Page 3 of Reconciling the Consequences

Pain radiated across her body. It was the first thing Kara Carmichael knew as she struggled to consciousness. Her body felt heavy, her head cloudy.

There was an incessantbeeping that felt like it was driving a spike through her head.

She struggled to open her eyes, her lids heavy.

The beeping increased.

She groaned and her heart raced as she began to panic. Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Everything hurt.

The noise was driving her crazy. She wanted to throw something at whatever was making it.

She snapped her eyes open and took a deep breath. She looked around: white room, lots of monitors. Hospital.

The door to her right opened, and she turned her gaze that way. “Afternoon Miss Kara,” an older black woman greeted with a smile. “Great to see you awake. How we doing today?”

Kara took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “Hurts,” she answered with a heavy rasp. “Water.”

“I imagine it would, dear,” the woman continued. “My name is Momma. I’ll be taking care of you. Why don’t we get you sitting up and we can call the doctor. We can see about getting you some ice chips until then.”

She bustled about, tending to machines and wires. Once Kara was sitting, Momma took her blood pressure. “That handsome young man just left. He’s been here the last three days, not leaving you for anything.”

Kara’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Buzzed black hair, full goatee, soulful chocolate eyes, muscles and tattoos for days,” Momma drawled, a smirk on her face.

Kara cracked a smile. “My brother.”

“That’s what he said.” She grinned. “Like I said, he just left a bit ago, but that man has been by your side the last three days straight.”

Kara frowned, thinking about everything that happened. Her eyelids felt heavy again and instead of fighting it, she went with it.

The next day, Kara sighed after the doctor left. Her prognosis was good, all things considered. The drainage tube in her chest could be removed—she’d passed his coughing test for her lungs. The bandage on her chest had been replaced with a clean one, as had the one on her left knee—it was currently elevated with pillows and a large immobilizing brace.

Her right wrist was in a cast as well as her thumb, pinky, and ring fingers. She had landed a punch wrong on Randall Diggins’s face when he had attacked her, breaking her last two fingers. The fall down the basement stairs broke her wrist and several ribs—one punctured her lung. And judging by the jagged cut she’d received on her left forearm, she might have snagged a nail on the stairs during her fall. The nasty looking wound had required twenty stitches to close.

She hadn’t looked at her face yet, but it hurt. She vaguely remembered a knee to the nose. Her concussion had been mild she was told, and her nose hadn’t been broken, so she’d take that as a win.

She had been unconscious in the hospital for three days. Today was the fourth day of her stay, and the doctor said he wanted to keep her for observation for another two or three days.

Kara had agreed. She had no idea the state of home—she vaguely remembered the smoke and fire. She wondered if she even had a home to go back to. Even then, it wasn’t safe. Randall Diggins might be dead—she hoped he was dead—but it didn’t change the fact that her father had hired his goon to kill her.

After he had warned her off poking further into Case Holdings and the Granger case, and called her a whore, he hadstillhired someone to kill her. Whatever she was going to find digging into Mac Taylor and Case Holdings, her fatherdid notwant her to uncover.

It only made her want to dig deeper. Now that she didn’t have to worry about going against her father—since he’d made it clear that his loyalties lay only with himself—she was free to continue to dig.

And dig she would.

As soon as she got out of the hospital.

She sighed and racked her brain, trying to think of everything she remembered from that night. She needed a pen and paper. She hit the call button for the nurse. “Yes dear?” Momma’s smooth voice came through the intercom.

“Momma, can you bring me a pen and paper please?”

“Of course, dear.”

Kara stared down at the notepad in front of her. On one page she wrote out her multiple injuries. She even had Momma take pictures and email them to Kara’s private email. She didn’t have her phone any longer, but she could check her email when she got her things back.

She listed out the surgeries she had needed and the recovery time she was looking at, the physical therapy she would be starting once she hit the fourteen-day post-surgery mark for her knee. Then she started listing the things she remembered about the fight. She recalled thinking her Chinese food was being delivered only for the front door to open before she could reach it.

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