CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
out, damned spot
Harmony rushes back into the bedroom. “Got the medical kit!” She unzips the compartments and tosses sealed packages of rolled sterile gauze. She then throws herself onto the bed from the other side, earning Iona’s pained grunts with the movement. “Sorry. Cut her shirt away.” She hands me some weirdly shaped scissors. “Put pressure on those wounds.”
My mouth is still agape. “Did you say Kelly Lockhart?”
Iona tries to reopen her eyes but can’t.
“Impossible. She’s in jail—or in the psych ward.”
“Not anymore. I told you, Dea Vitae has friends everywhere. Judges, wardens, even your precious RCMP.”
My stomach clenches. “Not Wes—no way.”
She smiles. “Nae. Sergeant Singh’s as pure as the driven snow. But many of his friends arenae.”
“Jesus …”
Harmony
