Page 94 of The Night Shift
I keep myself close to Holly as the three of us walk down the hallway towards the ER.
This is all my fault. That message had clearly asked her to come alone with the threat of turning her in to the police. If I hadn’t followed her to that decrepit building, if I had justlistenedfor once in my life, then perhaps she wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. I want to apologise, but I doubt my apologies are going to do Holly any good now. She doesn’t need apologies, she needs my help. I’m the one who got Holly into this mess. I need to be the one who gets her out of it as well.
The intern walks a few paces ahead of us, leading the way, while I stare at the back of Holly’s head. Her short blonde waves peek out of her loose bun, a few strands escaping to brush her shoulders. Her stethoscope is looped around her neck. Her hands are stuffed in the pockets of her lab coat, clenching and unclenching. She’s stressed. Of course, she is. So am I, but it’s best not to show it.
I lean in next to her. “I’m assuming you’re familiar with the Miranda Rights?”
Holly flinches a hair, her head snapping a fraction in my direction without breaking stride. “What?”
“Anything you say can and will be held against you.”
As expected, she shoots me her “shut the fuck up before I gouge your eyes out with my bare hands” glare.
Guilt winds its way around me, a tight vise around my throat. “Everything’s going to be fine, all right? Just stay calm and don’t speak without thinking twice.”
“If only you took your own advice, then you’d have a torso that hasn’t been stabbed by your coworker.”
“As charming as I find your sarcasm, this is exactly the kind of tone you cannot use in front of the police.” Not slowing down, I grab her arm and pull her close. “You cannot stab your way out of this one, Holly. Do you understand that? It is important to me that you understand that.”
Her eyes flick to where my fingers are wrapped around her, then to my lips, and back to my eyes. “You’re making me sound like Chucky.”
“Chucky isn’t nearly as terrifying as you. Nor as beautiful.”
Her eyes narrow in the way they do when she's trying to act annoyed, but beneath that mask, I swear I see a flicker of pink creeping up her neck. A blush, a genuine blush, just for me. The urge to reach out and trace the flush with my finger is overwhelming, but I clench my fist at my side. I need to behave. I have to focus on the task at hand.
She looks away. “Nobody is going to stab anyone. You’re being dramatic.”
“All your plans involve stabbing. Remember. Brute force is no substitute for diplomacy and guile.”
She gives me the middle finger. “Noted.”
We finally reach the ER to find everyone waiting for us. A few attendings, all the interns, some of the ER nurses, even one of the hospital security guards. Holly stands next to me. She shifts her weight from one foot to another, fidgeting with her pockets.
Her intern quickly scurries over to stand with the rest of the interns. Two men in suits flank Holly’s attending. One of them turns around to face us, his badge clearly visible on his chest. His eyes are narrowed as he slowly approaches us, his entire focus glued to Holly as if he’s trying to dissect her face and deduce all her secrets.
“You must be Miss Moore,” he says, holding out a hand. Holly doesn’t take it. Good girl. “Thank you for meeting with us. I’m Detective Grant and this is my partner, Detective Montgomery.”
The other guy nods curtly. “Hello.”
Holly’s brow furrows. “What is this about?” Her voice is too tight. Too defensive.
The one named Grant pulls out a picture from his jacket pocket and flips it around towards Holly. “Miss Moore, do you know this man?”
Frown deepening, she takes the picture. I watch her face closely. It takes all but two seconds for her confusion to turn into shock, then fear, and finally realization. Holly shakes her head and hands back the picture. “No.”
“His name is Josh Duvall,” the detective continues. “He was reported missing two days ago. We got an anonymous tip that you might know something about his whereabouts.”
Josh Duvall. The man from the bar. She buried him in the woods after slitting his wrists.
She swallows hard, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal searching for an exit. The others in the room are all looking at her with increased scrutiny. Unease coils in my gut.
“I'm sorry,” Holly says, shaking her head a little too quickly. “I don't know who this man is.”
The other detective, Montgomery, speaks up, his tone comparatively softer. “That's all right, ma'am. We're just following up on any leads we can find. Even if you don't recognize him, maybe you know something that could help us?”
Holly shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. “I wish I could, but really, I don’t know anything about this man. I’m sorry.”
I can practically taste the tension radiating off her body. Grant's eyes narrow, suspicion replacing the clipped politeness. "Miss Moore, where were you two nights ago, around eight?"
