Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The air-conditioning unit above her head coated her bare skin in cold, stale hospital air.
It matched the icy terror rolling beneath her skin.
She’d been in the waiting room for a couple hours already and she’d already been checked over and Rhett had been treated for his minor injuries.
Dani rubbed her hands up and down her arms and stared at the French policeman even though her eyes kept darting in the direction of the hall.
God, when would they get news on Brock’s status?
The cop didn’t speak English very well. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the movement of his mouth and not the stench of black coffee on his breath.
“I already told you,” she said, pacing her words so they wouldn’t lash out. “I stole the drive from Ubrigg Lichti. It was supposed to go to a rival company.”
The policeman scribbled on his pad of paper. If she had to explain it to him one more time, she just might lose her shit. Either he was having a hard time grasping that she was a criminal by trade or he genuinely didn’t want to believe it.
“Here.” Rhett approached the side of her chair and pushed a steaming cup of coffee into her hands.
His right arm hung in a sling and he held another coffee in his dangling hand.
His normally clean-shaven jaw sported stubble that was equally as dark as the hair on his head.
Fatigue weighed down his stony eyes, which were rimmed by dark lashes that every girl would kill for.
He patted the cop’s back and said something to him in French.
The officer looked from her to Rhett then nodded and stood. Rhett dropped into the chair he’d vacated and kicked his heels up on the seat next to her.
“What’d you say to him?”
He shrugged. “That you’ve already answered to the US embassy and the FBI and we’d handle things from here. I think he was happy to be free of you to be honest.” He grinned and took a sip from his cup.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I cooperated more than I should have. I should be given a Girl Scout badge for patience.”
Rhett snorted. “Is that what you call rolling your eyes?”
She smirked and rocked her feet back and forth on the tile.
Rhett’s humor was surely meant to distract her, but it didn’t help.
She was sure that any minute the doctor would walk out to tell them Brock was dead.
She rolled her lips together and scanned the hallway for the hundredth time in the last two hours.
No one would give her any information on Brock’s status. At least one of the nurses had been kind enough to give her a pair of booties for her bare feet. She turned her stare to Rhett. “I saw you talking with one of the nurses. Did they tell you anything new?”
He braced his ankle on his knee and nodded at her cup. “Drink and I’ll tell you.”
She made a face and swirled the caramel-colored brew. She wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but the confection had never repulsed her as much as it did right now. Dutifully, she raised the paper cup in his direction and took a gulp. “Now go.”
“He’s still in critical condition but stable.”
Dani heaved a breath and stood. “I can’t sit here anymore. I need to see him.”
“They won’t let you do that unless you’re family . . . or his spouse.” Rhett bobbed his eyebrows. “I won’t ask for any details, but I think you and Brock are close enough that he wouldn’t mind the lie.”
His spouse. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She combed the frayed strands of hair around her face as if doing so would help improve the utter shitshow of her appearance. “I’ll tell them I’m his mother if it gets me back there.”
Rhett got to his feet. “I don’t think they’ll believe that.”
She turned to the nurse’s desk and he caught her arm. “Hey.” His voice was sympathetic. All traces of humor had vanished from it. “He’s a tough guy. He’ll pull through.”
The emotion that had been hovering in her chest since Brock was shot ascended into her throat. “How do you know?”
He squeezed her arm and his eyes softened. “He’s got too much to live for.”
She’d been holding it together, fighting each wave of terror that threatened to throw her over the cliff into insanity. Now, it all came crashing down. She pressed her palm to her forehead and rivers of tears washed down her cheeks.
Rhett patted her back in an awkward hug.
“Here. You’re freezing.” He lifted his jacket from the chair and held it out to her.
She didn’t want the scent of any man but Brock on her, but she also couldn’t shake the chill and shock of the day’s events.
And covering up her revealing attire felt appropriate.
“The middle-aged woman with the bun and yellow shirt is really sweet,” Rhett said. “I’m sure she’ll take you to see him.”
Lifting her chin, Dani approached the desk. Rhett had better be right. There was no way she’d take no for an answer—and causing a scene would get them both thrown out.
