Kitabı oku: «Triple Dare», sayfa 3

Nor had it come from anyone else he could locate.

By the time his thundering heart had slowed, there was nothing left but the mewling echo of pain—and the distinct impression that it had come from a young boy. A boy close to him. Very close. Dare had scoured the early-morning news, even walked the floors of his building and circled those surrounding his in hopes that if the cry had come from a child nearby, he’d be able to locate him. He’d even had Charlotte check the police stations and hospitals.

Their efforts had been for naught.

For once, no children nearby had been beaten or violated in their bodies or their hearts. But the echo had remained. Even now, if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear that cry—feel it—as if it were ripping through him anew. But even stranger and more disturbing was that he also knew the child was okay now. And he still sensed he and the boy were close.

Through blood.

He had to be mistaken. Perhaps Abby’s presence in his life had skewed his sense, much like his mother’s had at times growing up. As a child he’d felt his mother’s pain on a daily basis, though some days it had cut deeper. He felt all too well the cold, emotionless void she’d received in place of her so-called husband, his so-called father. The bastard had cared so little for the two of them that for years he’d suspected the rumors that damned gossip magazine had actually printed before were true. That he and Victor Sabura didn’t share the same DNA.

But they did.

No, he’d never been tested. Given his empathic sense, he hadn’t needed to be. At fifteen he’d finally simply come out and asked the man. Demanded to know. Dare wasn’t sure which had disappointed him more—hearing Victor admit they were related…or feeling the utter lack of subterfuge.

So why could he still feel that cry?

Had Victor fathered another child?

Or did that cry have something to do with the other, older brand still on his heart? The one he’d placed above it.

His tattoo.

Dare glanced down at his chest, only to stop shy of the half-inch mark as he spotted something else.

The envelope Abby had pushed on him.

It was still in his hand.

He retrieved the tickets and studied them. Not only was Abby the featured soloist this coming Saturday, but he was forced to admit to himself that he truly wanted to go.

But he could not.

He’d spent the past two months believing that cry had nothing to do with her. He was right…and he was wrong. That cry had been a harbinger of the storm that was to come. And he did not want Abby caught up inside it. Besides, there would be thousands of people in Avery Fisher Hall. The last time he’d been trapped within the same walls with that much raw, intense emotion from so many people—

He stood.

The mere memory propelled his feet into motion. Dare crossed the bedroom and entered the bath, where his respite still waited. He dropped the tickets and his shirt to the floor, not even bothering to shuck his jeans before he entered the eight-foot hexagonal chamber he’d commissioned years before. He closed the door firmly, sealing himself within the glass and sealing the entire world out, Abby Pembroke along with it. Only then did he strip off his jeans and toss them aside before turning into the steaming spray in an effort to cleanse her lingering essence from his mind and his heart.

While he still could.

“You were fantastic, hon! The star of the show.”

Abby paused in the middle of removing her stage makeup to shoot a smile toward Marlena’s reflection as her friend entered the dressing room. “Yeah, yeah. You say that to Stephen after every concert.”

Marlena laughed as she closed the door. “True. But he’s my husband, so I’m excused.” Her grin turned wicked as she plopped down at the end of the padded bench. “Besides, I just tell the hulking lug that so I can get lucky later in bed.”

Abby laughed so hard she dropped her tissue into the pot of cold cream. At five-ten with a wiry build, Stephen was no hulking lug, not even beside Marlena’s petite build.

Her friend raked her fingers through her short blond curls and sighed. “I’m bushed—and I didn’t even perform. You ready to go?”

“In a sec.” Abby swung around on the bench. She’d already exchanged her black floor-length skirt and silk blouse for a peach T-shirt and faded jeans. She reached down for the worn leather flats that completed her postconcert ensemble, careful to keep her gaze on the carpet as she slipped the right shoe on. “I take it he didn’t show up.”

Silence.

By the time she glanced up, Marlena had crossed the dressing room and was studiously rearranging the bouquet of calla lilies currently overpowering the dressing-room table. Her friend fiddled with the flowers for several moments, then turned and sighed. “You really didn’t think he’d come, did you?”

No.

Abby slipped into the other shoe. Five days might have passed since she’d used Mr. Darian Sabura’s shoes as an excuse to drop off that pair of tickets, but any hope she’d had the man would use them—and in the process, possibly change his tune regarding her brother—had vanished long before the final movement of tonight’s symphony.

