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CHARLIE SAT UP IN THE hospital bed, hugging her knees. “I feel fine. I’m ready to get out of here. See?” She stretched out both legs, uncovering her feet to wiggle her toes. “The doctor said no lasting damage.”
The nurse smiled indulgently. “Glad you’re feeling better, but frostbite’s the least of your worries. It’s not just about you, anymore.” He made a notation on the chart, and left the room.
She stuck out her tongue at his retreating back, then gingerly fingered the tender swelling on her forehead. A concussion, hypothermia, bloody nose, dislocated and cut shoulder, and frostbite. She’d had worse.
Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, Charlie grabbed the rolling IV pole and juggled the lines that wanted to tangle. She hadn’t slept well since her admission. Granted, at first they’d kept waking her up because of her concussion. But she couldn’t find a comfy position in the hospital bed. Her shoulder and arm ached after being forcibly put back in place, despite the pain meds and stabilizing sling. And she missed Sherlock snuggling under her chin at bedtime. She sure hoped the police lady found him, and Sherlock forgave her.
“How’m I supposed to pay for this?” She scowled, and a lump tightened her throat. She had no money, no friends to help, and no family she’d claim. She worried if her face got splashed around the news. If the wrong people heard about her she’d wish she’d died in the wreck.
Sissie tried to help, gave her a place to stay, and a ticket out of her situation. But with Sissie dead, Charlie had nowhere to go. Sissie’s killer would come after her next, if she didn’t get the hell away from here. She’d disappeared before. She’d change her looks, and her name, and do it again.
Charlie rolled the IV stand to the door, and cracked it open. She itched to pull out the needles studding her arm, and run. But they’d taken her clothes. She couldn’t go anywhere without shoes in the sloppy sock-footies and ass-open gown.
Almost as if she’d willed his appearance, a nearby door swung open. Charlie ducked out of sight, but kept watch, intrigued by the white-haired man’s sneaky behavior.
He checked both ways before limping out of his room. He braced a hand on the wall, grimacing as he made slow progress toward the elevator. He’d pass her room within moments. Charlie grinned, guessing that he also wanted to escape the hospital. Maybe they could help each other.
She waited until he’d reached her room before quietly stepping out and confronting him.
“Lord love a duck!” he whispered. “Girly, you nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking around.”
“Looks like you’re the one sneaking.”
“Shhh, keep your voice down.” He flapped one hand at her, while glancing over his shoulder at the nursing station at the other end of the hall. “I’m discharging myself, that’s all. Don’t want to waste time arguing with a contrary-thinking medical person.” He staggered another few steps, wincing with each one.
“Need some help?” Charlie rolled her IV stand closer, offering the stability. “What happened to you, mister?”
“I’m Teddy, the bad-ass. I got shot.” He grinned. “Just a graze, really.”
“Really?” She smiled, quite liking the old geezer. He must be ancient, like 40 or 50 years old.
Grasping the IV stand, they moved together, speaking in whispers, toward the elevator. “What’s your name? This looks serious.” He gestured at the IVs, and blinked at the bandage stuck to her forehead and her arm sling.
“I’m Charlie, another bad-ass. I survived a hit and run.”
He stopped abruptly. “Wait, you’re the girl with the cat?”
Charlie caught her breath, then she grabbed his arm. “Are you a cop? Did they find Sherlock?” She looked over her shoulder, noticing two nurses now at the station. “Can you get me out of here, too? They took my clothes.”
Teddy shook his head. “From what I heard, you shouldn’t even be out of bed, Charlie.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not the one with a bullet hole.” She jutted her chin. “I gotta get out of here. I can help you with—whatever you’re doing. You’re working with the cops, right?”
They’d reached the bank of elevators, and Teddy punched the button. “You’ve already helped. In fact, Sherlock’s over at my place. He’s safe, and the police have the information. The best thing you can do is stay here and recover.”
“No!” Her voice rose, and one of the nurses started down the hallway toward them. “Did they catch the man who shot you? He could come after me, too.”
He didn’t say anything. Teddy turned up the collar on his coat, keeping his back to the approaching nurse.
Charlie grabbed his arm, whispering urgently. “I know stuff. A lot more stuff I didn’t tell the cops. I can help you, but you gotta get me out of here.”
The elevator opened, and Teddy released the IV stand and stepped inside. “I’m sorry, Charlie, I’ve got to go.” The doors shut, leaving her behind.
The nurse hurried to Charlie’s side. “How did your grandpa get up here? It’s not visiting hours. And I don’t care how good you feel, you need to stay in your room.” He grabbed the IV stand, rolling it down the hallway, and Charlie had no choice but to follow.
She didn’t care what the nurse, doctor, or old man Teddy said. She had to get out of this place, and fast. Like the nurse said before, this wasn’t just about her anymore. She had to stay safe. For her baby.
Ten minutes later, still pouting in the bed, the nurse returned carrying a bag from the hospital gift shop. Puzzled, Charlie waited until alone to open the package. Inside she found a set of stylin’ sweatpants, a hoodie, rubber-soled house shoes, and a note from Teddy with two words.
“Be ready.”
