7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
R issa just managed to get Elio’s handcuff locked back into place before the cop and detectives marched through the door, already full of bluster and backtalk. She still couldn’t believe how thoroughly she was taking her patient’s side, but at this point, she was following her gut.
I’m just doing what Reagan has always told me to do—not that it’s always ended up so great for her.
That wasn’t entirely true. Reagan never had the best of luck with men, but maybe that was because her type was as close to criminal as one could come without actually dating a convict. When it came to pretty much anything else, though—which dress to wear, who to stand next to, which question to ask, what to carry in your purse when you were out alone at night—Rissa trusted Reagan’s word above anything else.
At this moment, she felt in her gut that Elio was innocent—or at least that something shady was going on with the faction who insisted he was guilty. There was no reason she shouldn’t do her utmost to get him a fair hearing.
She stood up to face the detectives and the cop. Her height tended to give her a slight advantage in reasoning with both men and women. With the lighter dose of pain medication, the energy bars, and the bottle of water, Elio was back to his panther-like self beside her. Despite his relaxed exterior, she could feel the tension radiating from him.
“My patient is entitled to a phone call,” she said, interrupting their diatribe about the false summons she had given the cop. “How would you like to give it to him?”
She learned long ago that giving people a choice within a choice was the best way to make them feel like they had no other choice. Don’t ask, “Will you come in daily for this therapy?” Instead, ask, “Does morning or evening work best for you?”
The group’s bluster faded, and she immediately saw that they were going to fight her on this. Rissa was too tired for that.
“If you don’t allow him his right to a phone call,” she said firmly, “I will be happy to testify in court that his arrest was not carried out according to law, thus, entitling him to an appeal.”
Rissa was no expert on criminal law; she was just spouting anything she thought would get their attention at this point. Apparently, it worked because after a quick aside to one another, the detectives turned back to her with a sour expression.
“Very well,” the man said. “Is there a landline somewhere other than the front desk?”
“Yes,” Rissa replied quickly, wondering what they had against cellphones. “There’s an office down the hall.” Perhaps, she realized, they didn’t want their prisoner accessing the Internet, potentially checking the news, or sending a message to someone. It made sense.
“We’ll allow the phone call there,” the detective said. “Officer Hupp, you will escort them there and back and make sure no funny business goes down.” His expression was dour as he continued, “No IV stands or any of that shit. We don’t need to give this guy a weapon. Detective Russo and I will go ahead and make sure the room is secure.”
Rissa turned to Elio, thinking of his head wound, broken ribs, and bruised ankle. His eyes were already on her, making her stomach startle slightly. “Can you walk?” she asked.
“With a little help,” he suggested. His eyebrows lifted slightly, giving him a rakish expression. Was he daring her to do it?
“Okay,” she said, hoping her voice sounded cooler than she felt. “Let me get you a shirt.”
When she returned a moment later, the police officer had unlocked Elio’s handcuffs, and Elio was sitting up on the edge of the bed. Rissa felt a bubble of nerves in her stomach as she approached him. She deftly removed the needle from his arm, taping a wad of gauze over the puncture. Then, she handed over the large, flannel shirt she took from the pajama-like garments they kept for patients to change into for their MRIs.
“I got the biggest one I could find,” she said.
“Thank you,” Elio said. He worked his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, wincing as he began to lift them to pull it over his head.
“Here,” Rissa said. “Let me help you.”
She took a step closer so that she was standing directly beside him, close enough to feel the heat from his body and smell the slight gunpowder smokiness that still hung about him. Her head bent close to his, and her fingers brushed his shoulders as she helped him work the shirt over his head and let it drop down over his rippling abs and the bruised, jagged slash of sutures.
Rissa’s heartbeat quickened, even as she fought to maintain some semblance of professionalism. What was it about this guy that had her body and mind reacting in a way that made her question everything she thought she knew about herself? Rissa had never been particularly enthusiastic about romance—or even sex. Reagan always said Rissa was too busy saving the world. Rissa had always simply found that she preferred the direct and rational laws of science and the satisfaction of her career.
Sure, she’d had a couple of boyfriends and flings over the years before she’d sworn off men to focus on med school, but they had always ended with her feeling vaguely disappointed. No one had ever made her feel like Elio.
Once the shirt was in place, Elio stood up and Rissa took an involuntary step back. He was tall, towering several inches above her. With his wide shoulders and muscular torso, she suddenly felt completely overshadowed. Rissa was not used to feeling small, but next to him, she felt slight, vulnerable, and excited.
Like in my dream, she thought, quickly shaking the thought away.
The cop stepped forward, brushing her out of the way, and motioned for Elio to turn around so that he could cuff his hands behind his back. Elio complied.
The door opened and the detectives stepped back in, looking hyped.
“All right,” the male detective said. “We’re going to walk straight from this room to the office. You will have exactly five minutes to make your call, and then, Officer Hupp, you will bring the prisoner directly to the side exit where a police vehicle will be waiting to transfer him to the precinct headquarters.”
Rissa glanced up, surprised. “The lockdown has been lifted?” she asked, and the man nodded gleefully.
“Yup. Time for this bird to be settled in the cold, dark jail cell he deserves.”
Elio let out a slight, humorless huff of laughter, and Rissa was surprised by the sinking feeling in her stomach. She should be glad. If the lockdown was over, that meant she would be heading home soon. She would leave behind all of the confused feelings and choices she had been forced to navigate over the past twenty hours, never needing to face them again.
She would be back to being her.
There was no good reason she should be experiencing the deep sensation of loss.
As the cop finished securing his handcuffs, Elio turned and took a limping step toward the door. Rissa stepped quickly forward. Drawing a quick breath to steady herself, she wrapped her arm around his waist, careful to avoid bumping his bruised side. “Lean on me,” she said quietly.
Elio glanced down at her, wearing an expression Rissa couldn’t decipher as he thanked her.
They exited the room and started down the hall, the cop leading, the handcuffed patient following—leaning heavily into Rissa’s shoulder, her arm around him—and the detectives bringing up the rear, speaking in low tones.
Rissa tried to ignore the glances and occasional glares cast their way as the other hospital residents gave them a wide berth. They reached the tiny office and Officer Hupp halted them at the door, removing Elio’s handcuffs once more with the warning, “Don’t try anything funny, big guy.” He patted his belt, weighted down with a stun gun, an actual gun, and a baton, as a reminder that he had firepower he wasn’t afraid to use.
A gust of hot, stuffy air hit Rissa in the face as she turned toward the open office door. This, she knew, was why the little room was rarely used anymore. Somehow, the air conditioner never seemed to reach it. It was no wonder Hupp and the detectives had decided to wait at the door.
Elio nodded in response to the cop’s warning. Then, he looked down at Rissa and said, “Coming?”
She slipped her arm around him once more and, this time, with his hands free, he put his arm across her shoulder, the weight of it warm and intimate. Rissa’s heart was beating double-time as she accompanied him to the desk with its dusty landline and unplugged desktop computer.
Officer Hupp closed the door behind them.