Marlena frowned as she plucked a spray of miniature peach orchids from the simple vase beside the lilies. “Honey, I know you had hopes of improving neighborly harmony, but it’s time to face facts. The man’s just not interested. Even if he had shown tonight, chances are he’d have taken one look at the genetic makeup of the rest of your guests and split.”

As much as Abby would’ve liked to deny the assessment, she couldn’t. “You’re probably right.”

“You know I am.” Marlena turned and snagged the violin and case from the dressing-room table. She held them out. “Now, cheer up and pack. It’s a big night. If not for you, for someone else I know.”

Marlena was right about that, too—tonight was a big night. And not because of a successful solo—because of Brian. Abby grinned as she accepted the custom case her father had given her three Christmases ago. Her brother would be sleeping over for the first time since her return from Europe. Frankly, she couldn’t wait to get him all to herself again. She popped the latches on the case and retrieved the cloth, carefully wiping the Stradivarius down before fitting the violin into its velvet bed. She slipped the horsehair bow into the empty slot and tucked the cloth inside. The moment she snapped the reinforced case shut and spun the combination lock, the door to the dressing room burst open.

Brian tumbled inside along with Marlena’s son. Nathaniel raced over to his mom as her brother hauled Abby in for a hug. Brian’s dark, upturned eyes danced behind his ever-present thick lenses as he grinned up at her. “You played very great tonight, Abby! The best. Everyone said so.”

Abby laughed, her hand slipping up to ruffle his soft brown hair before she could stop it. Knowing Brian, she figured he’d grilled every single patron he could following the concert, too. “Thanks, bro. So, you up for a pizza and a sleepover?” She might have mastered the violin by six, but she still hadn’t mastered the art of eating before a performance. Fortunately for her, Brian was up for Gino’s pepperoni special 24/7, whether he’d eaten recently or not.

His grin split wide, letting her know tonight was no exception. “Let’s go!”

Marlena held out her violin case and gym bag as she stood.

“Thanks.” Abby took them as Stephen arrived just in time to follow Brian and Nathaniel right back out the door. She crossed the room to head out after them.

“Ab?”

She paused at the door. “Yeah?”

Marlena pointed to the flowers on the dressing-room table. “Are you really leaving those for the janitor?”

She shrugged. “Grab the miniature orchids if you like, but leave the lilies. Fred can dump those in the garbage, for all I care. Unless you want them, which I doubt.”

Marlena frowned. “Don’t tell me—”

“’Fraid so.” She didn’t care if Stuart had left his name off that bizarre pastoral postcard to get it past security. There were only so many people who knew callas were her favorite. Of those, only one who’d send a bouquet so huge it bordered on garish. And then there was the stunning arrogance of his note: “I have more of what you need.” He’d even gone so far as to leave a cell number she didn’t recognize at the bottom, no doubt in hopes she’d actually call.

She wouldn’t.

In fact, she planned to apply for a new unlisted number herself come Monday morning. Right after she paid a visit to Stuart’s mother. Until this evening, she’d assumed Stuart simply wanted to get back together to help his flagging campaign for city councilman. If she was wrong and the implied threat in that note was correct, changing her phone number wouldn’t stop the harassment…but informing Katherine Van Heusen her precious son was trying to contact her again would.

Marlena grinned. “Atta girl. You’re learning.”

Her friend had no idea.

Abby sighed. “Yeah, well, hold your praise. I know three other guys who are going to come rushing back to harass us if we don’t get a move on.”

Marlena nodded as they hurried down the hall.

Fortunately, most of the symphony patrons had left. By the time she and Marlena made it to Lincoln Center’s underground parking garage, Stephen’s SUV was idling beside the curb. Marlena passed the orchids over as Stephen let Brian out of the car. “You sure you two wouldn’t rather have a lift?”

Brian answered for her as he reached their side. “No way! We want to stop for pizza.”

Marlena laughed. “Well at least let me take your bag. I’ll bring it to the softball game tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” Abby handed her bag to Marlena and the orchids to Brian, then waved to Nathaniel in the SUV before tucking the violin case beneath her left arm. She linked hands with her brother as they chatted and walked back down the hall toward the rear pedestrian exit that spilled out onto West Sixty-fifth. To her surprise, the street appeared darker than usual. As they turned left onto the sidewalk, she realized why. Either the grid that handled Lincoln Center was experiencing an electrical glitch or several of the halogen lamps along this side of the complex had dimmed enough to need replacing.

