The Edge of Ruin by Melinda Snodgrass Read Free Book Online

depressed the button, and started counting the seconds until the chemical relief arrived. While I waited, I noticed the spill of city lights through the slats and around the edges of the blinds.
    “What time is it?”
    “Little after ten.”
    “At night?
    “At night.”
    Slowly the events of the afternoon stuttered into focus. “Snyder?”
    Angela shook her head. “Died en route.”
    I killed someone. Again. But not a perp this time. A fellow officer.
Who tried to kill me.
With this much morphine washing through my system I shouldn’t have been able to muster up much more than remote interest, but instead rage seized my throat and cut off my breath. We were policemen, sworn to serve and protect, and that protection extended to our brothers and sisters on the force.
Fuck Snyder, and damn him to hell.
I was suddenly glad I’d killed him.
    But that probably wasn’t going to be the most politic thing to say when the inevitable board of inquiry was called.
    “It was self-defense,” I said aloud, testing out my defense, and the best part was that it wasn’t a lie.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Never mind,” And I was on to a new concern. I levered myself up on one elbow and scanned the surface of the small rolling table next to the bed. I cranked around to check the shelf behind the bed. The movement sent agony shooting out of my thigh and into my groin. “The sword!” I groaned. “Where—”
    Angela grabbed my hands, trying to steady me. “Damon secured it before the ambulance arrived. Your dad’s got it now. It’s okay. It’s all okay.”
    The pillows folded up around my ears. I just lay there feeling my heart rate slow.
    “Everybody’s here. In the waiting room,” Angela said. “Damon wanted to watch the local news. See how the whole thing is playing.”
    “And how bad is it?”
    “Well, on the one hand you saved three kids. On the other hand you shot and killed a fellow officer. Are you a hero or a villain?” Her voice took on that breathless singsong of the news whore trying to gin up interest in a story.
    “Neither. Both. Confused,” I said, trying to match her levity.
    “Are you up to talking?” I nodded, and she started for the door.
    “Wait.” She turned back at my call. I was very careful when I touched the sheet covering my right leg. “How bad?”
    “Not very. In and out. You were damn lucky. At such close range the expanding gases bruised the bone in addition to putting a really big hole in your leg. It’s going to hurt like hell for a while.” A humorous light danced in the velvet brown eyes, and her teeth flashed white against her cocoa-hued skin. “You’ll be on crutches for a few weeks. Or if that’s too déclassé you can accessorize with a really bitchin’ cane and suffer.”
    She didn’t miss the hot rush of blood into my cheeks. I was, in fact, just considering brass versus silver handles. Angela correctly interpreted the blush and laughed.
    “It’s okay. Your sartorial splendor makes up for the rest of us slobs.” This time she made it to the door before turning back. “Oh, one more thing. Your dad is really, really pissed. Just wanted to warn you.”
    The door fell closed behind her, and even the morphine couldn’t calm the sudden flutter deep in my gut that her words elicited.
When he’s one hundred and I’m seventy-five he will still have the power to make me feel five
, I thought, and I wondered if every parent had that power or if it was just my tough-as-nails sire. Then the door opened and what seemed like a torrent of people crowded into the room.
    Weber grabbed the ugly green armchair and dragged it over to the bed and sat down. Angela stood on the other side of the bed and busied herself untangling the tubes from the IV drips and checking the monitors. They felt more like guards than concerned friends. Next I looked at who they were guarding me from—my family. Which was a heck of thing when you thought about it.
    Pamela, who had carried in a bouquet of