Page 61 of All the Missing Pieces

“Are you cold?” Dr. Sapra asked.

I shook my head but immediately realized my mistake. My vision swam, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. The combination had nausea rising on its heels as I gripped the blanket tighter.

“Let me get some antinausea meds into that IV,” she said, moving to a corner of the small ER room, where a syringe was already prepared. In a matter of seconds, she was sliding the needle into the tubing connected to my arm. “This should take effect almost immediately.”

“Praise all the angel kittens,” I muttered.

As if she knew what I was talking about, Tater let out an angry meow from the carrier she was in. But I would take the indignant anger. I was just glad she was safe and that one of the reporting deputies had a cage in the back of their SUV.

Dr. Sapra made a cooing noise at the carrier. “Poor little thing isn’t used to being in a crate.”

“Definitely not. Princess Tater usually runs the show.”

The doctor chuckled. “Well, you need to be quiet, Miss Tater, or our hospital will get in trouble if anyone reports your presence.”

“Thanks for looking the other way.” It wasn’t like I had any friends or family close who could come get her, and if I had to stay the night, I knew Tater would be forced into a shelter.

“Cat? What cat?” Dr. Sapra asked with a smile.

There was a knock on the door, and she crossed to it, opening it quickly. A young man was there. “Ridley Bennett's MRI results are in her file, and there’s someone here who says he’s family?—”

The nurse was cut off by Baker shoving past him and Dr. Sapra. “Ridley. Jesus. What the hell happened?” He strode across the room to my bedside. “Are you okay?”

I gaped at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“You were giving me the runaround, so I decided to come check on you in person, but when I got to the campsite, it wascrawling with cops. They wouldn’t tell me a damn thing, but you weren’t there, and you hadn’t called our lawyer, so I started calling hospitals.” His gaze dropped to my throat, and I knew there had to be marks there.

“I’m okay, really,” I assured him, but my voice was so raw it didn’t exactly sound convincing.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Dr. Sapra said as she strode to the computer in the corner. “Do you want this gentleman here? I can call security if not.”

Baker let out an indignant huff, his gray eyes flashing. “Do you know who I am?”

I wanted to crawl under the covers. Who actually said that? “Bake, you sound like a badly written Bond villain. Please just be chill.”

Dr. Sapra chuckled. “I’m taking that as a reluctant yes.”

“He can stay,” I muttered.

“All right.” Her fingers flew across the computer’s keyboard as she brought up a chart and images, humming as she looked at everything.

“I told you this case was a bad idea,” Baker said, pitching his voice low.

I scowled at him. “You thought there was nothing here. But there obviously is if someone’s trying to strangle me over the trash cans.”

“It’s not funny,” he snapped.

“I didn’t say that it was. Just that there’s something here, and I’m not being scared off.” Especially when it meant I might finally have the answers I so desperately needed—answers that possibly meant Avery could rest once and for all.

“There are no signs of a traumatic brain injury on the MRI,” Dr. Sapra interrupted.

“See?” I pressed.

The doctor shook her head. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Eighty percent of TBIs don’t show up on MRIs or CAT scans.”

“What’s the point in doing one then?” I groused.

Dr. Sapra sent me a patient smile. “We’d want to know if you had a brain bleed of any sort.”

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