The Departed

one you saw. He’s been in an accident. Get here. Now.” In typical Taylor Jones fashion, he delivered those words in a short, concise fashion and before she could ask a single thing, he hung up.
    That boy. Mark. Shit .
    Dez lowered the phone and cast one final look around the cemetery. “Whoever you are, I’ve got to go. But if you want my help, sooner or later, you’ll have to speak to me.”
    The wind gusted through the cemetery as she headed back to the car, blowing the tail of her coat around her legs, sending leaves swirling around her in gusts.
    And although she knew she wouldn’t see anything, Dez knew she was being watched.
    * * *
     
    “I usually have to be in a town a few months before I have to visit the hospital twice,” she muttered as she joined him in the hallway on the way to Mark Danvers’s room.
    Taylor just frowned. “If you really think he knows something, then we need to know now so we can have somebody placed here to watch him. This town is too small to be able to spare it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
    “Gee, I never would have thought of that,” she drawled, giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence as she fell into step next to him. “The two or three stop signs in lieu of stoplights never would have clued me in to that. I’m surprised you even get cell phone reception here.”
    “Smart-ass,” he whispered, nodding to the nurse as she came out of the room. He caught Dez’s arm and gestured to the doorway. “He’s in there. You’ll need to give the cops a minute to get the kid’s parents out.”
    Dez shook her head. “I think you should leave them in there.”
    Taylor opened his mouth to argue, but she slanted a look his way. “He wants to talk. He’s scared and he wants to talk…Give him a chance to do the right thing.”
    “And if he was involved in that boy’s death?”
    “I won’t let him talk about that right now. I just want to know about the girl…and what happened today.” She made a face at him. “I’m not new at this, you know. And it’s not like I don’t know what not to ask or anything. I can keep him from talking about shit he shouldn’t talk about without a lawyer. But you need to at least give him a chance…and let him have his folks. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
    Hell. So did he.
    Against his better judgment, Taylor nodded and stepped aside, following Dez into the hospital room.
    * * *
     
    IF the boy had looked pale and scared yesterday, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.
    Pale and scared and bruised didn’t even cover it.
    He must have sensed the tension from his parents, because Dez and Taylor hadn’t been in the room more than five seconds before the boy opened his eyes and turned his head to look at them.
    Dez ignored the parents, focusing solely on Mark. She’d wondered if she would feel regret coming from him—regret for helping her yesterday—but so far…no. All she felt was exhaustion and pain. And fear. A lot of it.
    “Hey.” She studied the big-ass bandage on his head and wondered how many stitches were under it. “Don’t take this wrong, man, but you look like hell.”
    He gave her a weak grin. “Well, maybe it’s a good Halloween costume.”
    “You think they’ll let you out to go trick-or-treat?” She moved around and eased a hip down on the edge of the bed, automatically sensing the best way to reach out to him, talk to him. He was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid, tired of lying.
    He really did want to talk.
    So she’d let him. And she’d hope his parents loved him as much as they seemed to.
    “Nah. I scrambled my brains—they’re keeping me for a day or so, they tell me.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Better off in here for a while, I guess.”
    “Yeah. I’m thinking so. Although I’m curious just how you ended up in here.” She waited until he opened his eyes and looked back at her. Then she lifted a brow and asked, “You got any idea what happened?”
    His mother reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “He already explained all of this. He lost control of his bike. It happens.”
    Dez ignored the mom. “You look awful scared, Mark. People who look that scared are usually scared for a reason.”
    A muscle jerked in his jaw. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to get something out of his eye…or maybe like he was trying not to cry. A harsh sob escaped him.
    “I wanted to tell somebody,” he blurted out.
    Mark’s dad straightened.