The effect was a bit spooky.

While traffic was still whizzing along Broadway at a decent clip, they were headed in the opposite direction, past Juilliard and the Walter Reade Theatre. Abby tightened her grip on Brian’s hand as they turned toward Amsterdam. Several steps later she clamped down tighter as she caught sight of a parked limo twenty yards ahead on the opposite side of the street. More specifically, the broad-shouldered, suit-clad man leaning into the driver’s window. To think she’d been impressed with Dare’s silhouette that night in her room. This guy was twice as big. Worse, the vibes the gorilla gave off were twice as dangerous and even more unsettling.

In the wrong way.

But why? Other than the man’s massive size, she had nothing to base the impression on.

Still, a voice deep inside her shouted run.

Even stranger, the voice wasn’t hers.

Abby bit down on her lip. “Maybe we should have taken Marlena’s offer for a ride tonight.” They could still hail a cab on Broadway.

Brian shook his head stubbornly. “No way. I want Gino’s!”

She tugged her gaze from the limo, ignoring the now bellowing voice inside her head. For goodness’ sakes, Gino’s was only two blocks away. “Okay, pizza it is.”

The second she glanced back, she changed her mind. Glass shattered around their feet from the vase of orchids as she caught sight of a glinting blade. The brute had a knife—and he was using it. Abby shrieked as the thug ripped the limo door open to stab the driver again. She screamed as her brother bounded forward toward the attacker.

“Brian, no!”

The violin case crashed to her feet and she vaulted over it racing after Brian. Two steps later, the tip of her right shoe clipped the edge of a pothole and she fell to her knees. She was still scrambling to her feet in the middle of the street as Brian reached the limo. Abby screamed again, this time at the top of her lungs, as the thug spun around and grabbed her brother by his hair, bashing the side of his head into the passenger window with enough force to shatter the glass.

A split second later, tires squealed.

Abby froze, then jerked her gaze to her left. It was a mistake. She was instantly blinded by the twin headlights bearing down on her. Before she could move, a wall of solid muscle slammed into her from behind, mercifully wrenching her out of the way of the fishtailing car before tackling her to the far side of the street. Pain exploded inside her skull as her head smacked into the cement curb.

“You okay?” The man above her asked.

“Y-yes—”

“Good.” He held her down. “Stay down.”

She couldn’t have disobeyed if she’d wanted to. Her vision was fuzzed and her balance was nonexistent. She crammed every ounce of strength she had into a single plea as the nausea threatened. “Please, help my broth—”

The limo roared to life, drowning out the rest.

It didn’t matter. Her tackler had already jackknifed off her body and vaulted after the car. It happened so quickly, she never even saw the man’s face. She had managed to place his voice, however. But by then it was too late.

She’d already passed out.

Chapter 3

The second the limo peeled away, every muscle in Dare’s body bellowed for him to whirl about, to sprint back up the street and haul Abby into his arms. To cradle her close and drag her out of the darkness that was swallowing her whole.

But he couldn’t.

Abby was fine, dammit. He’d known it even as he’d felt her slip completely away from him and into the numbing void of unconsciousness. She’d taken quite a crack to her temple and had passed out from the shock.

Her brother had not.

Dare reached Brian’s side, stunned by the intensity of his emotions. Brian was on his knees, his fingers clawing into the back of his neck as he rocked himself deeper and deeper into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to absorb the horror of what he’d seen. Dare had yet to touch him and already he could feel every nuance of roiling terror, the utter betrayal and confusion reverberating throughout Brian’s soul. He reached out and touched Brian’s shoulder.

Before Dare could draw his next breath, Brian whirled about, instantly accepting his silent offer. With no choice but to follow through, he bent and hefted Abby’s brother into his arms, carrying him over the shattered glass and blood. He would need peace and quiet to absorb enough of Brian’s horror to pull him from his shock and restore Brian’s mind. As much peace as he could find in this place of violence and death. Dare stopped several yards up the street as two women rushed in to see what they could do about the man he’d left behind. He didn’t bother telling the women their ministrations would be useless. Like Abby, the limo driver had already slipped into unconsciousness. But unlike her, the driver would not be recovering. And the moment Dare deepened his connection with Brian and absorbed the unexpected brunt and depth of Brian’s frantic need, he was forced to admit—

There was a chance he might not recover.

