Armed With Steele by Kyra Jacobs Page A

of Fabreeze, and headed for the door.
    Contrary to everything I’d been told, Metzler, much to my dismay, was exactly like a nursing home. Only, without the elderly people. Still, it gave me an instant case of the creeps. The walls were a drab custard yellow, the carpets outdated, and the smell of sanitizer hung heavy in the air.
    The nurse who led me back to Grace’s room seemed nice enough, though. She rambled the entire walk about all the updates they’d made to the facilities over the past few years. I just nodded, smiled, and tried not to imagine how much worse it’d looked before.
    Nurse Kathryn led me to the last room in wing three. “This is it!” she said, then stepped inside and swept her hand out in classic Vanna style.
    “It’s…nice.” The room might well have been upgraded—twenty years ago. Mint green paint had replaced the hallway yellows, accented by pastel chair rail wallpaper reminiscent the 1980’s. The room’s furniture was scant and mismatched. I peered over at Grace and cringed when I saw that even her gown was a nightmare of pinks, lavenders, yellows and greens.
    “The call button is over here,” Kathryn said, pointing to an over-sized red button protruding from the wall near a tiny, in-room bathroom just past Grace’s bed. “Please don’t hesitate to hit it if you need anything.”
    How about a week-long Hawaiian cruise? I smiled and gave her a nod. She excused herself then, and I turned my gaze back to the scene before me.
    “Wow, Grace. This is…” I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell her how awful it looked. How awful it smelled . Though, perhaps that was all part of rehab—if you wouldn’t wake up on your own, they’d stink you out of your coma.
    I made my way across the faded, dusty rose-colored carpet and lowered myself into the rocking chair beside her bed. Then I took her hand in mine. “I was hoping the move would wake you up. You know, all that moving and bumping around. Guess not, huh?”
    My eyes scanned her still, peaceful face. Most of her minor cuts and scrapes were nearly healed, and the swelling along her cheeks and jaw had gone down. The stitches on her forehead had been recently removed, though, leaving behind an angry pink scar. Thankfully, it was relatively close to her hairline, and could be covered up fairly easily.
    “I saw Officer Steele last night. He came by to…” I edited a bit, didn’t want her worrying about me and my forgetful ways. “To check on me. And let me know that they’ve closed your accident case. The police couldn’t find any more evidence, so they aren’t going after anyone.”
    I leaned in closer and studied her face. “But there was someone else, wasn’t there Grace?”
    Silence.
    “Was it someone you knew? Someone you worked with? Or was this truly just a fluke accident?”
    More silence.
    I sighed. “It’d make things so much easier if you’d just wake up and tell me what happened.” And easier to tell Nate no without having to feel guilty about it.
    Because that was exactly what I planned to do.
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
    “Jessica? Is that really you?”
    I turned to see Jennifer, my friend from college, rushing toward me. I felt a low heat rise to my cheeks. “Yep, it’s really me.”
    On Sunday I’d phoned Nate to tell him I was sticking with my decision not to join his proposed covert operation. Then I spent the rest of the week avoiding his calls. Buried myself in work, determined to stay busy. Because the busier I stayed, the easier it was not to think about him. Or about how I might be letting Grace down.
    “I twisted her arm,” Matt said, stepping around from behind me to flag down the bartender. “Found her hiding behind that damned computer screen again.”
    He’d appeared on my doorstep just before seven, bound and determined not to let me spend another evening at home.
    “I miss her too, Jess,” he’d said, “but Grace wouldn’t have wanted you to stay at home and be miserable.”
    He was right.