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“Do I look like someone in the mood to chat?” I replied sourly. My pasty mouth felt as if something had crawled in and died. My one unbandaged eye remained closed and gummy. Pretty girl.Not. “If you’re looking for a news story, bug someone else.” Damned reporters, always trying to make a buck off someone’s misery.
“Actually, I’m Detective Walker with the Ontario Provincial Police.”
“Lucky me, rating a visit from the OPP,” I drawled as I squinted open my one good eye, immediately wishing I’d kept it closed.
I would, of course, look like shit—that had been stomped flat, baked in the sun, then scraped off the sidewalk—when confronted by a hunk of a detective—blond-haired, blue-eyed, with a chiseled jaw. And I’d bet those shoulders were naturally broad. As for the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, indicating a fellow in his forties, at least? Only made him sexier.
“Given your property borders Highway 7, criminal offenses fall under our jurisdiction.”
“If you say so. Don’t really care.” I really didn’t. What I wanted was for the pounding in my head to go away. “Grab a nurse on your way out, would you? And tell them to bring me some Tylenol.”
“A moment.” He moved to the door and stuck his head out, the deep murmur showing that he spoke to someone. When he turned around, he offered me a smile. “A nurse is checking with the doctor to see if it’s okay first. Says she’ll be a few minutes. Enough time for us to chat.”
“Not in the mood,” I grouched.
“I realize that. And I’m sorry to be disturbing you, given your obvious trauma. However, I’d like to catch those responsible for the attack before they hurt anyone else.”
Ah, the good ol’ guilt trip. I sighed. “Meaning, you haven’t nabbed the fuckers already.”
“Usually, we need a name or a description before we arrest folks.”
I snorted. “As if that will make a difference. You guys tend to be bleeding hearts where tweakers are concerned.”
“Only until they prove themselves to be a menace.”
“Is that why I rated a detective? Because they escalated from petty crime to trying to murder me?”
“Did they try to kill you?”
“Does it matter? Fact is, they beat the shit out of me and planned to rape me. The only reason we’re talking now is because I got buried under some junk instead of being tortured to death.”
“I saw the photos from the scene. It’s a miracle you survived. You’re a very lucky woman.”
That made me laugh, which hurt. My ribs let me know I’d not escaped unscathed. “Not feeling so lucky right now.”
“Let’s fix that. Help me find the perpetrators.”
“Listen, Detective, while I appreciate you coming here to see me in the hospital, there’s not much I can actually tell you. The guys jumped me when I went to check on my office because I saw a light and heard some noise.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Yeah.” He took notes as I detailed what I remembered, including the name:Joey.
“Do you recall anything else? Tattoos? Scars? Birthmarks?”
“Other than the skinny one’s nose ring, nothing else. Everything happened so fast.”
“You said you saw and heard them. You live on the premises?”
I nodded. “Next door. But I wasn’t actually in my house. I was working late on a project in the garage.”
“You own the junkyard?” He checked his notebook. “Bits and Bolts?”
“Yup.” I’d bought it when I needed a fresh start. A divorce hadn’t been enough. When my husband dropped his bombshell, I’d needed to go somewhere new. Do something different.
“I want kids.” A declaration The Jerk had made out of the blue after we’d always stated that we would never have any.
“I don’t.” Never saw the appeal. Snotty, whiny little critters, constantly demanding attention. Let other people have them. I was perfectly happy with our dog.
