Chapter 2 Mari’s POV

He passed out right after he said Josie's name, and I just stood there like an idiot, my heart pounding so hard.

"Mari." Dr. Patel snapped his fingers. "I need you here."

But I wasn't there. I was three years back, in my old kitchen, staring at a phone that wouldn't ring.

And right now, a stranger had just said my sister's name like he'd said it before.

We took him to the OR. I held the retractor and tried not to think. Dr. Patel found the bullet lodged against a rib, and when he finally pulled it out with the forceps, he went quiet.

"Huh…” he said.

"What?"

"That's not lead."

He dropped it into the steel tray, and it rang like a tiny bell. It was small, pale, heavy, and the exterior was a dull silver color. The skin around where it had been was already turning pink. The gray was fading in front of us, like someone had flipped a switch.

"That's not possible," the circulating nurse said.

"A lot of things aren't possible at three in the morning," Dr. Patel said, rubbing his face. "Bag it, label it, and send it to the lab. I'm going to write this up and then call the sheriff."

As he walked out, the tech turned to switch off a machine. And without really deciding to, I picked up the little silver bullet and put it in my pocket.

I don't even know why I did it. My hand shook as I zipped the pocket shut.

By five o'clock he was in a recovery bed, and his fever had dropped to a hundred and one. A hundred and one!

Two hours earlier he'd been at a hundred and eight. And now the wound looked like a week-old scab.

"I'm losing my mind," I whispered.

"Probably," said a voice behind me. "But you're not the first."

I spun around. Three men stood in the doorway of the recovery room, and the whole room suddenly felt smaller. The one in front was older, maybe sixty, with a silver beard and a leather vest that had a snarling wolf on the back. His eyes were kind, and that scared me more than anything.

"Ma'am," he said. "I'm Harlan Creed. That young man is a friend of mine. I'd like to take him home."

"He just had surgery. He can't be moved, and the police are coming."

"Are they?" Harlan smiled. "I'd hate for him to be gone before they get here."

Behind him stood a lean, good-looking guy in his forties with a friendly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and a bald giant with large arms.

"Wade," Harlan said, "go see about the car."

The smiling one stayed where he was. His eyes were on my face, then on my scrub pocket, then back up. "Nurse Reyes," he read off my badge. "Funny how a girl like you gets stuck on night shift."

"It's a job."

"Sure it is." He stepped closer. "Did the doctor take anything out of our boy?"

My stomach flipped. I kept my face blank. "It went to the lab."

"Did it?"

"I just said that."

Harlan put a hand on Wade's chest without even looking at him. "That's enough. She's had a long night." He turned back to me, and his voice dropped. "Miss Reyes, I want you to understand something. My boy owes you his life and we won't forget that. But he's a private man, and so are we. Anything you saw tonight, it would be best for everybody if you forgot it."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's advice." He tipped his head. "People get hurt in this county, honey. You know that better than most."

My breath stopped. I hadn't said a word about Josie, and yet I felt it like a slap.

"Does he know my sister?" I said, the words escaping my lips before I could stop them.

For one second, a strange look moved across Harlan's face. It was so fast that I almost missed it.

"Rook says a lot of things when he's burning up," he said gently. "Go home, Nurse Reyes."

They wheeled him out in a laundry cart with a sheet over his head, and nobody on the floor said a word. Dr. Patel came back to an empty bed and said he needed a very strong drink.

I clocked out at seven. I didn’t even remember the drive to Cedar Court.

My mom's room was small and neat, with a photo of the three of us on the dresser. She was sitting by the window in her blue robe. She looked up when I came in, giving me a polite smile as if I was a stranger.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hello, dear. Are you the new girl?"

I swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'm the new girl."

"My daughter used to work in a hospital." She patted the chair next to her. "She's very busy. I don't see her much."

I sat down. I'd been through this for a year, and it still felt like falling down the stairs. I held her hand while she talked about the birds. She called me Josie once, then Marisol, then nothing. I made it all the way to the parking lot before I started to cry. I just put my head on the steering wheel and let it all come.

It had been three years on Thursday. Three years since Josie texted me, “Come get me. I'm at Black Pines, and I'm not feeling good.” Three years since I said I'd come after my shift ended because I was tired, and she'd always been dramatic, but she'd always been okay.

I got home at nine and sat on my kitchen floor with my shoes still on. Then I took the little silver bullet out of my pocket and held it up under the lamp.

There were two small letters scratched into the base neatly. BP.

I read them again. My ears started to ring.

The police had found a matchbook in Josie's abandoned car. Black and green, with a picture of a pine tree. Black Pines Roadhouse. I'd stared at that matchbook for a month.

BP.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Somebody had shot an Iron Fang biker with a bullet that had Black Pines scratched into it, and the same biker had said my sister's name.

The floor seemed to tilt. I was still sitting there, holding my breath, when I heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside my building. The sound cut off. Heavy footsteps came up the stairs and stopped right outside my door.

I heard a knock, then a voice I'd heard only hours ago, hoarse and cracked and way too close.

"Mari. Open the door, please. They already know where you live."