She was lying on something cold. Hard.

Cement?

Abby forced her eyes open and struggled to focus amid the onslaught of flashing lights and the hazy sea of blue.

“Take it slow, Miss Pembroke.”

A man’s voice. One she didn’t recognize. But he knew her name. She closed her eyes, then reopened them.

Her vision began to focus. She was lying on a sidewalk and there was a cop leaning over her, police lights strobing around her. She tried moving again. This time the cop helped her to sit up, tightening his grip as she succumbed to a sudden wave of dizziness.

“I’ve got you, ma’am.”

“T-thank you. I—I’m okay now.” She stared at the man’s face as his hands fell away. It took a few seconds and her vision was still a bit fuzzed, but she was able to make out the rest of his features. Dark red hair. Eyes that matched the blue in his shirt and in those ruthless lights.

Young. A kid, really. In a way, he reminded her of—

She stiffened. “Oh my God, Brian. He’s—”

“Fine.” The cop patted her arms. “Your brother’s okay, I promise. Physically. I have to warn you though, he was pretty shook up. Wouldn’t let anyone but your neighbor near him.”

Neighbor?

“Dare?” Uncertain, she’d breathed his name. Was he really here? Had he saved her from that car?

Saved Brian?

The cop nodded. He held out his hand, caught her fingers when she missed his grip and squeezed gently. “Officer Ryder, ma’am—John Ryder. My partner and I were on Broadway when we heard the crash. Unfortunately, it was over by the time we got here. Do you remember what happened?”

Crash?

Jarring, dichotic images stabbed through Abby’s mind, assaulting her so deeply she’d swear Schoenberg himself had stitched them together, but none involved a crash. The limo, yes. That hulking thug. A bloodstained knife. Shattered glass.

Her brother’s head.

She closed her eyes. It didn’t help. “Brian…he tried to keep that man from—” She stopped, swallowed firmly. She dragged in a breath in an attempt to clear her head, but instead of fresh air, she ended up with the latent exhaust from the police cruiser six feet away. Her head throbbed harder. She raised her hand to try and stave off the latest wave of dizziness and discovered a lump at her temple. Something wet slicked the side of her face, too, soaking into the curls that’d been pulled free from her braid.

Sweat? Or blood?

Brian.

She didn’t care if the world was still spinning, she had to get to Brian. She had to see for herself he was okay. She tried to stand, but the cop held her down. “Please, I n-need to see my brother.”

“In a minute. But first—” Ryder withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her throbbing temple for several moments, nodding as he pulled it away. “The paramedics are tied up at the moment. Don’t worry, though, a second ambulance should be here soon.” As if on cue, she caught the faint wail of a siren as he reached into another shirt pocket, this time retrieving a small notebook and a pen. The wailing grew louder as Ryder stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket and knelt beside her. “Ma’am, I know you’re shook up, but I need to ask you a few questions. It’s important if we hope to catch this guy. Mr. Sabura wasn’t able to get a clear look at the perp. We were hoping you could describe him. His face, clothes, coloring? Any distinguishing features?”

The dizziness increased as she shook her head. The nausea and throbbing followed close behind.

She closed her eyes and counted to five.

The latter eased.

She kept her hand cupped to her brow as she opened her eyes. It helped with the dizziness, at least. “No. I mean, I didn’t see him either. Not really. Dark hair, a dark suit, but I can’t be sure. He was in the shadows. The guy was huge, though. Like he lifted weights or something—” She broke off as the wailing turned to deafening shriek. The promised additional ambulance was almost on top of them now. Seconds later, it turned off Amsterdam, mercifully killing its siren as it came to a stop somewhere off her right.

Panic ripped in as she heard a cop immediately bellow for the new paramedics—and a gurney.

For Brian?

She couldn’t be sure. There was a police cruiser in the way. Those incessant, blinding lights. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more, but I didn’t see his face.” Truth was, she hadn’t even looked. She’d been focused on Brian.

Terrified.

“Did you get a look at the license plate, ma’am? Even a partial number would help narrow down the search.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything.” Just that hideous knife. The limo’s window.

