Page 64 of Loss and Damages
“I’m bleeding—”
“Call the police. I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, never mind. I’ll do it. Wait for me. Don’t move.”
He disconnects and my phone beeps, and I set it down, too tired to hang on to it any longer. I sit and lean against a porchbeam, and maybe only a half a minute goes by before the sound of sirens floats to me.
An ambulance, a police cruiser, and an unmarked police car stop in front of the gallery, their flashing lights too bright in the dark. Dominic must have told them I need medical assistance.
“Jemma,” Nick Dimitri, a detective on the Hollow Lake police force, says, scrambling out of his car. “What happened?”
“Nick.” His name comes out as a sob. “A couple of assholes broke into my gallery. I tried to stop them, but I think they broke everything in there. I didn’t get a good look.”
“You’re hurt. Let me help you to the ambulance. Should I call your parents? Or Jeremy?”
“I have someone coming, thanks.”
“Okay. Buddy, she says it’s trashed in there,” Nick calls to the officer, and Buddy Callahan, a newer officer on the force, turns on an industrial-sized flashlight and shines the beam toward the door that’s still hanging open.
Nick notices I’m barefoot, and swearing under his breath, carefully picks me up and carries me to the ambulance. He sits next to me while the medic pulls porcelain out of my skin, his steady hand resting on the nape of my neck. The tiny slivers are difficult to remove, and the metal tweezers sting. “You’re dumb for going in there. They could have done a lot more than push you around.”
The medic shakes her head. I’ve seen her in Hollow Lake before, when she’s off duty, but her name doesn’t come to me.
Wincing, I say, “I know, and here’s one who won’t let it go. You can be sure of that.”
Dominic’s black SUV skids to a stop behind Buddy’s cruiser, and he slams out of the truck. He’s furious, and everyone can feel the anger radiating off him from a hundred feet away. Wearing slacks and a dress shirt that’s buttoned only halfway,he advances, his shoes crunching over the gravel, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I should bend you over my knee,” he growls.
I glance at Nick. “That doesn’t sound as good of a time as it should.”
Chuckling, he brushes his hand over the back of my head and says, “I’m going to take a few pictures and check if they left any evidence behind. Doubtful—they probably wore gloves. You have a list of the things they wrecked, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a spreadsheet saved on my laptop and it’s all insured. I just, the time and love put into those pieces.” I swallow back a cry. Now isn’t the time to mourn lost things.
“How deep are they?” Dominic asks the medic who’s securing bandages to my palms and fingers.
“Not very. None that need stitches,” she answers, unable to keep her eyes off him. “She’ll be okay in a few days. Slather antibiotic cream on the cuts and keep them covered, okay? Don’t get paint in there.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Dominic trails his fingers down my stinging cheek. “I’m going to have a look, then I’m bringing you home.”
He strides away before I can tell him not to bother.
“Is that Dominic Milano?” the medic asks, and I wish I could remember her name.
“Yeah. He came out to see me after Leo died and kept hanging around.”
“Lucky girl.” She turns away to clean up the wrappers from the bandages she used to cover my cuts. “Here. You can take this with you,” she says, handing me the small tube of antibiotic ointment. She hops out of the back.
“Thanks.”
I’m left alone while Dominic, Nick, and Buddy are inside my gallery, but I don’t want to look at the mess again. It will breakmy heart to see Leo’s paintings so callously ripped apart. There are ways to repair torn canvas and I’ll need to call around to a few places in St. Charlotte. I’m not familiar with how, only that it can be done, and I’ll pay whatever I need to pay to have them fixed.
Nick strides out of my gallery and onto the porch, clearly as angry as Dominic, and I describe the two jerks who broke in, though I can’t tell him much. He and Buddy say they’ll email the report and photos to my insurance company the minute they’re available, then drive away, their headlights cutting through the dark. Dominic helps me out of the back of the ambulance, and it follows the two vehicles down the narrow road, the siren quiet and the lights off.
“I’ll walk you back,” he says, but instead of letting me walk to the cottage, he swoops me into his arms. I sigh and snuggle into his chest. “I hope those cops gave it to you for trying to stop those sons of bitches. They could have killed you.”
“Nick wasn’t happy and told me, not so nicely, but I was acting on adrenaline and fear. My gallery means something to me. All those pieces...gone. How am I going to tell my artists their work has been destroyed? And for what? Why?”
