Security Blanket

It was a woman. She sounded real, and Marin thought she might have felt someone gently touch her cheek.

She tried to open her eyes and failed the first time, but then tried again. She was instantly sorry that she’d succeeded. The bright overhead lights stabbed right into her eyes and made her wince.

Marin groaned.

Just like that, with a soft click, the lights went away. “Better?” the woman asked.

Marin managed a nod that hurt, as well.

The dimmed lighting helped, but her head was still throbbing, and it seemed as if she had way too many nerves in that particular part of her body. The pain was also affecting her vision. Everything was out of focus.

“Where am I?” Marin asked.

Since her words had no sound, she repeated them. It took her four tries to come up with a simple audible three-word question. Quite an accomplishment though, considering her throat was as dry as west Texas dust.

“St. Mary’s,” the woman provided.

Marin stared at her, her gaze moving from the woman’s pinned-up auburn hair to her perky cotton-candy-pink uniform. Her name tag said she was Betty Garcia, RN. That realization caused Marin to glance around the room.

“I’m in a hospital?” Marin licked her lips. They were dry and chapped.

“Yes. You don’t remember being brought here?”

Marin opened her mouth to answer, only to realize that she didn’t have an answer. Until a few seconds ago, she’d thought she was having a nightmare. She definitely didn’t remember being admitted to a hospital.

“Are you real?” Marin asked, just to make sure she wasn’t trapped in the dream.

The woman smiled. “I’m going to assume that’s not some sort of philosophical question. Yes, I’m real. And so are you.” She checked the machine next to the bed. “How do you feel?”

Marin made a quick assessment. “I feel like someone bashed me in the head.”

The woman made a sound of agreement. “Not someone. Something. But you’re better now. You don’t remember the train accident?”

“The accident,” Marin repeated, trying to sort through the images in her head.

“It’s still under investigation,” the nurse continued. She touched Marin’s arm. “But the authorities think there was some kind of electrical malfunction that caused the explosion.”

An explosion. She remembered that.

Didn’t she?

“Thankfully, no one was killed,” the woman went on. She picked up Marin’s wrist and took her pulse. “But over a dozen people were hurt, including you.”

It was the word hurt that made the memories all come flooding back. The call from her grandmother, telling Marin that she was sick and begging her to come home. The train trip from Fort Worth to San Antonio.

The explosion.

God, the explosion.

“Noah!” Marin shouted. “Where’s my son?”

Marin jackknifed to a sitting position, and she would have launched herself out of the bed if Nurse Garcia and the blinding pain hadn’t stopped her.

“Easy now,” the nurse murmured. She released her grip on Marin’s wrist and caught on to her shoulders instead, easing her down onto the mattress.

Marin cooperated, but only because she had no choice. “My son—”

“Is fine. He wasn’t hurt. He didn’t even get a scratch.”

The relief was as overwhelming as the pain. Noah was all right. The explosion that had catapulted them through the air had obviously hurt her enough that she needed to be hospitalized, but her son had escaped unharmed.

Marin considered that a moment.

How had he escaped?

A clear image of Lucky Bacelli came into her head.

The man she’d been certain was following her. He’d promised to get Noah out, and apparently he had.

“I want to see Noah,” Marin insisted. “Could you bring him to me now?”

Nurse Garcia stared at her, and the calm serenity that had been in her coffee-colored eyes quickly faded to concern. “Your son’s not here.”

Marin was sure there was some concern in her own eyes, as well. “But—”

“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been in the hospital?” the nurse interrupted.

Marin opened her mouth, closed it and considered the question. She finally shook her head. “How long?”

“Nearly two days.”

“Days?” Not hours. Marin was sure it’d only been a few hours. Or maybe she was simply hoping it had been. “So where is he? Who’s had my baby all this time?” But the moment she asked, the fear shot through her. “Not my parents. Please don’t tell me he’s with them.”

A very unnerving silence followed, and Nurse Garcia’s forehead bunched up.

That did it.

Marin pushed aside the nurse’s attempts to restrain her and tried to get out of the bed. It wasn’t easy, nowhere close, but she fought through the pain and wooziness and forced herself to stand up.

She didn’t stay vertical long.

Marin’s legs turned boneless, and she had no choice but to slouch back down on the bed.

“There isn’t any reason for you to worry,” the nurse assured her. “Your son is okay.”

Marin gasped for breath so she could speak. “Yes, so you’ve said. But who has him?”

“Your fiancé, of course. His father.”