Brian’s head.

If hers felt like it was about to split open, how must his feel? “Please, I—I need to see my brother. Now.”

She must have sounded as desperate as she felt because the cop finally tucked his notebook away and helped her stand. As she looked around, she realized which crash the officer had been referring to. There was a van with a mobile food cart in tow jackknifed halfway up onto the sidewalk beside the Newhouse Theatre. The van’s crushed front end was still married to the base of a steel streetlight.

God willing, the driver had fared as well as she.

Two uniformed cops ordered a group of gawkers back as a third officer unraveled a roll of yellow crime scene tape. He secured the tape to a pole as Ryder escorted her past the side of the van and down the street. Ten steps later, Abby felt glass crunching beneath her shoes. She assumed it was from the limo’s shattered window, but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t see her brother yet, either. The staccato of lights from both ambulances and a pair of cruisers blocking traffic at the far intersection were playing havoc with her precarious vision as she drew closer.

Several steps later, her vision cleared. She immediately wished it hadn’t.

The body.

Her stomach lurched as she stared down at the man her brother had tried in vain to save. She shifted her gaze in a desperate attempt to avoid the limo driver’s distant, glassy stare only to spot his shredded shirt. It was saturated with blood. The excess had pooled beneath his jacket, spreading into the street…around a pair of glasses.

She’d recognize those thick lenses anywhere. They belonged to Brian.

Her legs buckled.

Evidently, Officer Ryder was more seasoned than he looked. He caught her before she could fall.

“Gotcha, ma’am.”

Abby closed her eyes as the dizzying fog swirled in. It didn’t help. Like the sight of her brother’s head shattering that limo window, those bloodstained lenses were already burned into her brain. Her heart. By the time she regained her equilibrium, she swore the surrounding air had dropped thirty degrees. She shivered.

“Are you okay now, ma’am?”

No. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.

She pulled herself together as best she could and nodded anyway. “W-where’s my brother?”

“This way.” Ryder snagged her elbow and nudged her toward the flashing lights. She followed automatically, only to stiffen several yards later as she spotted her brother’s mussed hair through the open doors of a police cruiser. He was lying down across the rear seat, the top of his dark brown head toward her. Her violin was on the floorboard beside him, its steel case open as if someone had checked the Stradivarius to make sure it’d survived. Funny, for all she’d gone through to earn the right to play the thing, she’d forgotten all about it. All she could think about was her brother. The need to make sure he was okay.

She vaulted forward, leaving the cop in her wake as she scrambled across the remaining asphalt. But as she reached the cruiser and knelt beside the door, shock stopped her cold.

Brian was sleeping?

It would explain the thin blanket someone had tucked about her brother’s body. Her surprise turned to apprehension as she smoothed the hair from his forehead. Her brother’s breathing might appear deep and steady, but his cheeks were beyond pale. Flaccid. Was Brian asleep…or unconscious?

“Hey, bro. Wake up.”

He didn’t even stir.

She swallowed her panic and tried again. “Brian?”

“He’s fine, ma’am. Just a bit dazed.”

Abby turned to find a lanky paramedic, his tightly braided dreadlocks bunched securely at the base of his neck, rounding the rear of the cruiser. Her panic snapped back as the ebony-skinned man murmured something she couldn’t quite make out to Ryder and shook his head.

Had Ryder downplayed her brother’s condition?

Before she could ask, the cop turned and headed back into the crime scene.

Reassurance filled the paramedic’s gaze as he lowered himself to her level. The man’s lilting Caribbean accent soothed her even more, “Your brother’s lucky Mr. Sabura arrived when he did, Ms. Pembroke. Brian has several cuts, along with swelling and bruising on his left shoulder. Fortunately none of those cuts require stitches.”

“His shoulder? But…I thought he hit his head.”

The paramedic shook his head. “It may have seemed so given the darkness and your angle of view, but I couldn’t find any evidence of head trauma. One of the detectives told me that from the amount of glass present, the window was probably half open or less. Without the car he can’t be sure—but that does mesh with your brother’s injuries. Given the level of bruising, his shoulder bore the brunt of the attack.”

Relief blistered in. With it, however, came more confusion as she studied the steady rise and fall of her brother’s chest. “I don’t understand. How can he sleep at a time like this?”

