Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(47)

Hannah blinked. “Excuse me?”

The doctor set her clipboard down. She pulled her frameless glasses off her face and set them on top of the clipboard. “The test results don’t lie, Hannah, and exhibiting symptoms less than a week following a concussion is perfectly normal. No one suffers a brain trauma and is fine a few days later. I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.”

“My hearing is still a little fuzzy on one side, but other than that, I am fine.” Hannah craned her neck to see the paperwork. “Those results can’t be right.”

“How about sleeping? More or less than usual.”

“Maybe a little more,” Hannah admitted. But she had been working long hours for the last month. Being tired wasn’t unusual after she’d finished a major deal.

“Dizziness?”

“None.”

Dr. Martin lifted a skeptical brow. “What about reading?”

“No problems,” Hannah said. “When can I get back to work?”

“Every individual is different. Some people heal quickly. Others might take a few months.”

“Months? I don’t have months.” Hannah’s head had felt fine before, but now pain spiked through her temple.

“Relax.” The doctor’s tone sharpened. “Getting upset will only make it worse. This is going to take some time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

And watch my career go down the drain. “But I feel fine, and I can’t take months off from work. I’m supposed to be in London next week. Isn’t there a medication that would speed things up?”

The doctor sighed. “No. If you don’t take care of yourself now, you will pay in the long run.”

“I really need to get back to work.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Dr. Martin said. “I want you to come back in four weeks for a reevaluation.”

Four weeks . . . How would she cope with four weeks of inactivity? Royce said her job wasn’t in jeopardy, but other associates were there to jump in and handle cases while Hannah was sidelined.

Hannah turned on her voice memo app and recorded the doctor’s instructions. Then she zoned out while the doctor expounded on the long-term consequences from repeated blows to the head. Hannah was focused on the here and now.

Four weeks was a long time. Hannah needed to be busy. The more time she had to rest, the more time she could contemplate Jewel’s fate and relive the terrors of last spring. The absolute last thing she wanted was more time on her hands.



Sitting in the neurologist’s waiting room, Brody checked his e-mail for the fourth time, then leafed through a six-month-old issue of Time magazine. What was taking so long? Hannah had been called into the exam room over an hour before.

The door opened. Her face was pinched and strained, her eyes clouded with pain—and disappointment.

She pulled her mouth into a tight smile. “I’m sorry that took so long.”

“Are you done?” He glanced back at the sliding glass window that separated the reception station from the waiting room.

Nodding, Hannah crossed to the coat tree.

Brody reached over her shoulder and lifted her jacket off the hook. He held it open so she could slide her arms into the sleeves. After a slight hesitation, she did.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” She adjusted her collar and headed for the door. “Can I tell you about it later? I have a splitting headache.”

“Sure. I thought doctors were supposed to make you feel better.” Brody opened the door.

“That makes two of us.”

They took the elevator to the ground floor. “Do you want to wait here while I get the car?”

They’d left his sedan in a garage two blocks over.

“No. I’d love some fresh air.”

“We’re in Manhattan. Good luck finding any of that.”

Hannah’s short laugh eased the heaviness in Brody’s chest. Outside, the sidewalks were crowded. They maneuvered around the line for a hot dog cart, Hannah threading through pedestrian traffic with the confidence of a person who spent a lot of time in cities. Her long legs had no trouble keeping up with his. A guy stepped out of a doorway directly in front of Hannah. Without breaking stride, Brody angled his body and shouldered the jerk out of the way. The man stumbled, then righted himself with a self-righteous shout of “Asshole!”

Hannah glanced over at him. Over the pain in her eyes, humor glinted.

Brody lifted a casual shoulder. “He should have been watching where he was going. He could have knocked you over.”

“I can handle myself, but thank you,” she said.

“I know you can handle yourself, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m not disagreeing. The guy was rude. Grant would have accidentally put an elbow into his face.”

“Your brother’s temper is legendary in the department.”

The cool air, exhaust-scented as it was, seemed to perk her up. They took the elevator to the fifth floor of the parking deck and crossed the stained concrete to Brody’s SUV. He opened the passenger door. Hannah flashed him an inquisitive half smile as she took her seat. He rounded the car and slid behind the wheel.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I’m just not accustomed to having my coat held and doors opened,” she said. “Not that I don’t like it. It’s charming.”