“I’m on the bridge.”
His next word was just a whisper. “Charley,” he said. It took him a moment, but his footsteps restarted.
And shame engulfed me again. Faith had taken up her post on the bracing as Uncle Bob rushed to me, gun drawn. He first checked Tidwell’s pulse. Finding none, he holstered his gun and knelt beside me.
“My god, honey, what did he do?”
“He was really mad.”
He struggled to get the binds untied. Lights glowed in the distance. The patrol car was coming.
“Please, hurry,” I said, mortification settling in.
“Got it.” He pulled the metal wire off my wrists and helped me stand so I could pull up my pants. He had to help with that, too, gingerly lifting my panties into place, then my jeans as hot tears of humiliation slid down my face. “Your back,” he said, but I shook my head.
“My shoulder hurts worse.”
“Why do you smell like gasoline?” But he’d spotted the torch almost the moment he said it. A gasp escaped him when he realized what he was looking at.
“It’s dislocated. Can you fix it?”
“What? No, honey.”
“Please,” I said as the cop car pulled in beside Uncle Bob’s SUV. “I saw you do it to that other cop once. I know you know how.”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea what kind of damage has been done.”
“Please.”
“Okay, lean against the railing.”
“Detective?” the patrolman said from underneath us. I didn’t know him.
“Up here, Officer. I need you to get the medical examiner out here as well as a few of your closest buddies.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He’d focused his flashlight on me. “Should I call for an ambulance?”
“We’ll need one, yes, after the medical examiner gets out here.”
“What about for her?”
“No,” I whispered to him. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
“We’re okay. If you’ll just get the ME out here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready?” he asked me.
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’re going to take this nice and slow. Just relax.”
He took my arm, rotated it out, then pulled slowly until my shoulder popped back into place. A sharp spasm shot through me, then relief. It was instant, but with that pain gone, the one in my leg was magnified.
“Okay, now my ankles.”
He draped his jacket over my shoulders, then led me back to the ground and knelt in front of me. It took him longer to get the thick wire off my ankles, and I was still dizzy, so I clung to a bracing as he worked.
“Charley, did he —?” He scraped a hand over his face, then took hold of my chin. “Did he violate you?”
I was a little surprised that this seasoned detective would use such archaic language for such a heinous act. “No,” I said, my breath hitching. “He tried, but he didn’t get far.”
Uncle Bob released a slow breath. “Charley, what the hell?”
But I’d had enough of tough Charley. Tough Charley was going on vacation. I was ready to be the little girl he’d taught to ride a bike. The one he took fishing every summer. The one he’d taught about sex, but that wasn’t really his fault. I’d raided his p**n stash when I was ten. I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. He cradled my head to him, probably afraid he’d hurt me, and held on for dear life.
“Sir?” the officer said. He’d climbed to the bridge and was waiting for us. “The ME could be a couple of hours, but the ambulance is on the way. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Officer. If you could section off this area, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked down at me. “This might hurt,” he said, his expression full of regret.
“It’s okay.” I kept my arms draped around his neck.
As gently as he could, Uncle Bob lifted me into his arms and carried me down to his SUV. The officer rushed forward to help and assisted in maneuvering us down the steep slope to the road below.
“Is your leg broken?” he asked after he got me settled in the passenger seat.
“I don’t know. It hurts. But I want to go home.”
“Okay, after the EMT checks you out. Who was this guy?”
“The guy in the bar from the other night. The one who elbowed Cookie. He rammed into me,” I said as my lids drifted shut. “He was going to kill his wife.”
The rest of the night was a blur. Uncle Bob wanted to call Cookie, but I refused to let him wake her up. She would be livid come morning, but she’d get over it. She always did. The EMT kept insisting that I go to the hospital, but I refused, even when Uncle Bob threatened to have me arrested. I had to remind him that I wasn’t like all the other girls in the park. I would heal in a matter of days. He wanted X-rays of my leg, but I had a feeling if it were really broken, I couldn’t have put my weight on it. So he took pictures of my back and other injuries for his statement, then brought me home.
The guy even carried me up two flights of stairs.
I would probably have to stop giving him such a hard time for a while. Maybe a day or two. When I asked him about Misery, he shook his head. My Misery. What would I do without her?
So, beaten and bereft, I lay huddled in my bed with a very worried Faith underneath it and a very angry Reyes sitting on the floor beside it, his back braced against the wall, legs drawn, arms thrown over knees, and eyes watching every move I made. Every breath I took. He’d heard us come in and was at my door in an instant. He glared at Ubie, but my uncle, being the gallant man that he was, didn’t mind. He seemed relieved to have someone watch over me, since I’d insisted he go home and get some rest.