An Unlawful Order (The Chase Anderson Series) by Carver Greene Page A
Authors: Carver Greene
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lights. A huge piece of this puzzle was missing, but what was it? She didn’t feel up to solving that.For now, she had her world around her. Molly was safe.
When she winced from a sharp pain in her head, Samantha said, “Have they given you anything for the pain?”
Chase shook her head, her eyes still closed.
“Do you feel like talking about what happened?”
She wasn’t sure she could, but she would try. With her eyes still closed, she said, “I was on the H-3...” for now she’d leave out what section and why she was there, “to pick up Molly …” Molly was intertwining her tiny fingers with her mother’s. Chase opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter. To Samantha, she added, “The brakes just went out.”
Samantha’s strawberry blond eyebrowslifted. “You’re kidding?”
Just then, the nurse stepped into the cubicle. “Ready to go home?”
The CT scan proved there was no serious internal injury, but Chase was going home with a serious goose egg and a headache that was making her nauseous. She was released with a strong prescription for a painkiller and warned about the set in of whiplash.
On the drive home, Samantha pulled into the prescription lane of the base pharmacy.
A cheery employee shouted into the speaker, “Give us just a minute.”
Chase groaned from the woman’s shrillness. Every noise was amplified. The street lamps and oncoming headlights weretoo bright, the occasional horn, too loud.
“Are you hungry?” Samantha asked.
Chase shook her head. “You and Molly must be starving though.”
“She had crackers and juice while you were in X-ray. I’ll get you home and then order pizza or something.” When there was no cheering response from the back seat, Samantha adjusted the rear-view mirror. “She’s asleep,” she said.
“Samantha,” Chase whispered, afraid of the reverberation, “we need to talk about—”
The prescription whooshed its way through the tube. Samantha signed the credit card slip and sent it back through the tube. She opened the bag. “Relief is a swallow away,” she said, handing Chase a pill and a bottle of water. “It’s not cold, but it’s wet.”
“Anything,” she whispered and gulped.
Ten minutes later, at home, Samantha was easing a sleepy Molly from the back seat. “Be right back,” she said. Chase must have dozed during that short time. When she awoke, she was being helped from Samantha’s car by strange, strong hands. A man’s hands. Stone’s? She wanted to open her eyes, but they were lead-heavy. She managed to whisper his name. “Put your arm over my shoulder,” she heard and clumsily obeyed. The ground gave way to airy nothingness as she was whisked toward her home, and for a moment, she felt as if she were on a helicopter, on that first helicopter ride with Stone in Okinawa. Falling, falling, falling—recklessly, hopelessly in love.
CHAPTER 8
S he lay in darkness, praying for the ringing in her head to cease. How much longer could she stand it? The ringing continued and continued, cutting through the fog within her mind, and as the fog slowly lifted, she began to recall the wreck, her meeting with Shapiro, White’s crash, and the memorial service.
When she finally opened her eyes, daylight was streaming between the slats of the open blinds. The ringing refused to stop, and she realized it was the telephone on her nightstand. When she reached for the phone, she screamed out in pain. Her neck and back seemed fused, as if she had been dressed during the night in a back brace. Her first fearwas that she was paralyzed and so she tested her limbs, wiggling her toes, drawing her knees, a movement so painful she was forced to inhale short breaths. She tried her arms, lifting them up and down. Everything was working, even if she couldn’t compel her body to slide to one side or the other, or out of bed.
Thankfully, the ringing had stopped. She slowly turned her head toward the nightstand. Folded and propped like a white tent
When she winced from a sharp pain in her head, Samantha said, “Have they given you anything for the pain?”
Chase shook her head, her eyes still closed.
“Do you feel like talking about what happened?”
She wasn’t sure she could, but she would try. With her eyes still closed, she said, “I was on the H-3...” for now she’d leave out what section and why she was there, “to pick up Molly …” Molly was intertwining her tiny fingers with her mother’s. Chase opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter. To Samantha, she added, “The brakes just went out.”
Samantha’s strawberry blond eyebrowslifted. “You’re kidding?”
Just then, the nurse stepped into the cubicle. “Ready to go home?”
The CT scan proved there was no serious internal injury, but Chase was going home with a serious goose egg and a headache that was making her nauseous. She was released with a strong prescription for a painkiller and warned about the set in of whiplash.
On the drive home, Samantha pulled into the prescription lane of the base pharmacy.
A cheery employee shouted into the speaker, “Give us just a minute.”
Chase groaned from the woman’s shrillness. Every noise was amplified. The street lamps and oncoming headlights weretoo bright, the occasional horn, too loud.
“Are you hungry?” Samantha asked.
Chase shook her head. “You and Molly must be starving though.”
“She had crackers and juice while you were in X-ray. I’ll get you home and then order pizza or something.” When there was no cheering response from the back seat, Samantha adjusted the rear-view mirror. “She’s asleep,” she said.
“Samantha,” Chase whispered, afraid of the reverberation, “we need to talk about—”
The prescription whooshed its way through the tube. Samantha signed the credit card slip and sent it back through the tube. She opened the bag. “Relief is a swallow away,” she said, handing Chase a pill and a bottle of water. “It’s not cold, but it’s wet.”
“Anything,” she whispered and gulped.
Ten minutes later, at home, Samantha was easing a sleepy Molly from the back seat. “Be right back,” she said. Chase must have dozed during that short time. When she awoke, she was being helped from Samantha’s car by strange, strong hands. A man’s hands. Stone’s? She wanted to open her eyes, but they were lead-heavy. She managed to whisper his name. “Put your arm over my shoulder,” she heard and clumsily obeyed. The ground gave way to airy nothingness as she was whisked toward her home, and for a moment, she felt as if she were on a helicopter, on that first helicopter ride with Stone in Okinawa. Falling, falling, falling—recklessly, hopelessly in love.
CHAPTER 8
S he lay in darkness, praying for the ringing in her head to cease. How much longer could she stand it? The ringing continued and continued, cutting through the fog within her mind, and as the fog slowly lifted, she began to recall the wreck, her meeting with Shapiro, White’s crash, and the memorial service.
When she finally opened her eyes, daylight was streaming between the slats of the open blinds. The ringing refused to stop, and she realized it was the telephone on her nightstand. When she reached for the phone, she screamed out in pain. Her neck and back seemed fused, as if she had been dressed during the night in a back brace. Her first fearwas that she was paralyzed and so she tested her limbs, wiggling her toes, drawing her knees, a movement so painful she was forced to inhale short breaths. She tried her arms, lifting them up and down. Everything was working, even if she couldn’t compel her body to slide to one side or the other, or out of bed.
Thankfully, the ringing had stopped. She slowly turned her head toward the nightstand. Folded and propped like a white tent
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