Snitches Get Stitches (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 8)

After thanking the assistant who worked for our PI for meeting us, I was headed to The Bridge and thinking about a plan. A plan that centered around finding who I thought to be in there, but may not actually be in there.

But I chose to hedge my bets and hoped that I’d find something more on what was going on, and also hoped that the chatty office lady was still there today so I could ask her questions.

It turned out that I was in luck because the same woman was there as was last time.

But before I’d even gone in, I made sure to stop by the bakery and get the cupcake that was said to be Linnie’s ‘mother’s’ favorite.

After stowing it in the murse—man purse—that I thought might be helpful to have with me in case of emergency, I made my way in and smiled my brightest smile at the woman behind the desk.

“Hello,” I called out the moment I was close enough to be heard. “How are you doing today?”

She couldn’t remember where she knew me from, and I saw the moment she decided that the reason she knew me was because I’d been there before with the therapy dogs.

“Hello,” she smiled brightly. “How are you two doing today?” Her eyes went to the poodle and she frowned. “My, that’s a big dog.”

I agreed with a nod of my head.

“I’m here to start my rounds,” I showed her my badge. “Where would y’all like me today?”

Her brows furrowed, and then she shook her head and said, “I don’t remember y’all being on the schedule for today, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m only told limited information. If you want to head on back.” She pressed a button beside her desk. “I’ll buzz you back.”

I winked at her and started inside, my eyes taking everything in as I moved.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

***

An hour and a half later, I was fairly sure that everyone in the particular mental health facility I was in wasn’t actually mentally ill.

Every single one that I’d spoken with over the last hour seemed to be a functional adult, and I hadn’t met one yet that seemed to be missing a few of their Cocoa Puffs like I’d expected.

The only one that really gave me pause was a man named Albert, and that was only because he wasn’t wearing any pants. But, even then, he’d been about to go into the sauna—yes, you read that right, a fuckin’ sauna in a mental health facility.

Now, I was left wondering if I’d met every patient that The Bridge had to offer.

There were four rooms that I hadn’t managed to get into yet.

One was a staff break room. The second was a patient’s room that was said to be outside near the pond that I hadn’t found. The third was the boiler room. And the fourth was a conference room where I was told families and their patients met to discuss their progress.

I was considering what I would do now when I heard a throat clear.

“Excuse me, that’s my room you’re standing in front of and I can’t get by.”

Monster chose that moment to sit on my feet, meaning I could only turn my head to see the woman.

Only, she was very short, and I had to nearly press my chin to my chest to be able to look her in the eyes.

And what I saw made my heart pound.

It was not-Tara.

In a wheelchair.

Was it politically correct to call someone short that happened to be in a wheelchair?

I didn’t really know.

“Oh, sorry,” I fake apologized. I’d been hoping that she would come to her room eventually instead of making me chase her around the grounds. I had a feeling the elusive patient of The Bridge was her. At least, I was hoping it was her. “Monster, move.”

Monster moved, but only so that he could walk up to the woman and place his head in her lap.

The goofy dog.

He knew exactly what to do to play it off.

Not-Tara looked down at the dog and…cried.

Her hands went to the dog’s head, and she dropped her head to her chest, shielding her eyes. And at first, I didn’t realize she was crying. It was only after a tear hit the top of Monster’s nose and he licked it off that I understood.

Sitting down in the chair beside the room, I waited while she and Monster had their moment.

My eyes caught on the tattoo that was dead on match with Tara’s, and I felt my stomach somersault.

And I counted the differences between these two ladies.

Other than the obvious wheelchair and the ghostly blue eyes, I could tell much more of a difference now.

Her body was skinny. Too skinny.

So skinny that I realized she was on the verge of something scary, skinny. Like death.