For three more days Becca floated in and out of consciousness. At one point, she managed to stay awake and she was finally able to speak with Dr. Osterman. She explained that Becca’s fall at the motel caused significant trauma. “You suffered a bleed known as an epidural hematoma. We performed emergency surgery to relieve the pressure in your brain. We’ll continue to monitor your condition. You must be patient. It will take you time to get back on your feet.”

She wanted to tell the doctor she was fine, but her body had other ideas. The days rushed by, a revolving door of tests, shift changes, and endless medications.

On the sixth day, Becca woke with a pounding headache, a constant these days. She opened her eyes, expecting to find Ash camped out beside her. To Becca’s surprise, she found Wishard, sitting cross-legged in the chair beside Becca’s bed. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she seemed less intense off-duty, a notebook open on her lap. The clicking of her pen told another story.

“That’s not exactly therapeutic,” Becca said, gesturing to her pen.

Wishard smiled and clicked it one more time before placing it and the notebook her bag. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, as though Becca had taken a long nap instead of suffering a severe brain injury.

Becca slowly sat up, scanning the room for Christian. “Afraid Chris is working so it’s just the two of us. I figured I should stop by and pay my respects to LA’s conquering hero,” Wishard said.

Wincing, Becca leaned forward, fumbling for the nearby water pitcher, her throat dry, her voice raspy from the breathing tube. “I’m not a hero,” Becca said.

“Tell that to the media camped outside,” Wishard replied, grabbing the glass and filling it in one swift motion.

“Is this the part where you inform me of my rights and I demand to speak to a lawyer?”

“If I had any say in the matter, it would definitely have crossed my mind. Trust me, there are plenty of charges. Obstruction of justice, kidnapping, impersonating an officer, the list goes on and on. The thing is, when someone is instrumental in apprehending a ritual serial murderer, the LAPD isn’t as motivated to make an arrest. Go figure. Though I imagine there may be issues with your current state of employment.”

Wishard’s words cut deep. Becca devoted everything to her career and now there was a pretty good chance it was over. Her head ached even thinking about it. So she wouldn’t.

“How is Nate? Is he…,” she asked.