the flow of water. She stepped out onto the thin bathmat, grabbed one of the towels, and wrapped it around her body. The second towel, she wrapped around her wet hair. A quick glance in the mirror, assured her that she looked slightly better than she had. The main thing was she felt better.
Cyndi dug around in her bag and found her moisturizer. Taking her time, she smoothed it on her skin from her face to her feet. That done, she pulled on underwear. The panties were easy, the bra a bit trickier with her bad arm.
The adhesive around the edges of the bandage had loosened, so she tugged it off. The wound looked red and raw, but it would heal. She'd have to stop at the drugstore and pick up some gauze and adhesive tape to recover it. Or maybe she'd use that as an excuse to drop by the hospital.
She'd packed jeans and a few t-shirts. If she'd been thinking, she would have packed blouses instead. Buttons would have been easier to deal with then dragging a shirt over her head. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the shirt on over her head and eased her bad arm into it. She was sweating slightly by the time she'd gotten her socks and shoes on, but she felt much better than she had when she'd awakened.
It didn't take her long to dry her hair and slick on some lip balm. No makeup for her. She didn't normally wear much more than mascara and some concealer anyway, but today she was in a hurry and too tired to care.
Cyndi gathered up her dirty clothes, and dumped them in the garbage pail. Her bag, she carried back into the room and lay it on the bed. Sinking down to the mattress, she grabbed her purse and rummaged around until she found her cell phone. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Then, she placed a call to the hospital.
The voice on the other end was polite, but could only tell her that the patient was stable. Cyndi thanked the woman and ended the call. She sat there, staring at her phone, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying. A part of her wanted to storm into the hospital and demand her right to be with Shamus. But that wouldn't endear her to either his family or the hospital staff. They'd expect Cynthia James to do something like that.
All she could do was patiently wait until Shamus was conscious and asked for her or called her. He had her number. She glanced at her phone and groaned. It was almost out of power and her charger was home on her nightstand. She'd better run out to the house again today and get a few more things.
Her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch. It was just after one o'clock in the afternoon. She'd slept for a couple hours, but hadn't eaten since supper last night. She thought about getting some room service, but decided that was cowardly. She'd done nothing wrong.
Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door. She'd go to the diner for a late breakfast and stop at the pharmacy to pick up some supplies before she ran by the house. Then, she was going to the hospital again. Maybe Shamus would be awake enough to want to see her by then.
Filled with determination, Cyndi grabbed her purse and left the room, locking it behind her. The air had changed since this morning, turning crisp, almost cold—a reminder that it was almost the end of October. She hadn't thought to pack a jacket. Something else she needed to remember when she stopped by the house.
Cyndi glanced around, but the parking lot was quiet as she hurried to her car. For some reason, she felt extremely nervous, like someone was watching her.
"Shake it off. Everything is fine,” she assured herself. Still, she couldn't rid herself of the feeling. She kept her eyes open as she drove, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Unless, of course, you counted the fact that someone was obviously trying to drive her out of town, if not outright kill her.
Her stomach lurched, and she tightened her hands on the wheel. She didn't know what to do. She wanted to stand and fight, but wondered if it was the right thing to do. Shamus had been shot because she hadn't left. Whatever she was going to do, she'd have to decide soon. The attacks were escalating. Who knew what would happen next?
She lucked in to a parking spot just down and across the street from Jessie's. Climbing out, she slung her purse over her good arm and looked both ways before she started across the street. The sound of an engine roaring to life reached her, and she glanced up in time to see a large, dark pickup bearing down on her.
She thought she heard someone yell out her name.
For a second, she froze. Then survival instinct kicked in and she threw herself back. She almost made it. The driver swerved toward her, clipping her with the front right fender. She careened off another parked car before falling to the pavement.
It all happened so fast that she didn't even have time to scream. Tires squealed. Several people yelled and she moaned as she tried to roll onto her back.
"Don't move."
She must have hit herself harder than she'd thought if she was hallucinating that Shamus was leaning over her.
"Hi.” She smiled as she reached up her hand to stroke his face. It was too hard though and her hand fell back down to the ground with a thud. “They won't let me see you, but I'm coming back to the hospital anyway.” His gorgeous, blue-gray eyes darkened with fear and she hurried to reassure him. “I won't let them keep me away,” she promised.
"How is she?” Patrick's face appeared next to Shamus and she frowned. She didn't want him in her hallucination.
"I'm not sure."
Shamus appeared pale; sweat beading on his forehead. Reality slammed back into her. This was real. Someone had just tried to run her over. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in hospital.” She struggled to sit up, but he held her down easily with one hand.
"Just lie still."
She glared at Patrick. “Why aren't you taking care of him?"
Patrick flashed her a quick grin, although the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm doing my best here."
"Try harder."
His gray eyes narrowed as he gave her a curt nod. He turned as one of his deputies came up to him. “We've got a witness."
An older woman stood next to him, her face pale, but composed. Cyndi recognized her immediately. “I know you.” Her voice was slightly slurred, but she pushed on. “You're the woman from the hardware store.” What had Shamus said her name was? “Sadie Hargrove.” That was it. Why was it so hard for her to think?