Free Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night by Linda Howard

shrill scream from upstairs pierced the air, followed by Oriane shrieking his name, over and over.
    Monica. As soon as he heard Oriane scream, Gray knew. Dread congealed in his chest as he bolted from the study and took the stairs three at a time, his long, powerful legs propelling him upward. Oriane rushed down the hall toward him, her eyes wide with panic. “She’s cut herself, bad! Ohmigod, ohmigod, there’s blood all over the place—”
    Gray pushed past her and ran into Monica’s bedroom. She wasn’t there, but the door to her bathroom was open,and he threw himself toward it, only to stop, frozen, in the doorway.
    Monica had decorated her bedroom and bath herself, in delicate pinks and pearly whites that looked absurdly little-girlish. Normally Gray was reminded of cotton candy, but now the pink ceramic tile on the bathroom floor was covered with dark red splotches. Monica sat calmly on the fuzzy pink toilet lid, her big, dark eyes empty as she stared out the window. Her hands were neatly folded on her lap. Blood pulsed from the deep gashes she had made in both wrists, soaking her lap, running down her legs to pool on the floor.
    “I’m sorry for the commotion,” she said in an eerily remote little voice. “I didn’t expect Oriane to bring up clean towels.”
    “Jesus,” he groaned, and snatched up the towels Oriane had dropped. He went down on one knee beside Monica and grabbed her left wrist. “Damn it, Monica, I ought to tan your ass!” He wrapped one towel around her wrist, then tied another one around it as tightly as he could.
    “Just leave me alone,” she whispered, trying to tug her arm away from him, but she was already frighteningly weak.
    “Shut up!” he barked, taking her right wrist and repeating the procedure. “Goddamn it, how could you do something this stupid?” This, on top of everything else he had gone through that day, was almost more than he could bear. Fear and rage mingled in his chest and swelled until he thought he would choke. “Did you stop to think about anyone but yourself? Did you think that maybe I could use your help, that this is as hard on everyone else as it is on you?” He ground the words out between clenched teeth as he snatched her up against his chest and ran, past Noelle, who was simply standing in the hallway with a dazed expression on her bloodless face, down the stairs, and past Oriane and Delfina clutching each other in the foyer.
    “Call the clinic and let Dr. Bogarde know we’re on the way,” he ordered as he carried Monica out the front door and down the steps, to the Corvette parked there.
    “I’ll get blood in your car,” Monica protested feebly.
    “I told you to shut up,” he snapped. “Don’t talk unlessyou have something sensible to say.” Probably he was supposed to be more sensitive with someone who had just attempted suicide, but this was his sister, and he was damned if he would let her take her own life. He was in a towering rage, the fury just barely controlled. It seemed as if his life had gone to hell in just the past few hours, and he was fed up with the people he loved doing stupid things.
    He didn’t bother opening the door of the Corvette, but simply leaned over and deposited her in the seat, then vaulted over her into the driver’s seat. He started the engine, let out the clutch, and left rubber on the driveway as he pushed the powerful motor to the limit. Monica slumped weakly against the passenger door, her eyes closed. He shot her a panicked glance, but didn’t risk taking the time to stop. She was deathly white, and there was a faint bluish tinge forming around her mouth. Blood was already seeping through the towels, the bright red garish against the white fabric. He had seen the cuts; they hadn’t been shallow slices, gestures made more to frighten and gain attention than seriously threaten a life. No, Monica had been very serious about the attempt. His sister might die because his father couldn’t resist chasing