“Shock. His Down’s, too. The stabbing you two witnessed hit your brother especially hard. Brian was coherent when I arrived, but upset and extremely confused. Your brother appears to have blocked out the attack itself. Since he wasn’t even in pain, he didn’t understand why I wanted to examine him. Mr. Sabura managed to calm Brian down, but by the time I finished—” the paramedic shrugged “—his mind had simply shut down. His body followed. You’ll want your doctor to look at him, but I’m certain a good night’s sleep will help. Given a few days, he may be able to recall what happened.”

“Thank God.” Abby ran her fingers through her brother’s hair. No bumps. Still— “You said he wasn’t in any pain?” That didn’t make sense. Even if he had struck his shoulder and not his head. “That monster smashed him into the window so hard the glass shattered.”

He wasn’t even sore?

The paramedic tugged his stethoscope from his neck as he shrugged. “The human body is amazing, Ms. Pembroke. I’ve seen people walk away from much worse. I’ve also seen them done in by less. If I were you, I would count it for the blessing it is and move on.”

The man was right.

Abby stood, intent on doing just that. Unfortunately her own throbbing head chose that moment to combine with the returning dizziness. Her vision fuzzed as she swayed. For the second time that night her spine slammed into a wall of solid muscle behind her. But this time iron arms also banded about her chest before she could gasp, steadying her.

“Easy.”

Dare.

Though he’d spoken but a single word, it was enough. She’d know that dark, smoky voice anywhere. Her vision had cleared, too—instantly. The pounding in her skull ceased. Even the ache in her ribs had faded. Just like that.

Because of him?

A fresh wave of chills swept through her at the thought, absurd though it was.

The paramedic took one look at the gooseflesh rippling down her arms and glanced above her head, toward Dare. “I need to get my bag. I’ll be back in a sec.”

She felt Dare’s nod.

And then they were alone. The chills, the traffic crawling, the flashing emergency lights, a pair of passing cops, the growing crowd at the intersection beyond, even her slumbering brother—everything faded as the very essence of the man behind her, holding her, seemed to seep into her bones. It was as if Dare’s body had somehow absorbed not only the physical pain of her injuries, but the terror in her heart as well. A soothing, mesmerizing warmth suffused her.

Lulling her.

It didn’t make sense. She didn’t care.

She was too busy relaxing into Dare’s chest, into him.

She felt his breath drag in, deep and steady. Felt the solid thudding of his heart beneath her blouse, his hypnotic heat envelop the rest of her flesh. If the man hadn’t chosen that moment to shift, to pull away ever so slightly, she wasn’t sure she’d have found the strength to move.

Dare dropped his arms as she turned. He didn’t step away from her as she’d expected, though. He hunkered down beside her instead, the sleeve of his tailored suit brushing her thighs as he reached into the car. She watched, stunned, as those callused fingers gently smoothed the hair from her brother’s brow as if he was a child who needed comforting.

“He’s doing great, Abby. He just needs time.” Dare straightened and captured her eyes with that enigmatic emerald stare of his as he turned to fold his arms and lean against the quarter panel of the police cruiser. “Brian will be fine in the morning, I promise.”

He meant it.

How could he be so sure? According to that article in Saucy, Darian Sabura had never even attended college, much less medical school. So why did she believe him?

Because she wanted to.

Somehow Abby managed to pull herself together, to shake off the bizarre spell this man had woven within her. This time she stepped away from him, putting two feet of desperately needed distance between them. To her surprise, the dizziness didn’t return with the sudden motion. Neither did the ache in her head or chest. Heck, she hadn’t even swayed.

But Dare had.

“Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. The blood draining from his cheeks said it all. Dare closed his eyes as he ran his hands through his hair before dragging them down to knead his neck. Something was definitely off with the man. Had he taken a whack tonight himself? He didn’t appear bruised.

By the time he folded his hands back about his chest, the fatigue appeared to have eased from his gaze. But it was still in his weary nod. “I’m fine, thank you. So is your brother. He is tired, however. He was inconsolable at first, but the EMTs and I managed to calm him. Unfortunately—as the EMT said—his mind and body simply shut down following his exam.” Something she couldn’t quite place flitted through the man’s somber gaze. Bruised or not, it was not her imagination. She’d swear the man’s body was on the verge of shutting down, as well.