“Excuse me, my husband was brought in with a gunshot wound to the head. I know your policy is immediate family only, but I’m his wife—”
The older woman placed her hand on her chest. “Mon dieu. Of course you can see him.” She plucked a clipboard from the counter and led her down the hall. “He came to once and asked for Dani. Is that you?”
Hope surged in her chest. “Yes! Ohmigod.” Fresh tears misted her eyes as she followed the nurse down the hall and into a room.
Brock lay in a hospital bed, machines beeping all around him.
His head lolled to the side and a bandage was wrapped around his forehead.
She stepped closer to the bed and wrung her hands in front of her.
His normally tanned complexion was almost gray.
His hospital gown was tugged down on one side, revealing another large bandage, beneath his shoulder.
Unease sloshed in her stomach. She stopped at the side of the bed and stared at the dark stain on the bandage above his ear.
Lowering into one of the chairs at his side, she brought her hand to his.
He didn’t respond to her touch, and his clammy palm felt nothing like the warm, strong hand that had touched her a million times. The soft whoosh of the door sounded as the nurse left.
“B-Brock? I’m here.” She cleared her throat. He didn’t respond. Could he hear her? Would his subconscious recognize her voice? Rhett’s words replayed in her head: He’ll pull through.
Brock was one of the strongest people she knew. But seeing him like this was shocking. She squeezed his hand.
“It’s me, Dani. I hope you’re not in pain.
” She shook her head. That was stupid. “God, of course you’re in pain.
I just mean, well, I . . .” Tears spilled on her cheeks and her nose started to run.
She reached for the tissue box on the table and grabbed one of the cheap, rough papers to wipe her eyes and then her nose.
“I’m not going to be the strong one here, so you’ll just have to deal with my sobbing.
It’s my fault you’re hurt. You never should have come to Geneva.
I shouldn’t have called you. You’ve always been so dependable.
Even when I couldn’t stand you, I knew I could rely on you. ”
She sniffed and rubbed her thumb over his motionless hand.
“You were wrong to lie to me about the Vitali heist. Wrong to cut me out of it.” She leaned forward in her seat and rested her forearm on the bed and her chin next to his arm.
“But I should have forgiven you. Especially after I was kidnapped. I just got scared, you know? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I love you.
I need you to pull through this so we can be together.
I don’t want to spend a single day without you.
” She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his knuckles.
Fatigue weighed her head down, and she mouthed a prayer against his skin. His hand tensed. She jumped and lifted her head.
“Brock? Are you awake?” She stood and leaned over him.
His head turned toward her and he squinted. A smile trembled on his lips and then disappeared. “Well I was trying to sleep, but you kept talking.”
She swatted his arm lightly and he grunted. She winced. “Sorry. You were awake that whole time?”
“Not the whole time.” He lifted his uninjured shoulder and tugged her down on the bed.
She sat next to him and took in the magnificent gleam of his hazel eyes.
Even though the humor and spark had dimmed, even though exhaustion and pain had created dark pillows beneath his lids, relief—wide and great—expanded in her chest.
He lifted her palm to his lips and kissed. “Are you okay?”
She chortled. “You’re the one who got shot in the head.”
His mouth slanted in a sardonic smirk. “I didn’t get shot in the head. It skimmed my head. But to be honest, when I woke up, I almost wished I hadn’t survived. Christ, I’ve never had a headache like that before.”
“Did you speak with the doctor yet?”
He shook his head. “No. I was out of it when he first assessed me. I remember the nurse telling me I’ve got a concussion, twelve stitches, and a damaged rotator cuff from where the bullets hit.”
She pressed her hand to his chest and rubbed. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his hand. An IV was attached to it. “Don’t be. Whatever juice they’re pumping into me is liquid gold.”
She cringed. “Pretty sure that’s morphine.”
He pointed a shaky finger at her. “Don’t get all judgy on me. You get shot in the head and see if you don’t take what they’re offering.”
She laughed. The sound rolled off her tongue and the corners of her mouth ached from smiling after so many hours of fear and worry. “I can see you’re going to milk this. But in all seriousness, thanks to you, I wasn’t shot at all, let alone in the head.”
His eyebrows rose. “What happened? The last thing I remember is shoving you into the electrical room. Everything’s blank after that.”