Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(116)

She whirls around and asks Detective Looney, “Were there any witnesses? Did anyone actually see my husband do this? Any of it?”

“Mrs. MacKenna, as I told you, your husband confessed—”

“To shooting the man who stole our children, not to trying to hurt them himself.”

“The DNA—”

“No.” She shakes her head rapidly. “I don’t care. I don’t care what the DNA says. If no one saw—”

“Someone did see, and he paid with his life.” Out of patience, his eyes blazing, the detective gestures at the bloody figure on the ground. “And we have some questions for you.”

“I have to get to my children, but—”

“And we’ll take you to your children, but—”

“Please, just listen to me! My husband didn’t do this. I can prove it.”

“How?”

She closes her eyes briefly.

Forgive me, Mack.

“I’ll tell you. But first, please, can I speak to my husband?”

“I’m sorry. Not now.”

She nods. She’d expected as much.

“Mack!” she calls. “I love you! No matter what. I love you, and I believe you. I do.”

“Thank God.” His voice is ragged. “I love you, too, Allison.”

She swallows hard and turns back to Detective Looney. “Let’s go. I need to get to my children.”

“Mrs. MacKenna—”

“I know. The proof. I’ll tell you on the way to the hospital.”

No longer able to stand waiting outside for his cell phone to ring with news of the MacKenna family, Rocky finally called Murph and made him promise to ring the nurses’ station if he hears anything at all.

Now, stepping off the elevator, eager to get back to Ange, he sees one of the nurses come flying at him, and his heart stops.

“Mr. Manzillo! There you are! Dr. Abrams is looking for you!”

Rocky immediately breaks into a run, down the hall toward Ange’s room. He bursts through the door to see the neurologist bending over his wife, with several nurses gathered around the bed.

“What’s going on?” he asks breathlessly—but he sees for himself, before anyone can reply.

Ange’s eyes—those beautiful brown eyes he was terrified he might never see again—are open.

Even lying in a big white hospital bed with her scraped head bandaged, Hudson has an invincible air that fills Allison with a tremendous sense of relief the moment she catches sight of her.

“Shh, Mom, Maddy’s sleeping!” her daughter cautions as Allison gingerly gathers her into a hug, and she points to her sister in the adjoining bed.

Allison smiles and leans over Madison, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair for a moment before turning back to her firstborn. “How do you feel, Huddy?”

“Great. But I don’t know what time it is. Do you know where my watch is?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure we’ll find it.”

“Okay. What happened?” She sounds more curious than upset. “How did I get here? The nurse said you would tell me.”

“You were in an accident in the car. Do you remember?”

“No. I thought . . .” Hudson frowns. “All I remember is going to bed last night.”

As helpful as it might be if Hudson could shed some light on the chain of events, Allison knows it’s better this way—better that whatever was in those discarded syringes spared her children the horror of the truth . . .

But, thank God, not the worst truth imaginable.

Hudson looks over at her sister. “Was Maddy in the accident, too?”

“Yes.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

“Yes.”

“What about Daddy and J.J.?”

“They’re going to be all right, too,” Allison promises her. “I’m going to go see J.J. again now.” She’s been with him for the last half hour, ever since she arrived at the hospital. He’s still in serious condition, but stable now. It wasn’t easy to leave him, but of course she wanted to see the girls, who had both been sleeping when she arrived at the hospital. She had asked one of the nurses to summon her if either of them woke up.

“Will you tell Maddy I was here,” she asks Hudson, “and send the nurse back to get me when she wakes up?”

“I’ll tell her. Take your time, Mom. Maybe you can look for my watch out there.”

Allison smiles and kisses Hudson’s bandaged head, then Madison’s again, before slipping out the door to get back to J.J.

Unlike his big sister, he looks tiny and vulnerable, with tubes and wires connecting him to machines that monitor his vital signs. The doctors are fairly certain there’s no permanent damage—although there’s no way of knowing just yet.

A young blond nurse with a round face smiles at Allison as she settles back into the chair she vacated at her son’s bedside. “He’s a tough little guy, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Allison nods, smiling, remembering.

“Your girls look a lot like you,” the nurse tells her. “But not him. He must look like his dad.”

“Yes. He does.”

The nurse doesn’t know.