Page 35 of Little Sunshine

She still wouldn’t look at me. “Nothing.”

“This sure as shit isn’t nothing.” At her silence—not to mention her refusal to go to the hospital—my mind started going. And I fucking hated the direction it went. Because if she’d been in a car crash and didn’t want to get checked out… “You drunk?”

That made her eyes snap to meet mine. “I don’t drink.”

“High?”

“Never.” She was back to scrambling as she hurriedly stood before freezing. Her face contorted from the pain. “I need to go.”

“Yeah. To the damn doctor.”

She lost what little color she had, but it didn’t stop her from taking a step toward the door.

“Christ, sit back down.”

“No hospital,” she hissed out through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Sit.”

She gave a stubborn lift of her chin. “I mean it.”

“So do I.” I held up three fingers in a scout’s sign. “Scout’s honor.”

Her brow rose before she winced again. “You weren’t a Boy Scout.”

“Sure, I was.” When she just eyed me, I added, “For three whole weeks.”

“And then?”

“And then I realized they had too many rules. Now sit.”

“Talk about too many rules,” she muttered even as she sat and practically melted into the couch. Her head rested against the back, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I’d had more than enough concussions to know she shouldn’t be asleep. “You’ve gotta stay awake, or I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“You promised,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Tell me what happened.” When she didn’t answer, I prodded, “Tell me, little girl.”

She didn’t take the bait. There was none of the attitude she’d tossed my way in the food court. Instead, she remained stubbornly silent.

“Let me see if there’s a first-aid kit around here,” I said.

She made a small murmur of acknowledgment—or a pained noise—as she lifted her feet onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her bent legs.

Christ. She looked even more frail sitting like that, curled into herself.

Going into the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I needed. The call connected, and I kept my voice low. “May, it’s Ash Cooper. I need the doc at Moonlight now.”

I gave Dr. Pierce’s wife—who also worked as his receptionist for off-the-book cases—more info about my mystery woman’s injuries and refusal to go to the hospital before clicking off. After I texted Miles to wait in the front lobby for him, I dug in the storage cabinets for the basic kit and grabbed some damp paper towels.

When I returned to my office, she was still in the same position. Her breathing was even, but her mouth was set to a scowl even as she slept.

She shouldn’t be asleep, but I didn’t wake her yet. I kept my touch light, barely grazing as I felt around for a wallet or ID.

Nothing.

I used my phone to check my usual sources for reports of a crash or abandoned car.

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