18. Thief
Chapter 18
Thief
CALLIE
I ’d been stabbed.
Probably by a serial killer.
I’d gotten freaked out by Michael—who was actually an FBI agent.
I’d made a scene and thought I was having a heart attack.
Gotten my unhelpful memories back.
Been questioned about my lifestyle.
Oh, and all of that had happened while three men who hated me had hovered close like I could shatter at any second.
Yet telling a detective about my daily schedule was what mortified me most.
Maybe I should’ve made them leave.
Not just Freddy, Cole, and Marco. Detective Boden, too.
I could always pretend to fall asleep.
Or actually do it. That wouldn’t be a stretch.
The detective hadn’t been there long. But despite the sleep I’d gotten overnight and the nap I’d taken after my freak-out, I was exhausted. It was deep in my bones, like I’d run back-to-back marathons before diving into a triathlon.
“Callie,” he prodded when I remained silent.
“I go to work?—”
“What time?”
“My shift starts at three?—”
The detective shook his head. “Start with when you wake up. Do you live alone?”
Oh my godd ? —
Annoyed at his interruption and my own as I cut the dreaded word off, I inhaled. “No, I have two roommates, Jesse and Brie.”
“Any concerns with them?”
I almost laughed at the idea. “They work together in an office doing something with data. And not an exciting something. Jesse is in bed by eight every night and not a minute later.”
“I’ll still need their contact information in case.”
“I don’t have my phone.”
Even with the minimal distance I’d put between Marco and me, I felt his body go rigid. I mean, it was always hard. The man was a mountain of solid muscle. But for whatever reason, he tensed for a few seconds.
“What happens when you wake up?” Detective Boden prompted.
“I eat, do chores, get ready for work, then leave around one.”
“I thought your shift doesn’t start until three.” He perked up at the possible lead. “Do you go in early to gamble?”
I wish.
That’s a lot cooler than the truth.
Only I didn’t have to be the one to admit it. Marco handled that for me. “She watches TV.”
I saw Miles occasionally when I was there, but never Marco.
How does he know that?
The detective looked at me. “You can’t do that at home?”
“I don’t like stressing about traffic. I would rather get there early and wait.”
“And that’s all you do? Watch TV?”
Wow. Way to make it sound even worse.
I tried to salvage my ego. “Or I visit with friends sometimes.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and he got amped again. “I’ll need their names and contact info, too.”
“I, uh, don’t have it. It’s the older ladies waiting for bingo to start.”
He deflated.
My ego joined him.
“What else?” he asked.
“I work, then go home.”
Like a big loser.
“Nights out? Social clubs? Church? Volunteer work in a sketchy area? Is there anything else you do where someone might’ve gotten the wrong idea?”
I shook my head.
He pulled a business card from his pocket and closed the distance to hand it to me. “If you remember something, call me. It doesn’t matter how small or insignificant it seems. Okay?”
“Got it.”
“Feel better. We’ll be in touch.” He left, his voice mixing with the asshole agent’s as they walked away.
I flopped back and closed my eyes. “Thanks for checking on me. I’m fine. You can go now.”
“Not happening, chéri.”
For some reason, that surprised me. With the detective’s eye-opening words still in my head, I’d figured they’d gladly take that opening.
Because they were only there to do their job for Black Resorts. To make sure I wasn’t going to cause trouble. That made a lot more sense than what my wishful brain had dreamed up.
I wanted to insist they leave, but I had a more pressing problem. Specifically, the pain in my side that was increasing from a dull ache to a distractingly sharp burn at a rapid pace.
Ignoring the men’s conversation—or just the men, in general—I moved as little as possible to hit the red button on the remote. It was all I could muster, and I closed my lids in a useless attempt to relax through the fire engulfing my skin.
“What do you need?” someone asked almost immediately. At the silence, they added, “The call button was pressed.”
Marco’s voice was soft as he asked me, “Did you hit…” He must’ve gotten a better look at my face because his voice went alert. “Fuck, what’s wrong?”
I pried my eyes open to see him hovering. Dr. Pierce and Dr. Cruz also stood over me. I didn’t need to say anything before she said, “Pain meds.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered with a strained, “Please.”
She went to the computer to use a little grocery store scanner thingy on a vial while he came to check me over. The men finally stepped back to give them room to work.
