Page 77 of Fatal Vision
Chapter Fourteen
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“SHEL!”
The sound of multiple heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs reassured Shelby as she sat straight up in bed. The bed moved slightly and a cold nose jammed into her hands, a wiggling dog body clamoring over her lap.
Salisbury. She sunk her hands into his fur and snuggled him tight. He licked her face.
She felt Colton’s energy—immense and forceful, like the Titanic plowing through the ocean—enter her room. “Shelby, what’s wrong?”
“Colton, turn on the light.”
He moved to the bed, as two other people—she could hear the differences in their footsteps—hovered at the door.
Warm hands touched her arm, her knee. “Shelby, look at me.”
Wasn’t she already? “I think the bulb in my lamp is blown. I tried turning on the light, but nothing happened. I…I’m sorry, I freaked a little. It’s so damn dark in here and you weren’t beside me. It felt like when I woke up from the coma.”
“Sweetheart.” He took her by the knees and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Salisbury jumped around, but came back to her lap. “The light is on.”
And…yeah. That’s what she’d been afraid of.
She’d woken to an empty bed. The room had seemed way too dark and she’d reached over and flipped on the lamp on her nightstand. Except nothing had happened. She’d heard the click but was still in the dark.
She’d sat there for several long minutes, blinking, breathing, willing her eyesight to come back. Willing her body to come online and clear her vision. It had always worked before.
This time,nada.
She reached out and found Colton’s face. That face she loved so dearly. The one who hours before had stared into hers and made her believe they could be together again. “Okay. Not the best news, then, since I can’t see a cotton-pickin’ thing.”
He grabbed her hand and held it to his face. “We’ll get you to the doctor.”
“God, no.” She sighed, defeated. “This is one of the side effects from the brain injury. There’s nothing the doctor can do except hook me up to a bunch of stupid monitors and wait. I don’t need that to tell me my brain hiccupped again. My vision should clear in a few minutes.”
Or hours. The last time this had happened, she’d gone a whole day on the fritz. “I’ve had two of these episodes since I came out of the coma. The last one was three weeks ago, so I thought—hoped—I wouldn’t have any more.”
“The brain is so cool, but super funky,” a woman’s voice said. “If I hadn’t studied chemistry, I would have chosen cognitive science.”
Shelby ran a hand through her hair as she smiled toward what she hoped was the doorway. “You must be Sabrina.”
The woman had a light, playful voice. “And you must be the fabulously talented Shelby Claiborne. I’m a huge fan.”
“You are?”
“You’re the hotshot FBI agent who saved my Connor.”
The pride and gratitude in the woman’s voice was as honest as it came.
“Hi, Connor. I assume you’re here too.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “I made fresh coffee.”
“Is it strong enough to kick-start my eyesight?”
“Damn straight.”
