Heaven Preserve Us by Cricket McRae Page A

kitchen table.
    An hour later, with the pantry filled to the brim, I gave in and
called Barr's cell phone. I couldn't stand the idea of waiting by the
phone for his nightly phone call, all the while afraid that this was
the night he wouldn't call. I'd realized I didn't know exactly where
we stood or whether we were both looking for the same things
from the relationship. It seemed silly in retrospect, but we'd never
actually talked about our expectations.
     
    He didn't answer. I looked at my watch. After ten. I didn't leave
a message.
    Five minutes later the phone rang, though, and I rushed to answer it. Meghan and I narrowly missed colliding in the hallway.
Apparently I wasn't the only one expecting a phone call.
    The caller ID said it was Barr. "I won't be long," I said, and
snatched the phone off the charger. "Hello?"
    It wasn't Barr. It was Sergeant Zahn, his direct supervisor at
work, and he cut right to the chase. "Is this Ms. Reynolds? Detective Ambrose wanted me to tell you he's in the hospital."
    "What happened? Is he okay?" My mind went immediately to
the place I tried to keep under wraps, the scary ohmygod place
that had to do with the fact that my boyfriend carried a gun to
work and tangled with the dregs of society on a regular basis. In
that place lived things like bullet wounds and knife fights and
other disasters accompanied by the kind of special effects only
found in bad action flicks. I wasn't a big worrier, and Cadyville
wasn't Los Angeles, but the words "Ambrose" and "hospital" in the
same sentence sent me right there.
    "They're running some tests now. He asked me to call you.
Thought you'd want to know he's here." His voice was gruff, but I
tried to ignore that. It was no secret that the good Sergeant wasn't
all that fond of yours truly.
    "Can you tell me what happened?"
    "He was at the station. His stomach was upset, and then he got
light-headed and started having trouble breathing. Asked me to
bring him into the emergency room."
    Barr felt bad enough that he asked Zahn to take him to the
emergency room? This was not good. I heard several voices in the background, and one of them was Barr's. He didn't sound happy,
not at all.
     
    Okay. No bullets. And dizziness trumped a knife wound every
single time. But the word "hospital" still scared the bejesus out of
me. Zahn was saying something, but all I could hear was a very loud,
frightened voice in my mind clamoring to know that Barr was okay.
    But Zahn couldn't enlighten me any further and made short
work of getting off the phone. I dropped all notion of going to bed,
laced up my boots with shaking hands, and grabbed my coat off the
hall tree, calling out, "Meghan! Where are you? I have to go."
    She appeared at the top of the stairs. "What's going on?"
    "It's Barr. He's in the hospital."
    "Hospital! What happened??"
    "It's nothing to do with work. He's sick or something. I don't
know. I have to get over there."
    "Of course you do. I'd go with, but-" She gestured toward Erin's room.
    "No, no, that's fine."
    "I'll keep the phone with me. Call me when you know more.
No matter what time."
    "You sure?"
    Her nod was emphatic. "Absolutely. Even if he just has a bad
splinter. I want to know."
    Her words brought a small smile to my face, because I knew
her concern was as much for me as it was for Barr.
    I ran out through a heavy downpour to my pickup. My hands
had stopped shaking, and I jammed the key hard into the ignition
and started the engine with a roar. Rain slashed down, pounding
against the metal skin of the cab as I urged the Toyota through the dark, empty streets of Cadyville to the highway on-ramp. Our little
town only had an emergency clinic. Fifteen minutes later I was in
Everett, where Sergeant Zahn had taken Barr.
     
    Philip had gone to the same hospital. I thought of his gasping
breaths, how he clawed at the desk as if the slick surface might
somehow yield oxygen to his starved lungs. Barr's