The Price of Winning: London Calling Book Four by Kat Faitour Read Free Book Online Page A

neutral. Monotone.
    Yes. Madeleine had been dreaming. She looked down to see her hands were bandaged.  
    And then she remembered.  
    Her building. The explosion. Her parents.
    She dug her fingers into the blankets, anchoring herself. She read the nurse’s nametag.  
    Connie.
    “Connie.” Her voice was weak. Madeleine shifted, trying again. “Connie,” she began. Her voice was still trembling, but it was enough. “What happened?”
    The nurse dropped her eyes. She walked over to Madeleine’s IV equipment and began fiddling with dials, adjusting then resetting them to where they started. Finally, she looked up.
    “A man, a former employee, walked into the bank next to your building and started shooting. When everyone was down, he started setting off explosives.” Connie swallowed hard. “There are few survivors.”
    Madeleine stared. “So…so that was him. In my building.” It wasn’t really a question but Connie nodded.
    “Yes. He ran out of the bank, saving himself.” Bitterness edged her tone and she frowned. “The police were already arriving, so it seems he slipped into your building to hide out. More explosions went off next door, blowing out windows and doors down the block. He was completely visible. They think that’s when he started to panic.”
    Pressure was building in Madeleine’s chest to the point where she thought she might hyperventilate. Gasping, she practiced an old counting exercise. First breath in was one. Breath out was two. Breathing in, she counted three.
    And so on.
    Her psychiatrist taught her the technique the last time violence erupted and tore her life apart. It had worked then, but Madeleine couldn’t find solace in it now. She slumped, feeling as if a great weight were crushing into her. Panicked, her eyes darted to the nurse.
    Another nurse came rushing in. Apparently, Connie had pressed the call light.  
    “Get a sedative.” Connie’s voice was brisk. Direct.
    The room was spinning, making Madeleine afraid she’d be sick. She shut her eyes, trying to will away the dizziness and nausea. Her father stared back at her.
    She snapped them open again. Her breathing was ragged, desperate. She couldn’t get any air. She gasped, struggling for oxygen. She could feel her heart pounding as if to escape her body.
    She was going to die. Just like all the others.  
    She felt a jab in her arm then a burning sensation. She was pushed back onto the bed then a mask was fitted over her face. Almost immediately, her heart slowed its desperate beating. Her chest felt lighter, and her breathing eventually calmed. She looked up through watery eyes to see both nurses peering down at her.
    Distantly, she could feel Connie rubbing her forearm in slow comfort.
    Madeleine was ashamed. No doubt, mass casualties along with the critically wounded were also in this hospital. Yet she used up valuable nursing help by having a damned panic attack.
    She felt her face heat. She needed to be strong.  
    And she also needed answers.
    She flexed her arm, and Connie stepped back a little. Madeleine raised her hand to her face. Her aim was off, so she briefly fumbled until she could find the mask and lift it away. Connie nodded at the other nurse, who slipped out of the room.
    “Take it easy.” Connie’s voice was soft but firm.
    Madeleine’s tongue felt swollen. She turned her head on the pillow, trying to bring the other woman into focus. A little drunkenly she said, “My mother.”
    Connie pulled up a chair that sat alongside the bed. She eased herself into it with a deep sigh. She met Madeleine’s gaze with a thoughtful one of her own.
    Oh God.  
    Madeleine knew this routine. She’d gone through it all during the events over seven years ago. The sympathy. The compassion. The gentle, tentative explanations of something that was inexplicable. Illogical.  
    She’d thought things couldn’t be worse. Now she knew better.
    Connie cleared her throat. “I’m sorry Ms. Price. Your mother didn’t