Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

going to get the better of her, a mantra that Gaby repeated, over and over in the maelstrom of her mind.

With her hand on the brass knob, she listened a moment, her ear pressed up to the gap, before twisting the metal globe and inching the door open, millimetre by fatal millimetre, her eyes glued as the room revealed itself in short sharp bursts. The wall given over to stacked coffin-shaped fridges. The trolley angled against them as if someone had shoved it out of the way. The stainless-steel bench reflecting the light from the fluorescent strip that ran across the ceiling, a light that dazzled until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. The body of Anita Fry stretched out on top of the bench. Yes, body, because from where she was standing, there was little sign of life. The rhythmic movement of her chest absent, her pale hand dangling off the side, her fingers stretched out as if trying to touch the floor.

She checked the room again, taking her time as she examined every corner. But the room was empty, a fact that frightened her. Where was Owen and what was she missing because she had to be missing something?

Giving herself a little shake, she forced herself to man up and walk over to the trolley. If there was even a hair’s breadth of a chance that Anita might be still alive, it was up to Gaby to try and save her. She pushed the thought of the bloody handprint down to the cellar of her mind. Blood wasn’t her thing. It was so not her thing that it was the one fact about the job that nearly had her running for the hills each and every time she had to face it.

There was no blood that she could see. Her fingers reached out to feel for the carotid artery on the side of Anita’s neck, the skin much warmer than she’d been expecting, her eyes widening in surprise as she felt the flicker of a pulse. Only a trace but a trace was all that was needed for her memories of the years working the beat in Liverpool to flood back, the countless Friday nights she’d spent toing and froing between the emergency department and the station. All those hours and evenings dealing with drunks, compounded by the annual mandatory course that drilled in, right down to the bone, the importance of first aid.

After ascertaining that Anita was still breathing, Gaby managed, with a bit of tugging and quite a lot of stretching, to roll her into the recovery position without rolling her off the edge of the narrow trolley. There had to be injuries. Gaby shivered at the thought as she remembered all that blood. But bodies could mend. Skin could be sutured. She’d seen time and again the way nature, aided and abetted by medicine, could heal the most horrendous of injuries …

Caught up in her musings, she neither saw nor heard Hayley Prince creeping out from behind the trolley and reach for the fire extinguisher, her hands clasping the cylinder between both hands and raising it aloft. All she felt was a sudden pain at the base of her skull then blackness swept away all thoughts, dispersing memories and feelings as her knees gave way and she slid to the floor.

She didn’t see Owen arrive on the scene only a second too late to save her. She didn’t hear the tortured scream rattle in his throat at the sight of what he wasn’t able to prevent just as she was ignorant to his herculean jump across the room, which squashed Hayley Prince into a crumpled mass of raging woman. The fire extinguisher bounced off the ground in an explosion of sound, the ensuing silence only interrupted by what looked to be an army of police bursting into the room.

Gaby, her head cradled in Owen’s arms, heard none of it.

Chapter 55

Gaby

Tuesday 4 August, 5 p.m. St Asaph Hospital

Gaby was both cool and comfortable, the first time she’d felt cool in days. She had no idea where she was or why she was lying down with a fan aimed in her direction when there was a case to be solved but she’d take whatever she could get. A few minutes more was all she needed to recover enough to open her eyes and try and make sense of it all. Just a few minutes more …

‘She’s a lucky son of a bitch, Rusty. If Prince hadn’t been so short and slight and Gaby so solid, your girlfriend could have been in serious trouble. As it is, she’ll have a headache for a couple of days. Nothing that rest and paracetamol can’t sort.’

‘Thanks, Doc. I’d better tell Owen.’

‘You do that. I’ve never seen anyone in such a mess as him when he brought her in.’ She heard what sounded like a back being slapped. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you have competition.’

The words faded in and out but, like seeds on barren soil, gained no purchase, sleep again taking control of the situation.

When she woke again, it wasn’t the sound of voices that roused her. There was something else. Something slightly outside of her field of vision. She frowned, trying to puzzle it out.

‘At last! I thought you’d never regain consciousness.’

‘Where am I?’

‘Well, you’re meant to be home with me while we make use of Conor’s sleepover,’ Rusty said, his blue eyes twinkling down at her, his fingers laced through hers. ‘Instead we’re at the hospital doing everything we can to wake you up.’

‘Wake me up? I don’t understand.’ Gaby tried to move her head only to discover that movement meant pain. She sank further back into the pillows and asked the thing that was worrying her. ‘Where’s Owen?’

‘Safe and well, back at the station probably cursing the life out of you for all the extra paperwork you’ve generated. You do know you’re going to have to stop this Dirty Harry style