The Last of the Moon Girls(103)

She pulled off her helmet, pushing back the sweaty blonde strands that had escaped her ponytail. She ran her eyes over Andrew, sizing him up. “You family?”

“No. I’m . . . a friend.”

She nodded, her face softening. “At this point, we don’t know. The body was . . . pretty bad. I’m sorry. I’m guessing the police will send someone to the hospital to talk to the girl.”

Andrew felt a wave of dizziness wash through him. “Girl?”

“The one who lives here. I don’t know her name.”

Andrew thought his legs might buckle. “Lizzy Moon? She’s at the hospital?”

“Memorial. She was lucky to get out.”

“Was she . . .” He let the word dangle, unspoken. Burned. Was she burned? “How bad was she hurt?”

Tammy’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. We had our hands full at that point. All I know is the medics took her away.”

Andrew threw a thank-you over his shoulder as he turned away, already churning his way back to the street, feet keeping time with the words pounding in his head.

Not dead. Not dead. Not dead.



The emergency room was a study in controlled chaos. Patients in various states of illness and injury were stacked into rows of green plastic chairs, wearing facial expressions that ran the gamut from bored discomfort to genuine misery.

Andrew moved past them to the admittance desk. A nurse in faded pink scrubs greeted him brusquely, eyes already assessing him for life-threatening conditions. When she found none, she reached for one of the preloaded check-in clipboards.

Andrew waved it away. “No. I’m looking for a patient. Lizzy Moon. The medics would have brought her in a couple hours ago. There was a fire . . .”

The nurse scanned the computer screen to her left. “Yup. She’s in trauma room four. Are you family?”

“I’m a friend of the family. Is she all right?”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more. Her mother’s with her. If you’d like to have a seat, I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Andrew dropped into the nearest chair, wondering what Rhanna was doing here. She was supposed to be in Connecticut. Moments later, she appeared. He shot to his feet, trying to read her face. She looked shaken and exhausted but not grief-stricken.

She captured both his hands, squeezing hard. “She’s all right. She’s got a concussion, but it sounds like they’re going to let her go home.”

A hundred questions crowded into his head as the initial wave of panic began to ebb. “I went to the house, saw the fire trucks. They were taking someone out in a body bag, and I thought—”

“She got out,” Rhanna said, cutting him off before he could say it out loud. “She’s safe.” She pulled her hands free, dropping them to her sides. “Dennis Hanley’s dead.”

The body bag. Dennis. He let it sink in. “Did she tell you what happened?”

“She was out in the barn. Dennis showed up with a bottle of kerosene—like the ones they found in the orchard. He was going to burn the barn with her in it, to keep anyone from finding out what his brother did to Heather and Darcy Gilman.” Her eyes had gone shiny. She blinked away the unshed tears, suddenly focused again. “She threw something at him as he was about to light the rag—some alcohol, I think—and his sleeve caught fire. When he dropped the bottle of kerosene, the whole place went up. She barely made it out.”

“Is she . . .”

“No,” Rhanna answered quickly. “No burns. But he hit her. Her face is a mess.”

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden rush of fury so strong he could taste it. For a moment he found himself wishing Dennis Hanley wasn’t already in a body bag.

Rhanna put a hand on his arm. “Do you want to see her? I’ll tell them it’s okay.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just stepped away. A short time later, she returned. “They said you can go in. I’ll take you. Evvie’s with her now, but I’ll pull her out.”

Lizzy was holding an ice pack to her face when he walked in. She lowered it when she saw him and met his gaze. He had tried to prepare himself for his first glimpse of her, imagining how she might look, what it would feel like to see her hurt, but it hadn’t been enough. There was no way he could have prepared for the angry bruise already forming on the left side of her face, the swollen mouth, the bandaged lip. Anyone looking at her would swear she’d gone twelve rounds with a prizefighter—and lost.

“Look who I found, Lizzy,” Rhanna said, breaking the awkward silence. “And just in time too. The doctor wants you to hang out a little longer, but she said if nothing changes, you can go home in a few hours. I’ve been wondering how we were going to get you home with Evvie’s wagon packed to the roof. Now you can ride with Andrew.” She looked at Evvie, crooking a finger. “You and I need to step out. The nurse said only one at a time.”

When they were alone, Andrew stepped to Lizzy’s bedside. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

She blinked at him. “For what?”

“For being an hour and a half away when this happened. For disappearing in a huff because my ego was a little banged up. I should never have left for Boston.”