Page 5 of Whispered Desire

Two paramedics arrive with a gurney and immediately take over. Starting an IV. Pressing gauze into the injuries. And within five minutes we’re loaded into the ambulance speeding towards the hospital.

The uniformed men work on the woman as I contemplate her small, curvy form and casually confiscate her purse. Searching for clues as to who she is. What she wants.

Receipts for fast food. A few Euros. A North Carolina driver’s license registered to Allison Fields.

My jaw clenches at the discovery of her identity. It's the first solid bit of information concerning today's events I've gotten, and Rafe can use it to figure out Miss Fields's secrets.

No one does what she did without a reason. There's always an angle. A price to pay.

And I need to know hers.

CHAPTER THREE

ALLISON

Repetitive beeping tickles the edge of my consciousness.What is that? Someone's alarm?I fight to focus enough to decipher its source, but a cloud of fuzziness obscures the sound.

I should turn it off.

It's probably annoying Bailey.

A whimper of fear lodges in my throat when my arm refuses to move, and my leg lies anchored to the bed like leadened weight.

Did I sleep wrong? Cut off the blood supply to my limbs? Will I be able to walk around Paris?

Wait…Paris.

Rainy, cold.

My coworkers wanted coffee after a morning of meetings.

I'd gasp if I was fully awake. Instead, I'm stuck hovering between sleep and wakefulness as the memory of the crazy van and shooter plays like a high-octane movie in my head. There was a man. He stood in the line of fire. And,oh my god, I jumped in front of a bullet.

The roar of my pounding heart fills my ears.What was I thinking?I’m not an action hero. Or indestructible. Or a person who seeks out pain.

I avoid it at all costs.

To my own detriment.

Swallowing past the anxious lump in my throat, I swim through the brain fog and open my eyes to an unfamiliar room potent with that metallic smell of sterile medical supplies.

Blurry shapes surround me. The blinds are closed. No lights except for colorful beams from the medical monitors. Neon green. Bright flashing red.

Machines, not people.

I thought my coworkers might be here, but I'm alone.Always alone.

Tears form a hazy film over my vision. I shouldn't be shocked by their absence. We’re friendly, but we don’t hang out together after work. We go on to live our separate lives. So, why would they show up at my hospital room?

And maybe they don't know what happened. They were inside the café when everything went down.

The possibility offers a modicum of comfort when something shifts in my periphery. I tilt my head to the side, straining to figure out if it was real or imaginary.

There’s more rustling.

I'm not alone.

Someone sits in the chair next to me, but the back is pushed against the wall, leaving the stranger wrapped in shadows. No wonder I missed them on my first pass around the room.

---