Page 3 of Savage Elites

“Renault?” My hands rose to the neckline of my checkered hospital gown. “That’s Mom’s car.”

Pursing her lips, Dr. Croft leaned forward and shone a light in my pupils. “The alcohol should have left your system by now, and—”

“But I didn’t—”

“That’s a matter to discuss with the police,” she said.

“Has anyone told my next of kin. My uncle—”

“Already knows, but you still need to give the police a statement.”

I wrapped a hand around the base of my neck and squeezed my eyes shut. How on earth did I go from the back of Sebastian’s jeep to this? “The whole of Monday is missing, and I don’t have a clue why.”

The doctor didn’t respond for several moments, and I cracked my eyes open. She drew back and tilted her head to the side as though considering the truth in my words. I held my breath.

From the way she spoke and acted, it looked like she thought I had taken up drink-driving. Perhaps she had gone into my medical records and remembered the last time I was here. Maybe she was finally getting an inkling that I might be a victim of something nefarious.

“I’ll refer you to the neurology department,” she said.

Before I could ask her what she thought could be wrong with me, Dr. Croft stepped out through the gap in the curtains.

My shoulders deflated, and I sank back into the mattress. Without my mobile, Uncle Trevor, or a memory of Monday’s events, there wasn’t much I could do about this predicament.

* * *

When I awoke several hours later, the curtains remained closed, even when an assistant brought in fresh water, and another lady asked me if I wanted tea, coffee, or toast. Perhaps the hospital staff didn’t take kindly to people they believed got themselves into resource-draining accidents, or maybe they had forgotten about me.

As I sipped the dregs of my over-stewed tea, the curtains parted, and two police officers stepped through. The male, a man in his early thirties, wore the flat cap of a sergeant, and the female, a tall, dark-skinned woman, wore a woman police constable’s bowler hat.

“Miss Evergreen?” asked the male officer. “I’m Sergeant Rockford, and this is my colleague, Constable Clive. I understand that the mountain rescue found you early on Tuesday morning. Could you tell me how you got there in your own words?”

I shook my head. “My mind goes blank every time I try to remember.”

“What can you recall?”

“Monday morning,” I replied.

Constable Clive flipped open her notebook and pulled the lid off her pen with her teeth.

“Were you at school?”

“I was on my way back from visiting friends.”

“Their names?” she asked.

“Sebastian Garraway and Leopold Brunswick.”

She paused to scribble them down.

“You were alone?”

“Um… No. Sebastian was driving, and I sat in the back.”

“How much alcohol had you consumed?”

“None.”

The constable turned to look at the sergeant, whose face blanked. I blew out a breath. Did they think I was lying? If I’d gotten drunk on Monday morning, I would probably have sobered up by the time of the supposed accident.