Mistletoe and Murder. Jenna Ryan
the crowded emergency room. She spotted Jacob through a sea of bodies and made her way over.
“How’s Denny?” she asked. From his expression, she suspected not good.
He stared past her at the treatment room. “Possible skull fracture and a concussion.” His expression was calm, but that was practiced, like his tone when he added, “Critch clubbed her from behind with a broken brick.”
Romana’s stomach pitched. Apparently prison hadn’t mellowed the man one bit. “How old is she?”
“Almost eighty.”
“Does she have a strong constitution?”
“I’d say so.”
A man in a wrist cast jostled Romana’s arm. With a sideways glance, she drew Jacob toward the water fountain. She wanted to remind him that this wasn’t his fault, but any solace she offered would go unheard. He’d blame himself for what had happened because he hadn’t gotten to Critch first.
“I assume the brick Critch used has been found.”
“In the alley, next to my front bumper.”
“Fingerprints would be nice,” she mused. “Or a strand of hair. But if it’s like the cards he sent, there won’t be anything to connect him to the crime. I don’t suppose you saw him.”
“No, only Denny.”
Romana wanted to touch his cheek, but Jacob simply didn’t invite that kind of contact. She settled for brushing the hair from his forehead. “You know, my grandmother’s in her late seventies, and she handled a concussion last year as if it were a scraped knee. She was up and riding her horses within a week. Totally against her doctor’s orders, but she insisted she knew her body’s limits better than a man she sees only once a year. Where’s Denny now?”
“They’re taking her upstairs.” He slid his gaze from the treatment room to her face. “You weren’t supposed to come here, Romana. I called so you’d make sure your door was bolted and alarmed, not go flying out into the night and possibly into Critch’s waiting hands.”
Romana studied his face. The strain of the past few hours showed most clearly in his eyes, but there was subtle evidence of it around his mouth and in the side of his jaw, where she saw a muscle tick.
Because she needed what he appeared not to, Romana flattened her palms on his chest. “You’ve done all you can here. Someone can call you if there’s any change in Denny’s condition.” She curled her fingers around his T-shirt and pulled. “Right now, you need to come to the park with me.”
He gave a disbelieving laugh, scanned the bustling corridor. “Are you on some kind of street drug, Romana?”
“No, I’m on some kind of mission to locate and capture Critch before he hurts another innocent bystander. Or better still—” tightening her grip, she forced him to look back at her “—to locate and apprehend the person who murdered his wife.”
“And you think we’re going to do one or both of those things in a public park?”
“No idea, Knight.” She stepped closer, partly to distract him and partly because a woman in a wheelchair was rolling past. “What I do know is that Belinda Critch was—I’ll be polite and say acquainted—with one James Barret. And my well-informed cousin Fitz told me this afternoon that, since his godchildren are part of it, Mr. Barret will likely be attending tonight’s pageant rehearsal.”
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