And give me room to breathe.
I took advantage of the opening by repositioning myself in the center of the bed so there wasn’t space for them. I would’ve starfished my body if every centimeter of movement didn’t pull at my side until I worried my skin was about to rip off.
Once he was done, Dr. Pierce gestured to the computer. “Callie, we tried to find your medical records but haven’t had any luck in the local system. Who is your doctor?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Who was your last one? We’ll get your history sent over.”
“I’ve, uh, never had one. I’ve never been to a doctor or hospital or anything. Until now, that is.”
The doctor hadn’t been ruffled by my injury—he likely saw worse every day.
He hadn’t blinked when facing down the three men.
And he didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see those same men surrounding me—despite me telling them they could go.
At my admission, however, his mouth gaped open. He seemed at a loss for words, stammering a few times before shifting away so Dr. Cruz could place something into the IV in my arm.
It smelled like cleaning supplies at the back of my nose, but it didn’t help the pain at all. Not until she injected something else.
A wave of numbness crashed over me.
“We’ll make a plan before you leave,” he said.
He spoke quietly, then left. I was pretty sure Dr. Cruz went, too, but I couldn’t force my eyes open to check.
Lack of vision or not, I knew the men were still there even before Marco asked, “Where’s your backpack?”
“Work,” I said without a hint of hesitation.
“Why?”
“Forgot it.”
I probably sounded like an imbecile, but I didn’t care. I was a floaty cloud. Floaty clouds were allowed to be forgetful.
Freddy spoke, but I only caught a few of his words. Something about my routine.
Of course he would notice the only reason I can function.
“The B-word rushed me,” I muttered.
“What bitch?”
“No. Other B-word. What’s-his-butt?”
There was some conversation before Marco asked, “Brent? The guard?”
More conversation. Then something about setting him on fire.
I pried an eye open. “Don’t do that, or I’ll just rain on him.”
“What?” Cole paused from stroking my hair to look down at me like I’d lost my mind.
I hadn’t even noticed he’d been touching me, but once he stopped, I missed it.
“And I’ll rain on you, too, unless you rub my head some more,” I threatened. I was a cloud, after all. I could do that sort of thing.
“Get some sleep.” There was so much of that unexpected firmness in his tone that I almost listened. Everything in my exhausted body and floaty head said to listen.
But I fought it.
“No.”
There. That’ll show him.
His arms folded across his broad chest, and if I were a person, I would’ve been intimidated by it. But I wasn’t, so I wasn’t.
“You might be some nerdy Adonis, but I was almost a goddess, and that beats you.”
Oh.
And now I’m sad.
I wanted to sink further into the fog, but my own words dragged me back to reality. Not enough for me to open my eyes that’d slid closed again, but enough for my thoughts to rush at a million miles a second.
So business as usual.
Between my realization and my lack of filter, I didn’t try to find the right phrasing. Manners and tact could wait. I just let the words flow. “If Mr. Black sent you because this happened on his property, you can tell him it’s unnecessary. I don’t hold him or the company responsible. I won’t sue or do interviews or anything.” A tremor went down my spine at just the thought of putting my image out to the public. “As long as my job is waiting, I’ll sign whatever NDA he puts in front of me. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“What NDA did you sign?”
“We’re here because we want to be, baby.”
The words and voices blended until I wasn’t sure who’d said what.
Other than the drugs teaming up with my imagination to conjure the last part. It wasn’t actually said. That much I knew.
I went in order, but my voice was as slurred and blended as theirs. “You hate me and are only here because it’s your job. Telling you would go against the ND part of the NDA. And again, you did your job. You’re set. Thanks for visiting. You can leave.”
They said more. I could hear the rough timbre. But I couldn’t make out the actual words before some semblance of peace settled into my aching bones, and I fell asleep.
They didn’t leave.
At least not at the same time.
Not when I repeatedly told them to go.
Not when I slept most of the day.
And ignored them the rest of it.
Not to get an NDA—and the note on the ridiculously massive floral arrangement from Mr. Black and Juliet had said to knock that shit out.
It’d also said to get better and some other lovely stuff, which oddly made sense from the couple.
The one from Ash and Mila had been equally massive and unexpected, though it hadn’t included the threat.
