Page 65 of Jackson
“The kid?” He looked baffled.
Her instinct was to shake him, but she held herself back and answered through gritted teeth. “No. Detective Cagney.” Mentally she added ‘moron.’
“Oh.” He shot her a puzzled look. “Cagney’s at Truman, and the kid’s at Children’s Mercy.”
Without a backward glance, she spun around and rushed to get her keys. Jackson was in the hospital, injured, and she needed to be by his side.
Paula rushed to her car in the department parking lot. She hadn’t bothered to put on her jacket, and a sudden cloudburst had her thin cotton blouse soaked before she reached her vehicle. Paula pressed the remote button on her key and jumpedinto her car. She had the Volkswagen Passat started and moving before she’d even fastened her seatbelt. She struggled with the clasp as she backed out of her parking place. As she reached the exit, she had to slam on her brakes to avoid colliding with a bike messenger who ignored a stop sign. Any other day she’d pull him over for a safety lecture. Paula passed a semi that was moving at a snail’s pace and had to brake again when the bonehead in front of her stopped for a yellow light. Who did that? She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for the light to turn green. Why did it have to take so long? The light changed, but the car in front of her didn’t move. What the— Paula slammed her hand against the horn, and the driver in front of her jerked. He started moving, and as soon as she could, Paula swung her car around him. She threw an angry glance at the driver through the side window only to see the asshole talking on his phone. No wonder his driving was so bad! Phones were distracting and had recently been made illegal to use while driving.
An eternity later, Paula drove the Passat into the parking garage at Truman Medical Center, relieved when she found an empty spot right away. She parked and reached the emergency department in under five minutes, which must have been a record.
Paula slowed her pace and marched up to the registration desk. “Good afternoon,” she said with a firm but polite tone. “Could you please tell me what room Jackson Cagney is in?”
“Mr. Cagney is in ICU,” the receptionist said. “You’ll have to find out up there if he’s allowed to have visitors.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Take the elevator at the end of the hall to the fourth floor. Turn left and follow the signs.
She arrived at another information desk at the entrance to the intensive care unit. Again, she asked for Jackson, and this time was directed inside to the nurse’s station. The ICU was fullof noise, and everyone seemed to be either in motion or on the phone. She went to the counter and drummed her fingers on the desk until the nurse finished her call and looked up.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Paula Stone. I’d like to see Jackson Cagney, please. Could you tell me what room he’s in?”
“I’m sorry. Only family is allowed at this time,” the petite woman said.
Paula gritted her teeth. Damn hospital privacy rules. She needed to be with him! “I’m his fiancée.” She hoped the nurse couldn’t tell it was a lie. The woman’s gaze slid to Paula’s hand, lingered on her bare fingers, and came up to her face. The nurse straightened her shoulders, and Paula braced for a rejection. Then a mischievous smile broke out on the woman’s face. “Of course, Detective Stone, Detective Cagney’s is in room 4045. I need to check in on him. Come this way.” She started heading down the hall and threw over her shoulder, “Head injury patients shouldn’t be left alone, regulations my ass. Make sure to get that ring on your finger before anyone else notices, otherwise we’re both in big trouble.”
Paula grinned at her, despite the grim situation, and followed the nurse to Jackson’s room. The woman in scrubs halted at the second glass door on the right in a wide hall and turned toward Paula. “Don’t be alarmed by the sight of him.”
Paula nodded—“Thank you”—and peered at the name badge—“Molly, I really appreciate this.”
Molly gestured. “Go on in. I’ll do a quick check of his vitals and then I’ll leave you alone with your fiancé.”
Despite Molly’s warning, Paula was shocked at the sight of him. His big, muscular body was splayed out on the bed, and he was covered by a thin blanket. An IV line was attached to his left hand, and wires ran from his chest to a monitor, and some kind of gizmo was attached to the end of his index finger. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, and his beautifulface was marred with two blackened eyes and a bandaged nose. Most shocking was a tube coming out of his chest that ran into a device half full of water.
“Oh, Jackson.” Paula rushed over to the side of the bed.
Molly adjusted Jackson’s IV and checked the readouts on the monitor before going to the computer to enter her notes. She turned to Paula and spoke quietly. “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet. We’re monitoring his vitals closely. Luckily, he’s young and in good shape. He wasn’t inside the building when the place went up, but he got hit by some debris trying to get clear of the house. His vest took the brunt of the impact or his injuries would be much worse. Because he was carrying the child, he couldn’t brace for the fall. The CT scan of his head didn’t show anything beyond his broken nose, so on that front things look good. He also has a pneumothorax—a collapsed lung—from a broken rib he sustained in the explosion. That’s been resolved without surgery, but the chest tube has to stay in until we’re sure his lung is properly inflating. Something hit his left thigh and fractured his femur. We’ve got it immobilized, but surgery will have to wait until he regains consciousness or we’re sure he’s stable.” Molly patted her shoulder. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.” She left and slid the door closed behind her.
Paula turned her attention back to Jackson.
“Damn it, Cagney. You need to wake up. We never went to that shibari class you promised me. I— I never told you that I love you.” Her voice broke and tears pooled in her eyes. She picked up his limp hand and held it to her cheek. “I need you, Jackson— Sir.” For the first time, Sir sounded right to her. She tried it again, feeling braver now. “I need you, and I love you, Sir. Please get better.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jackson woke to a pounding headache, a loud ringing in his ears, his entire body aching, and the touch of a hand on his. A deep, nauseating pulse battered at the base of his skull radiating outward, pressing behind his eyes like a vice.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, raw, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of dust and chemicals. Every breath burned, and his ribs ached like they’d been wrapped in steel bands, each inhalation a sharp stab.
His chest wouldn’t expand properly, like something heavy was pressing down on it, squeezing the air out of him.
Am I having a heart attack?
Where am I, and what happened?
He couldn’t remember anything. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy. He thought he heard a voice. Could it be Paula’s? Jackson pushed against the bone-deep tiredness that threatened to pull him under and strained to hear.
A muffled voice threaded through the static in his brain. He tried to latch onto it, to make sense of the words, but everything was jumbled.
