Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 70628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Buck nods. “Good enough.” Then he turns to Luke. “We need to talk.”
“We do. But we’re following him to the hospital. We’re not letting that motherfucker out of our sight.”
The three of us are in the ER waiting room at Sinai, the same hospital they took Buck to after his head wound.
I’m nervous. Shaking and nervous. Not because I care about Harrison Wallace’s life. I don’t. Because, according to Luke, he has information that we need.
“He tried to hide it,” Buck says, “but when I mentioned Chris Pollack and the albino, I could tell it got to him.”
“That’s the reason I came,” Luke says. “One of my contacts came in with some very interesting information about Harrison Wallace, Chris Pollack, and a man named Fernando Smith.”
“Let me guess. Fernando Smith is an albino.”
“You got it.”
I listen, clasping my hands together, trying not to shiver. It seems like every air conditioner in LA is set to fifty degrees. I get that LA is hot, but really?
Besides, I know I’m not shivering because of the air conditioning. I’m shivering because…
Only moments ago, a gun was pointed at me.
Only moments ago, both Buck and Luke shot Harrison Wallace.
I’m a good shot. I learned from my father, and he’s the best. But I wouldn’t have been able to make either of those shots, not in this lifetime.
Buck was a sniper, so it makes sense that he could make a shot like that. But Luke? I suppose you learn to defend yourself very well when you’re in the underground drug trade. Also when your father has a shooting range in his basement bunker.
A woman rushes in.
I recognize her at once from the funeral. This is Rita Wallace, Harrison’s wife and Taylor’s mother. She looks exactly like Taylor, except that she’s about twenty years older and without the blue hair. She’s dressed to the nines, of course, dripping in diamonds with a rock the size of Texas on her left hand.
“I’m looking for my husband,” she says to the clerk at the reception desk. “Harrison Wallace. Apparently he’s been shot?”
“Yes ma’am,” the receptionist tells her. “His doctor should be out soon to talk to you. In the meantime you can join his friends over there.” The reception clerk gestures to us.
She looks toward us and wrinkles her forehead. “I don’t know any of those people.”
She looks at me, and then to Buck, and then back again. Then she walks toward us.
“I saw you two at Taylor’s funeral.”
Buck clears his throat. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”
“Friends of Taylor’s from volleyball?”
I nod then. “Yes. I’m Aspen Davis.”
“Why are you here? How did you find out about Harry being shot?”
“That’s a long story, ma’am.” From Buck.
She rubs at her temples with a shaking hand. “I can’t be bothered with that now. I need to find out if he’s okay. Have you heard anything?”
“They won’t give us any information,” Luke says. “Only family. Now that you’re here, maybe some of them will speak to you.”
“He was shot? Twice?”
“He was,” Buck says. “In the wrist and the shoulder. They shouldn’t be life-threatening wounds.”
“How do you know where he was shot?”
Neither Luke nor Buck says a word.
The silence becomes interminable.
“We were there, ma’am,” Buck finally says.
“You were there? At his office? How did this happen?”
“I think you’ll need to talk to the police about that,” Buck says.
“The police? What are you talking about? Who shot my husband?”
Luke opens his mouth, but a doctor dressed in blue scrubs comes out through double doors.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Harrison Walker,” she says.
Mrs. Wallace stands. “You mean Mrs. Harrison Wallace?”
“Right. I’m sorry.”
“I’m Rita Wallace.”
The doctor holds out her hand. “I’m Dr. Duluth, the resident on your husband’s case. He’s going to need surgery on his wrist. The gunshot wound shattered it.”
Mrs. Wallace gulps. “But is he okay? Will he live?”
“Yes, ma’am. At this point we expect him to make a full recovery. Though he may have limited movement in his wrist.”
“What about the other wound? The shoulder?”
“The bullet went through. No major blood vessels were affected. We’ve already stitched up the wound and gotten him started on antibiotics.”
Mrs. Wallace sits down in a chair and sighs. “Thank God.”
“I’m happy we could give you some good news,” Dr. Duluth says. “I need to return and prep for surgery. Either I or the attending surgeon will be out to give you an update when he’s finished.”
“Yes, Doctor. Thank you.”
Dr. Duluth nods. “You’re very welcome.” Then she moves swiftly across the waiting area and back through the double doors.
Mrs. Wallace sits with her head in her hands as two police officers walk toward her.
I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
She may well be innocent in all of this. Who knows? But is she truly innocent? If she were, wouldn’t her daughter have been a better person?
Her husband probably kept his X-rated escapades from her, but Taylor?