The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [657]
He lowered his face in his hands.
20
She was aware of ear-splitting noise—men’s and women’s voices yelling loudly, car tire s screeching, horns blasting, and movement, she could feel the blur of movement everywhere, pounding feet, running fast. She was moving as well, no, she was flying, then she hit hard and the pain ripped through her. She lay on her side, smelling the hot tar of the street, a light overlay of urine, hot and sour, whiffs of food, of too many bodies, feeling the unforgiving cement beneath her. Cement?
People were yelling, coming closer now, and there were men and women shouting, “Stay back! Let us through!”
She tried to open her eyes, but her muscles were too weak, wouldn’t obey her, and the pain was boiling up inside her. She was so very tired, nearly blown under with it. Then she felt a hideously sharp stab of pain somewhere in her body, fierce, unrelenting, and she knew tears were leaking out of her eyes.
“Miss! Can you hear me?”
She felt his hand on her shoulder, felt the sun beating down on her, hot on her bare skin—what bare skin? Her legs were bare, that was it. But he was over her, a shadow blocking the sun.
“Miss? Can you hear me? Are you conscious?”
She opened her eyes then because he sounded so very afraid. “Yes,” she whispered, “I can hear you. I can see you. Not clearly, but I can see you.”
“My God, it’s her! It’s that Matlock woman!”
More shouting, yelling, some curses, and so much heat, the press of bodies, the running thuds of shoes and boots.
A woman lightly tapped her cheek. “Open your eyes for me. Yes, that’s right. Do you know who you are?”
She looked up into Letitia Gordon’s grim, incredulous face.
Maybe there was also a touch of worry in those unforgiving eyes. Becca whispered to that hard face over her, “You’re the cop who hates me. How can you be here, right over me, speaking to me? You’re in New York, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and so are you.”
“No, that’s not possible. I was in Riptide. You know, I never could figure out why you hated me and believed I was a liar.”
The woman’s face contorted. Into anger? What?
“He drugged me,” she whispered, her mouth so dry she nearly swallowed her tongue. “He drugged me. I hurt so much but I just can’t tell where.”
“All right. You’ll be all right. Hey, Dobbson, is the ambulance here yet? Get off your butt, usher them through. Now!”
Letitia Gordon’s face was really close to hers now, her breath minty on her cheek. “We’ll find out what’s happening here, Ms. Matlock. You just rest now.”
She felt hands pulling cloth down over her legs. Why were her legs bare? She realized then that there was pain in her legs. But it wasn’t as bad as the other pain. Where was she? In New York? But that made no sense. Nothing made sense. Her brain nestled back into the shadows. The pain faded away. Becca sighed deeply and closed down.
***
She heard them speaking, soft, quiet voices not four feet away from her, talking, talking. Then they were closer, much closer, talking above her, which meant what? She opened her eyes. Blinked. She was flat on her back. The people speaking were on the left, and one of the people was Adam.
She wet her lips with her tongue. “Adam?”
He whirled around so fast he nearly lost his balance. Then he was at her side and he lifted her hand and held it hard between his two large ones. She felt the calluses on his palms.
“What’s going on? Where are we? I dreamed I saw Detective Gordon, you know, that cop who hates me?”
“Yes, I know. She left just a little while ago. She’ll be back, but later, when you’ve got it together again. You’re going to be all right, Becca. There’s nothing to worry about. Just take it easy and breathe nice shallow, light breaths. That’s right. Does your head hurt?”
She thought about that. “No, not really, it’s just that I’m all fuzzy. Even you’re kind of fuzzy, Adam. I’m so glad to see you. I thought I was going to die, that I’d never see you again. I couldn’t bear