Leaving Annalise (Katie & Annalise Book 2) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

let it show. “What is it?”
    “I told her not to go to my place, but she didn’t listen.” He slammed his hand against the dashboard. It wouldn’t have taken much more force to activate the airbag.
    “What did she say?”
    “Derek trashed my condo.”
    “Oh my God.” I heard a groan from the backseat and whipped my head around for a quick glance at Crazy. I changed my tone. “Crazy, you hang in there. I’m getting you to the hospital as fast as I can.”
    Nick’s phone rang. He picked it up on one ring. “Teresa?”
    A sneering male voice answered him. Either that or Teresa was awfully masculine.
    “Asshole,” Nick yelled and clicked off the call.
    “What was that?”
    “Derek. He said, ‘You still think you can hide that bitch from me,’ and then I didn’t listen to any more.”
    I immediately felt guilty about my green-eyed envy.
    “He was in my place. And if he found my cell number, he probably found a lot more than I want him to. I keep a lot of passwords and numbers in the same file. He could be hacking into my bank accounts for all I know right now. Getting into client confidential files. Changing my alarm codes at the office. Son of a BITCH.” His voice cracked and his eyes flashed. He pushed a speed-dial button. “LuLu, I need your help,” he said. He explained to his assistant what had happened and set her to work.
    We had reached the hospital by this point, and I pulled into the turnout for the emergency room. Nick hung up and ran into the ER entrance. Rashidi was right behind him.
    I opened the door by Crazy’s head. His eyes were closed. I checked his neck and found his pulse. Still there. I smoothed his wiry hair. Please God, let him be OK, I prayed. Unfortunately, I had to trust God and the staff at the hospital to save him. I looked over at the building, which didn’t inspire confidence. It looked more like Joliet than a hospital, with walls built of gray cinder blocks no one had bothered to paint and an actual barbed-wire fence around its grounds.
    I heard the clatter of wheels behind me as emergency-room attendants rolled a stretcher out to the truck. I joined Nick and Rashidi on the sidewalk. A heavyset woman trotted up to us. Her peppery curls hugged her face under a red Sunday hat that matched her linen dress. Rashidi stepped toward her.
    “Oh, Mr. Wingrove, poor Mr. Wingrove” she said in the genteel island way.
    “Lotta,” Rashidi greeted her, and she fell into his arms. “I so sorry.”
    The attendants wheeled the stretcher past her toward the ER and she collapsed over it. Crazy lifted his right hand a few inches, and she took it. She righted herself and walked beside him into the emergency room. Rashidi followed with a steadying hand on her shoulder.
    I started to go after them, but Nick grasped my arm.
    “I am so sorry to do this, Katie, but I have to get to the airport. It’s already one o’clock. I was supposed to be there now.”
    I started to swallow, but my throat closed and stopped the motion midway, giving me a choking sensation. I bore down and forced it to completion. Of course. Nick had to get home.
    “Let me tell Rashidi,” I said.
    “I can take a cab,” he said, pointing at a taxi parked at the curb. The driver was talking on his cell phone, the radio blasting “It’s car-nee-val” out of the open windows. It struck a chord with me. Every day of my life on St. Marcos had a crazy Carnival feel—one minute a merry-go-round and the next a house of horrors. Today more than ever.
    I looked back into the emergency room, then at Nick again. “Rashidi is all the help they need for now. I’ll come back here after I drop you. I won’t be a second in there.”
    Nick was already in my truck when I returned a moment later. This time I let him hold my hand while I drove. Halfway to the airport, I spoke.
    “Look, I know there’s a lot going on, and this is going to sound selfish, but please try to understand. Crazy being sick, it changes everything. Not