Taken by Tuesday
Page 32

Karen waved her off. “No need to think about that now.”
Meg changed the subject. Told her that Lucas and Dan stopped by the night before only to be stopped in the lobby. The media had gotten wind of the assault. Now that Mike roamed the halls of the hospital, they were camped out to gather a statement or two.
Rick was exhausted. The sleep he managed in the past three days rivaled that of some of his missions overseas. It didn’t stop him from turning over the active investigation for a few hours to sleep in an uncomfortable chair by Judy’s bedside, a task he only relinquished to Judy’s mom for a few hours on the second night.
Word had come via Zach that Judy was awake and making sense. Rick had seen his share of enlisted men with their bells rung to know about concussions. The swelling was minimal, so he knew it was only a matter of time for Judy to come back to them. Not that he was ever more than an hour away at any time.
The investigation was an exercise in frustration. They had little to go on. No eyewitnesses and not one camera that captured even a shadow.
As Rick parked in the now-familiar lot, he shoved his keys in his pocket and looked around. Even the hospital lot had cameras. It helped that there was a hefty fee for parking, which often gave the driver a false sense of security. But in the case of the hospital lot, there was actual uniformed security riding around in golf carts. Not armed security, but at least someone with a uniform and an ability to call for help.
Rick parked on the third level, the lower two were filled with doctor parking and spaces reserved for special guests. Most of the upper levels cleared out after five. It was nearly seven and the lot was quiet. Much like when Rick roamed the lot where Judy had been attacked, he looked for the cameras and made a point of walking down the stairwell where no cameras were found. Just like that in the garage at Benson & Miller’s.
At some point the day before, one of the investigators from the local police suggested this was a random act or even a simple purse snatching.
Both Neil and Rick caught wind of the conversation and dismissed it. Whoever did this cased the parking lot, knew how to get in and out without detection, and targeted Judy. They roughed her up, but didn’t kill her.
Why?
That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.
Why?
The nurse buzzed him in to the ICU, where he walked by the long bank of desks that housed the staff.
Before walking in the room, he noticed Judy sleeping in the bed with Karen and Meg watching the TV quietly. He waved them out to talk to them without waking the patient.
“How’s she doing?”
“Better,” Karen offered. “She’s not even stuttering today.”
“She eating yet?” he asked.
“Not much. The doctor thinks by tomorrow her appetite should come back.”
“Good. That’s good. I’ll be here all night. You should both go home and sleep.”
Karen rested a hand on his arm. “You need to sleep sometime, too.”
“I will. That chair in there folds out.”
Meg huffed out a breath. “Hardly enough to fit me. You’re a tad bigger.”
Rick looked down on Judy’s petite friend and winked. “I’ll be fine.”
The girls were too tired to argue.
He slowly moved into the room, sat beside Judy, and just stared at her. The bruising on her face was turning purple and the edges were yellow. Thankfully, the fingerprints of the man who’d held her down were no longer visible.
There was one less IV bag hanging from her bed, but the monitor kept constant surveillance on her vital signs.
She would heal. The body was good that way, but her head . . . that might take a little longer to feel right in the world. He knew from experience the many things that could f**k with your head and make the world an unsafe place.
He couldn’t imagine how a woman as small and innocent as Judy was going to cope with the aftermath of the past few days.
Rick kicked back in the reclining chair and gently placed his hand under hers. She moved on the bed but didn’t wake. There wasn’t a concern he’d be told to leave. The staff had been told from the moment Judy was admitted that if it wasn’t Rick or Judy’s family at her bedside it would be the local police. The doctors agreed a familiar face was better for the patient.
Rick closed his eyes and willed his own personal demons away. At another time in his life, he sat beside someone he loved and held her hand.
But that was a long time ago, and better off buried.
Chapter Thirteen
Leaving the ICU and the hospital should have resulted in a little less attention as everyone’s lives returned to normal. This wasn’t the case in Judy’s life. She didn’t balk at staying at Zach and Karen’s house. It made sense in light of her recovery. Her muscles had grown incredibly lax while lying in the hospital bed. It didn’t help that she’d not managed much of an exercise routine since moving to Beverly Hills. Besides, Meg spent a lot of time at the Tarzana house, which would leave Judy alone. Being alone felt a little too much like the stupid girl going into the basement on a stormy night after the power went out. She couldn’t help but wonder if walking into any parking garage wasn’t going to give her the same uncomfortable feeling.
The fishbowl of the hospital didn’t compare to having her family hovering over her. Her father, who never took a lot of time away from his hardware store in Hilton, Utah, was going on nearly a week in California. Her mother hadn’t stopped fussing over her, making homemade soup and big roast dinners for everyone. Even Mike stuck around until Judy finally convinced Karen to call her brother’s personal assistant to push the man back to work.
Rick always made his way to Zach’s house before she retired, but there was a place setting for him at the table tonight in case he came earlier.
Exactly one week from the attack, during a large family meal, Judy found herself picking at the pot roast her mother had been cooking for the better part of the day. Her eyes settled on the bandage covering her right arm while the conversation around the table spoke of everything from the weather to the gossip in Hollywood and Hilton.
He carved into me. Marked me so even after I healed I’d always remember. Why?
She dropped the fork on her plate and picked at the bandage. Tape pulled at the hair on her arms, but she tugged on it anyway. She had avoided looking at the mess on her arm. The sutures were coming out the next day. She knew she’d no longer need the gauze to hide what the man had done to her.
“What are you doing?” she heard someone ask. Instead of responding, she fisted the gauze and ran her thumb over the coarse bits of synthetic string that held her skin together.