Whispers by Erin Quinn Page B

wanted to leave the dogs back at the Diablo, but they’d whined and barked and worked themselves into a frenzy before she’d managed to shut the door and make it down the hall. She didn’t want Grandma Beck’s bedroom to be in shreds when she returned so she’d relented.
    The storm had at once quieted and increased so that the rain seemed to waterfall from the sky instead of simply pour, and the descent acted as a muffler to all other sounds. The thunder and lightning had retired for the time being, although the sky looked every bit as black and ominous as it had in the wee hours of the morning. It was just after eight when they pulled up to the clinic—only hours since Gracie had burst through the front door of the Diablo. It felt like days.
    Analise had been quiet since waking up and she sat stiffly in her seat. The short drive down Rough Street to the clinic should have taken less than five minutes, but with the streets nearly flooded, Gracie dared not go too fast. As it was, they could have walked it quicker than they drove it.
    “ Is this ever going to stop?” Analise asked.
    “ It doesn’t look like it, does it? I can’t remember it ever raining for so long here. I hope it lets up long enough for us to bury Grandma Beck.”
    Saying the words brought a wash of uncomfortable and unresolved emotion. As if the death of her grandmother wasn’t as important as getting her into the ground. But that’s how she felt. She didn’t want to be like Reilly, carrying around his brother’s ashes because he couldn’t bring closure to Matt’s death. Now that she had Analise safely with her, she just wanted to collect Brendan, put her grandmother to rest, and get the hell away from Diablo Springs. And everyone in it, she added silently. Especially Reilly Alexander.
    She parked in front of the clinic and cracked the windows for the dogs, knowing the seats would be wet and the dogs even smellier when they got back. The entire trip could be summed up in the same way—one unpleasant thing to counteract a dozen worse. Together they raced to the front door, arriving drenched all the same. Dr. Graebel looked tired and drawn when he let them in.
    “ How is he?” Gracie asked, glancing curiously at Analise who hung back in silence.
    “ I think he’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat, indicating the room to the right with a nod. “He’s in there. You can take him home.”
    Gracie thanked him and led Analise into the room. Brendan was a gangly young man, tall and rangy with corded muscles and sun-baked skin. His hair was beach blond and his eyes a clear sky blue. He was a product of harsh raising and hard outdoor work.
    A white bandage circled the top of his head. It looked unnaturally bright against his deep tan. Bruising seeped out from beneath it, discoloring the skin around his temple and right eye. One arm was in a sling, but not a cast. He was dressed and sitting in the hard plastic chair next to the bed, deep in concentration. When he heard them enter, he looked up, frowning worriedly when he saw Gracie, but his face brightened when Analise stepped in behind her.
    He reached out for her hand and she hurried to his side and took it. “I’ve been so worried about you,” he said, pulling her fingers to his lips.
    The gesture seemed old-fashioned and for a minute Gracie wondered at it.
    “ I was worried about you too. They wouldn’t let me stay.”
    He gave Gracie an accusing glance, though the decision had been made before she’d arrived. She found herself defensive under his censure, a strange impulse wanting her to say as much, but she held it back. He’d brought her daughter here, knowing she’d lied to Gracie about her whereabouts. Injured or not, Brendan was on Gracie’s shit list.
    “ Are you all right?” he asked Analise, looking deeply into her eyes with touching concern that softened Gracie’s outrage.
    “ I’m fine, I guess. It was scary.”
    “ I can’t really remember what happened,” he