“Thanks for letting me know.” He cleared his throat. “What did it say?”
“Basically that she loves her family, but she can’t get over the heartache of losing her husband. Poor girl has had a bad run of luck since Reid died. I’ve known her since she was in diapers. I never thought I’d see this day. Never.”
“No one ever does.”
“Be kind to her, you hear? I’d be there myself, but I’m on my way to a drunk-driving accident. You tell her I’ll be checking on her later.”
“Of course.” He handed the phone back to the nurse, careful not to smile back again and give the woman the wrong idea.
So, it had been a suicide attempt. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He still wore his jogging clothes. He hadn’t had time to go home and change. The sheriff had ordered that he go with the paramedics to the hospital and write up a report. For some strange reason, Brody wanted to hear what she had to say for herself. He’d lost his mom to cancer at fifteen years old, and he couldn’t respect anyone who tried to end their life. It was a cowardly way out.
The door to her room opened and a young doctor with a receding hairline stepped out, clipboard in hand. “You can see her now. She’s still not one hundred percent, so go easy on her. You only have a few minutes. She needs her rest.”
Brody nodded, nausea rising in his gut as he stepped into Madison’s room. His gaze went straight to the woman in the hospital bed, her hair fanned beneath her, an IV in her arm, dullness in her eyes. She didn’t bother to smile as he approached.
As he touched the metal bed railing, he cleared his throat. “Madison.”
She nodded. “Detective Philips.”
“I need to write up a report.”
She touched the sensitive skin around her neck and looked toward the window. Her hand then moved to her temple until finally she looked at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think the drugs have worn off yet. My mind is…not right.”
She’d taken drugs before hanging herself? Had the medication not worked fast enough? He’d never understand some people. He pulled out his notebook and a pen, and tried to keep any judgment out of his voice. It wasn’t like he had any room to judge anyone, not after everything he’d done. “Drugs, you said? What did you take?”
Some of the dullness left her eyes and she straightened slightly. Her gaze fully focused on him now. “What did I take? I didn’t take anything. A man injected me with something.”
Brody rotated his shoulders back. “A man?”
“You thought I was trying to kill myself?”
“There was a suicide note.” His gut instinct had been right. There was more to this story. Had her attacker been in the house when he had broken in? He had to tell the sheriff, get the deputies to start a search. Maybe there was some evidence that hadn’t been destroyed by the crew of paramedics, firefighters and sheriff’s deputies roaming her place.
“The man—the monster—forced me to write the note. Had a knife to my throat.” She closed her eyes, as if the memory physically hurt. When she opened them, Brody saw the pain there. “I thought I was going to die. If you hadn’t come when you did…”
He cleared his throat. “Can you tell me anything about the man who did this to you?”
“He wore a black mask. Medium height. Thin, but strong. His shoes were dirty. Dusty almost. I think…I think his eyes were brown. His voice was disguised.”
“Disguised how? By an electronic voice modulator?”
“No, it just sounded like he was trying to make his voice deeper as he spoke.”
“His voice didn’t sound familiar?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Brody sat down in the chair at her bedside. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I need you to tell me everything that happened. Every detail will be important.”
The door opened and the same young doctor strode inside. “Not right now. She needs to rest. Her body has been through serious trauma and she needs to recover. She can answer your questions later.”
Brody stood. “Time is of the essence here, doc. The more time that passes, the less likely it is that we’ll find this guy.”
“You’ll be the first person we tell when she’s rested up. But now I’ve got to insist that you leave.”
Brody looked back at Madison and saw her eyes were closed. Reluctantly, he nodded and stepped from the room. He’d wait outside the door until she woke. In the meantime, he’d get a crime-scene crew out to her house to look for evidence.
Who would do this to someone like Madison? He didn’t intend to slow down until he found out.
* * *
When Madison awoke again, her head pounded. She’d hoped the events of the day were simply a terrible nightmare, but the beeping of the heart monitor and the IV attached to her arm proved that the attack had been all too real. Tears filled her eyes, followed by relief that she’d survived and anger that the attack had happened at all.
“Reid,” she whispered. Life had been so much easier when she’d had someone to share her burdens with. It still didn’t seem fair that her husband had been taken from her so early. They’d had so much of life left to share together.
The drugs still made her mind feel sluggish, made her emotions harder to reign in. Her eyelids still drooped. Her limbs felt heavy.
Brody’s face floated into her thoughts. Thank goodness for her neighbor. Though he’d not even given her the time of day since he’d moved in, at least he’d been there when she’d needed him.
Madison had been put off when she’d first introduced herself to him. She’d only wanted to make the newcomer feel welcome in the neighborhood. But the man had acted as if she had made a pass at him and he’d wanted to send a clear “not interested” message. Sure, the man was handsome. Any woman would think so. He had thick, dark brown hair, even features, broad shoulders and towered at least six feet tall. He’d reminded her a bit of a Ken doll, which she didn’t find necessarily complimentary. Brody almost appeared too plastic, his eyes too lifeless.
Besides, Madison hadn’t for a single minute been interested in another man since Reid died. She knew the kind of love they had was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. To find someone else who shared her faith in God, who understood her and respected her the way her late husband had didn’t seem like even a remote possibility. What they’d felt for each other had been beautiful and when Lincoln was born, life had seemed perfect.
Lincoln.
Her gaze darted the room, searching for a clock. Three thirty. Someone needed to pick up Lincoln from preschool. She had to call someone to get him.
She swung her hand toward the phone on her nightstand, but her fingers fumbled. The device crashed to the floor with a loud jangle of metal and plastic.
She threw her feet over the side of the bed. Her IV tugged at her wrist, the medical tape pulling at her skin. Her entire body felt like it might topple out of bed.
Momentum seemed to pull her toward the floor and the room began to spin. Just then the door burst open. Brody rushed toward her. His strong hands caught her shoulders and eased her back into the hospital bed before she hit the floor.
“What are you doing?”