But no matter what I’d tried, at least one of the men stayed by my side. I wondered if they’d assigned shifts. Or maybe it was a twisted visitation schedule since all three were always there for dinner, like a dysfunctional family.
It was a dysfunctional meal, too, since I was only allowed to eat bland broth, and they never ate anything, period. They just sat around while I sipped the vaguely meat-flavored water, talking about their days and asking me about mine. Not that I ever answered.
What did I have to say that they didn’t already know?
In the few days I’d been hospitalized, the only time I had away from them was in the bathroom, while the nurses helped me take a not-very-relaxing version of a shower, or when I was getting a medical update since I’d made it clear they were not allowed to hear those.
They’d tried to beg, plead, and bully their way back into the room for that part, but I held firm. In talking with my surgeon, we’d pieced together that the likely reason I’d survived the stabbing was because my awkward stumble had made the blade hit my ribs. Surgery to clear out bone fragments was far better than what would’ve happened if I’d stayed still. Finding out I’d been literal inches from death had taken their hovering from overprotective to outright overbearing.
They treated me like I was delicate, priceless porcelain.
And annoyed me like I was theirs to annoy.
It didn’t make sense, and the few times I’d spoken to them to ask why they were there, I’d gotten the same maddening answer.
Because they wanted to be.
It was no help.
Ignoring them was easier.
With nothing to do all day, time started to blend—and being cooped up was making me loopy. My growing hunger clued me in that it was almost dinner. For once, my stomach was looking forward to it since Dr. Cruz had given the go-ahead for solids. The rest of me dreaded it because Freddy and Cole would be there soon to join Marco.
Fussing over me.
Making me the center of their attention.
Taking care of me like no one ever had.
My side started to ache, and I carefully rolled in the uncomfortable bed. The silent mountain jumped from the plastic chair at my side.
Exactly like I knew he would.
“What do you need?” he asked. Though I’d given him my back, I could picture him looming over me while he scanned to see what he could do.
The thoughtful jerk.
I pulled the scratchy blanket over my head.
That earned a chuckle.
A good one.
A rare one, which made it even better.
“Guess if you’re sleeping, I call dibs on your chicken and rice,” he claimed.
I didn’t take the bait. If the broth had been any indication, the jokes around hospital food were nothing but fact. No one would call dibs on it.
The mattress dipped as he put his hand to it.
It took me a moment to realize he was going for the attached remote that controlled the bed position, lights, and my precious TV. He’d called my sleep bluff before by turning off my show.
That was still preferable to the time he’d changed the channel to the most boring documentary I’d ever seen in my life.
I snagged it at the last second and hid it under the safety of my blanket.
That got me an outright laugh, and it infinitely exceeded his already amazing chuckle.
I need to stop making him do that.
It was easier said than done.
Freddy always seemed determined to charm me out of the attitude I threw his way to get him to leave. When being rude hadn’t worked, I’d opted for the silent treatment, but he would fill in both parts of the conversation. Telling me about visiting his aunt in New Orleans. Teaching me French swear words.
In all his talking, though, he never brought up food. It was surprising.
For one, it seemed like such a big part of his identity. Not talking about it had to be difficult.
For another, he had to know it would give him the advantage. The awful broth did very little for my hunger. If he would’ve talked about his amazing cooking with the promise that I could have some, I would’ve been the nicest, friendliest person to exist. Ever.
But he didn’t, so I kept ignoring him, and he kept chatting.
Cole was the opposite. He was fine to sit quietly with just the sound of what I watched and his clicking keyboard. It should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was surprisingly comfortable.
Marco fell somewhere between the two. He was happy in the silence and with my attitude. He seemed to find it cute.
He seemed to find everything about me cute.
It was weird.
I waited him out, and once he sat back down, I slowly adjusted the blanket away from my eyes so I could watch the crime show.
The first time I’d put on the repeats that ran for hours at a time, Cole had panicked. He’d worried that the parallels between the cases and what I’d been through would upset me.
It didn’t. Watching them get the bad guy and wrap everything up in a pretty bow in under an hour was oddly comforting. I knew it didn’t work that way in real life, but it still made me feel better.
