Page 62 of Rush

“Juice box?” the detective verified, scribbling everything down.

“Yes, it was flattened, like someone had stepped on it. It’s still in the living room if you’d like to see it. I didn’t touch it.”

The detective jerked his head to one of the officers and the man left the room.

“What happened next?”

“Not much. I ran to the door but they were gone. It was when I went to call 911 that I saw the note and called Linc instead.”

“Because it said not to involve the police?”

She dropped her head. In hindsight that probably hadn’t been the right thing to do. “Yes. I’m sorry. My head was still fuzzy, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“It’s okay, Ms. Olson. Why don’t you go sit down. Do you need us to call the paramedics?”

“No, I’m okay.”

Just then the doorbell rang and the other officer left to answer it. Another detective came in going directly to the first.

Linc came over to her while they were talking. “Where are you hurt?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She knew she sounded petty, but his behavior had hurt her. He didn’t get to blame her then try to play nice to assuage his guilt. If she had to live with hers then he had to live with his too.

He must have spotted something because his eyes turned as hard as his fingers were gentle as he pushed her hair aside revealing her temple. “He struck you harder than you let on. The area is inflamed and swollen.”

“I said I’m fine.” She hid a wince as she jerked from his touch but guessed she hadn’t hidden it well enough when concern filled his eyes. “It's nothing!” she stressed. “Sophie is what's important here, not me.”

She went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she set it on the counter, saw the coffee maker and decided to make a pot. Anything to keep busy.

Over the course of the next hour, more people arrived—some in uniform, some carrying equipment, all with badges. Everyone had migrated into the living room, turning that space into the hub of activity when the kitchen had become too cramped. Nora sat off on the sidelines feeling useless while Linc was at its center, talking with law enforcement, making phone calls, and overall, she imagined, taking care of business. She’d even gotten a phone call herself. When her phone rang, she’d looked down at the screen, surprised at seeing Oz’s name. Their conversation had been brief, she, understandably, was not inthe mood to talk, but she reassured him she was all right and promised she’d call him back soon.

The ringing of the doorbell pulled her from her thoughts as half the heads in the room popped up. An officer left to answer it, and a minute later, she was addressed.

“Nora?”

She tipped her head back. An extremely fit, older gentleman with a head of thick salt and pepper hair stood by her chair. He didn’t scream law enforcement, dressed in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis, but she did suspect he was a doctor when she spied the black bag in his hand.

She found out soon enough that her assumption was correct when the man held out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Pierce. Linc called and asked me to take a look at you.”

Nora really didn’t want to be fussed over but she also didn’t want to be rude and turn the doctor away after he went through the trouble of making a house call. Besides, her head was throbbing. He could tell her what was okay to take for the pain. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Shall we find somewhere a little more private?”

Nora showed him to the kitchen where he asked her to sit on the table. He probed her injuries with gentle fingertips that still had her sucking in a few deep breaths as both areas were extremely tender. Next he shined a light in her eyes and checked her coordination and reflexes, all the while asking her questions.

“Since you lost consciousness, I’d like to give you an MRI,” he said, zipping up his bag after the exam. “But considering the circumstances, I have a feeling I know what your answer to that will be.”

Giving him a wistful smile, she admitted, “I’m not sure what hurts more, my head or my heart.”

He placed a fatherly hand on her knee. “Sadly, I don’t have a magic pill to cure heartache, but a couple Tylenol with help with your head.”

“I’ll be sure to take some.”

He patted her knee then pulled a card out of his pocket. “Call me if you feel dizzy, get nauseous, or if that headache doesn’t improve after forty-eight hours. Call 911 if you start vomiting, have trouble with your speech or vision, or if you have sudden muscle weakness or loss of coordination.”

She took the card. “Thank you.”

He looked over his shoulder toward the living room and the ruckus which could be heard. “I don’t want to disturb Linc but tell him to stay in touch and to keep an eye on you.”

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