Page 73 of Her Only Hero

The nurse bustled over to him. “Are you in pain, David?”

He cracked his eyes open. “Need mem-mory,” he mumbled.

“We have given you morphine, David. You’ll remember things just fine later. Try to rest,” she said.

He became still again. His face relaxed in slumber.

“He’s out cold,” I said.

“Dr. Crawford prescribed enough morphine to knock out an elephant. He’ll have a good sleep.” The nurse checked the IV infusion pump.

“Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

When I arrived at Patrick’s place, I couldn’t recall the drive. I dropped my handbag in the doorway and trudged through the house, removing my clothes as I walked, and leaving them where they landed. Upstairs, I turned on the shower and let the hot water consume me until I couldn’t tolerate the heat anymore. I shut the water off and stepped out of the stall, but no bath towel hung on the rack. Like a wet duck, I plodded into the bedroom. I crawled under the covers on Patrick’s side of the bed. His scent soothed better than any essential oil.

Rest. I needed rest.

The worst was over.

Everything would be okay.

Chapter Thirty-Three

My mobile phone rang, and it startled me awake. I pushed damp hair out of my eyes and groped the bedsheets for my phone.

“Hey, Patrick,” I said sleepily.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m all right, just had a nap.” I heard repeated tapping. “Are you running?”

“Yeah. Jogging to my car,” he said. “Can you be ready to go out in an hour?”

“Yes. Is something going on?”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sure. I’ll fill you in when I see you. Trust me, babe.”

“I trust you.”

I dropped my head back onto the pillow. Where was Patrick going to take me? It’d give me a chance to fill him in on my earlier escapade at the hospital.

I couldn’t figure out Dr. Crawford’s rationale for searching for David Moreno’s medication list. Why would he need it? He could easily do bloodwork and treat David as needed. And he and Dr. Fulthorpe shared a practice. I assumed they could access each other’s files. It would be easy for Dr. Crawford to find out what meds David was on.

I had to get moving and threw off the covers. Less than perfectly, I made the bed and dressed in black yoga pants and a sage tunic. After brushing, I clipped my hair into a ponytail. I took Patrick’s computer from the night table, leaned against the headboard, and turned it on. I had enough time for a quick browse before he showed up.

I clicked on the file containing the saved names from the flash drive and wondered if David Moreno’s name was on thelist. Not that I would know the significance of it, even if it appeared. I scrolled down in expectation, wanting to call Bingo. But page after page, I found no matches. No win for this idea.

From the icons on the screen, I chose the solitaire game and started moving cards around. I transferred a red onto a black, a black onto red. I lost interest in playing as my mind drifted.

Patient ID numbers. Answers had to be with those patient ID numbers.

Why were these names on a stick? Who were they? Why would someone put a flash stick in the ceiling? Did it belong to my landlord? As far as I knew, he was a retired lawyer. Maybe it was his. I didn’t think he’d mind if I called him.

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