Right as the lawyers found their opening to turn the defendant’s words against them to get the dramatic courtroom confession, Cole filled the doorway. He didn’t come farther, and I fought the urge to look when Marco went to him instead.
Good. Maybe they’re finally giving up.
I fought the urge to cry, too.
It would’ve been pointless. They returned a couple of minutes later with Freddy.
Since it was a commercial break—and I didn’t smell any food—I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
Marco called me on it. “We know you’re awake.”
I kept my breathing even.
The blanket was pulled away, and cold air hit me.
Hit me everywhere .
Worse than that, someone turned off my show.
My lids snapped open to see three sets of eyes aimed at where the thin gown had ridden up to expose my panty-covered ass and bare legs.
If they want to look at my hairy legs, that’s on them.
Only when I scanned their faces, it wasn’t disgust I saw. Not even concern.
It was something else.
Something that made my stomach melt and the area lower tense.
I pulled the blanket back into place and told myself it was in my imagination.
Or again, areas lower.
It wasn’t my fault. A woman could only stand so much alpha presence before her libido lost its mind, and I was well beyond that point.
Times three.
Even the old, ornery nurse who worked the night shift would’ve folded.
I stopped myself from reading too much into it. They were men. I had a butt. End of story. Nothing more. Nothing deeper.
“What’s going on?” I asked, and they finally tore their focus from the legs they couldn’t even see anymore.
I didn’t think it had to do with the case because the detective and agent weren’t there. And I knew it wasn’t anything on security footage. I’d already overheard Cole report that nothing had come up on their cameras or the SafeCams around the resort.
I’d been surprised the police would share that.
But it had to be something.
I raised my hands to my already crazy hair that had to be far worse thanks to my blanket antics. After showering earlier, my energy tanks had been critically low, and I’d settled for putting it into a messy bun rather than the usual braid.
The ache that’d formed at my side turned into a sharp stab—a fitting description.
Marco’s narrowed eyes cut to me when I inhaled through clenched teeth. “What’re you doing?”
“Fixing my hair.”
“It’s fine.”
I didn’t have a mirror, but I knew that was a lie. A whopper of one.
It wasn’t vanity that was pushing me through the pain. “If I don’t braid it, the curls will turn into one giant snarl, and it’ll hurt a lot worse.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder toward the misting hose that constituted a shower. “It’s not like they’re stocked with my detangler.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Cole asked. “We would’ve gotten it.”
I shot him a confused look. “It’s fine.”
I lifted my arms to start again, but they were swatted out of the way.
I tried to dodge Marco. “What’re you doing?”
“Hush.” Using his big hands but a light touch, he worked out the tangles that’d already begun to form. Once it was smooth, he deftly braided the strands. It wasn’t perfect. It was a lot looser than what I usually did. But it was surprisingly good.
Suspiciously so.
I tried to ignore the sour churn in my stomach, but I couldn’t hold the words in. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Ash taught me some rope tricks.”
I didn’t know what that meant or why the other men chuckled, and I didn’t have the time to ask before Cole got to why they’d interrupted my TV time. “We need to plan.”
“Okay…”
“My penthouses at the four Black Resorts properties have perks like room service.”
“And the only one that’s furnished—and I use that term loosely since it’s just a single couch—also has a shit-ton of computer equipment all over the place,” Freddy tossed in.
Cole shot him a look before grudgingly tilting his head to concede his point. “Freddy’s apartment has furniture but less privacy and no room service.”
I was lost, and all the talk of room service was not helping. It distracted me and my growling stomach from whatever their point was supposed to be.
“My house has space, privacy, and furniture,” Marco said.
“And stairs,” Freddy countered.
“If that’s not doable, I’ll figure it out.”
“It can also get loud, and the nearby lights are too bright for someone who needs to rest,” Cole said.
Marco looked at his friend with a mix of soft firmness. It didn’t make any sense, but I wasn’t sure how else to describe it. His voice held the same contradictory tone. “Not everyone feels that way. Having so much nearby is a good thing. If she needs meds or has a taste for something, chances are it’s right there. It’s not room service, but it’s pretty damn close.”
I shook my head. “Wait, what’re we talking about here?”
Cole blinked. “When you get discharged. Where do you want to go?”
The three men—charming and handsome and infuriating in their own unique ways—turned their expectant gazes my way, waiting for me to choose.
Choose between them.
Or their homes, more specifically.
My chest tightened, and I was glad that Dr. Cruz had given the okay to remove the thingies that tracked my heart rate on the monitor. They would’ve easily read my internal panic at just the thought of picking.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to. “I’m going to my apartment.”
“You can’t be alone,” Marco said instantly, like he’d anticipated the answer.
“I won’t be. I have roommates.”
“And one of them is going to carry you if you hurt yourself or fall in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
Technically, Brie would probably nudge me out of the way, and Jesse wouldn’t even notice until the morning—if then. But I wouldn’t be alone, and that was what mattered.
“That’s not going to cut it,” he said. “If you want to go to your apartment, that’s fine. But one of us will be staying with you, too.”
“Or all of us,” Freddy interjected. The smirk on his face didn’t match the edge in the narrowed eyes he aimed at the mountain standing next to him.
Someone knocked on the door, and the usual food service staffer stopped with her cart of trays.
Like we’d been there for months rather than days, the men moved in a carefully orchestrated rhythm.
Cole adjusted my bed so I was upright enough to safely eat but not far enough to be uncomfortable.
Marco brought over the wheely table and slid the base under the bed to position it over my lap.
Freddy took my oversized plastic cup out to the nurses’ station to have them refill the ice water.
I’m sure they love his charming smile and flirty accent.
Good. Maybe he’ll start bothering them instead of me.
The bitterness coating my tongue contradicted my thoughts. It wasn’t his fault, but I still scowled at him as he quickly returned.
“What’s that look for, chéri?”
I had no clue how to answer and was saved by the bell. Or the plastic plate hitting the fake wood table.
“Lobster thermidor, duchess potatoes, and”—my eyes went to Freddy—“a tarragon sauce?”
I had no clue what the first two were, but I’d seen them on a cooking show, and they sounded fancy.
I didn’t have fancy luck.
The older woman laughed. “Close, sweetheart.” She played along with my nonsense and lifted the domed plastic lid with a dramatic flair. Condensation dripped down to splatter on the food and tray.
It might’ve been the most flavorful thing on the plate.
“Chicken, rice, a roll with butter, and…” She pointed at a little paper bag where they kept the cold stuff. “A vanilla pudding.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard more beautiful words.
I batted my lashes up at her. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”
If it wouldn’t go against my plan to ignore them whenever possible, I would’ve burst out laughing at the disgruntled expressions from Marco, Freddy, and Cole.
She waved away my delirious adoration. “You say that now, but wait until the morning. You’ll be getting oatmeal, an egg white, and a pastry. Whoever’s on that shift will get your love.”
Even though none of the others found me amusing like she did, she was probably right. Especially if I could throw myself at the mercy of the nurses to get some honey for the oatmeal.
Once she left to keep doing the lord’s work for starved patients, I reached for the paper bag.
It was promptly plucked from my hold.
I stuck my hand out as I tried to shoot lasers from my eyes. “That’s mine.”
“You can have it after you eat,” Cole said.
“I would expect this meanness from the mountain, but not you.”
“The mountain?” he asked while Freddy laughed.
And Marco made a wounded noise. “I’m not mean.”
That made Freddy laugh harder.
“Okay, I am mean, but not to you.” As if to illustrate his point, he was already cutting my chicken for me.
It was weird.
It was sweet.
I could get used to it if I let myself, so I needed to keep my defenses up.
Them stealing my pudding helped that.
“I just wanted the butter,” I lied.
Cole called my bluff and pulled the pads of butter from the bag before tossing the tasty dessert onto the ledge.
Far out of my reach.
Since butter was still a decadent treat after days of warm water with chicken broth essence, I wasn’t totally crushed. I reached for the little packages, but he didn’t hand them over. Instead, he prepared the roll for me.
Pudding thief.
He’s a pudding thief.
I kept reminding myself of that fact so I wasn’t swayed by his attention.
Once they were done fussing, I picked up the fork and looked between them. “You want some?”
Knowing I was just trying to pawn some of the food off to get to the dessert, Cole stabbed a finger toward the beige meal. “Eat.”
Damn .
“And we’re not done talking about what happens after discharge,” Freddy added.
Double damn.