Chapter 14
Lillian
I almost lose my breakfast when Jeff’s helicopter drops to a landing pad on top of a hospital. After the doors open, two orderlies help me onto a gurney. Holding my hair while it whips in the downdraft, I wince. The bump on the back of my head is roughly the size of a potato.
Hurts like hell.
One guy in scrubs leans over me, his mouth moving.
No idea what he’s saying. Shouldn’t he know the rotor noise swallows everything?
As I ponder this, fluorescent lights replace the blue sky.
The hall turns into an elevator, and from there, I’m rolled into an emergency room bay where an admin person asks my name.
Déjà vu. Wasn’t I just here? Or someplace like it?
Too slow to respond, Jeff answers for me. “This is my fiancée, Lillian Fisher. Her purse was lost in the explosion. I’ll cover all expenses.”
Excuse me?
As I yank on the oxygen mask to strongly disagree, a male nurse, who I hadn’t even noticed, slips it back in place.
I pull it down again. “He’s not my—”
“Breathe, Miss. All right?” His green eyes are kind, but he needs to know the score.
Everything is fucked up. And where is Sean? Oh my God, he must be out of his mind with worry.
The necklace cam! Pulling on the chain, I hold it to my face. As best I can, I turn it in a slow circle, stopping when it faces the heart monitor taped to my chest. Hopefully, he’ll be able to read: PROPERTY OF COLUMBIA PRESBYTERIAN.
Assuming the video is still transmitting, he should be able to find me.
My phone? Where’s my phone? It was in my purse. So were my ID, credit cards, insurance card… Crap. I’ll have to replace everything.
Turning my head, I roll onto the bump I got when I fell. The throb is so intense, my stomach acids threaten to hurl.
I must pass out. Why else would a new nurse, thirtyish and female, feel the need to pat my cheeks?
“Miss?” Concerned brown eyes search my face. “Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?”
“A little.” And confused. A lot confused, but I won’t tell her.
“I’m Elaine. We’ll be taking you upstairs in a few minutes. Gonna take some pictures of your head. Okay?”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.” What am I going to say? No?
Thoughts clearing, shoving down the red spandex riding up my ass, I push myself up onto my elbows to scan the empty bay.
“Where’s my fiancé?”
“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Jeff sticks his head through the fabric panels.
Lucky for him, he’s too far away for me to kick him in the nuts. “Knock it off. Did you call Sean yet?”
He tosses a worried look at the nurse. “Poor dear. She hit her head harder than I thought.”
As I’m about to respond with violence, an authoritative male bellows from outside the curtain. “Police. May I come in?”
“Only if you brought popcorn.” Maybe it’s the head injury, but I’m beginning to loathe rhetorical questions.
A uniformed officer, a young guy about my age, parts the curtain, nods at Jeffy, my nurse, then me. “Name’s Officer Hwan. You can call me Mike. Got a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” A sugary-sweet smile plastered on my face, I turn to the guy who may or may not have tried to kill me. “Honey, would you give us a sec?”
Jeff opens his mouth to object but shuts it the moment the officer scowls and says, “Wait outside. I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”
Hopefully, by the time I’m done, the cop will take Jeffy dearest away in cuffs.
Once he skitters away, Mike slides a chair to my side. After pulling out a notepad, he taps on his chest.
Red light shining from his personal recorder, he asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”
I pull the sheet to my neck and nod. It won’t be easy to stick to the truth without exposing Dante’s investigation.
“My firm sent me to the penthouse to evaluate its worth. Before you ask, I have signed a non-disclosure. I can’t reveal my employer.
I’m sure NYPD can find out. Anyhow, after a quick tour of the main floor, Mr. Pearson offered to show me the roof garden.
The next thing I remember, I’m in a helicopter, landing on the roof. Did you find my purse?”
Scratching his head, Mike swipes his tablet repeatedly. “Pearson. Isn’t he your fiancé?”
My face twists. “God, no. He is not.”
Mike opens his mouth for a follow-up, but closes it when a booming, bossy voice echoes down the hall. “Goddammit. Where is Lillian Boyle? Lilly? Answer me.”
A grin breaks out across my face. “And that would be my real fiancé.”
“Do the two know about each other?” The police officer shakes his head, no doubt confused.
Head throbbing, I scooch to sit up. Unfortunately, the world spins, so I lay back down. “Jeff’s a lying sack of shit. Don’t believe anything he says.”
The moment Officer Hwan turns, the metal curtain rings scrape the overhead bar.
“There you are.” Wet, covered in soot, Sean limps to my side and grabs my hands. “Babe, are you hurt? Why’re they saying your fiancé is already here?”
“Please don’t kill him. I don’t want to have to bail you out.” I point at Jeff, squeezing into the ever-decreasing space around my bed.
“Just so you know, she agreed to marry me. Tell him, darling.” The charlatan actually bats his eyelashes.
Never saw a grown man do it so well. No wonder I’m dumbstruck. Before I can open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, he leans over to kiss me.
On. The. Lips.
“Bye, my love. I understand.”
Good God. “Ew.” I wipe my mouth on the sheet. “Gross. Don’t you ever—”
“Call me.” Virtual phone at his ear, he smirks at Sean, then exits stage left.
My eyes rise to my partner’s face, staring at the dotted ceiling tiles.
As his body vibrates with fury and his jaw muscles pulse, I squeeze the hand that’s never left mine.
“Surely, you didn’t believe him?”
Exhaling, he leans over the rail to tug me against his wet cashmere shirt. “Of course not, babe. Wasn’t mad at you.”
The arm not tethered to the IV slips under his sport coat, around his waist. Slowly, the reality hits me full force. For the second time in a week, I nearly died.
With unwanted tears flowing down my cheeks, Hwan holds the damn curtain open for yet another stranger, this one in jeans and a blue work shirt.
“Excuse me. This is Wade Thomas, fire inspector. He has a few questions.”
Grouchy, ready to go home, I scowl at the two. “What’s the point of a privacy curtain, Mike, if everyone ignores it? I might as well be in Times Square.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” The fiftyish man nods, not looking at all apologetic.
“Want me to get the doctor? Tell them to go away?” Sean steps forward, still favoring one leg.
Jesus. There’s blood on the floor. “Nurse! Nurse! Come here. We need help.” I point my finger at the leg bleeding all over the floor. “Don’t even think about arguing, or I will call your grandmother. Do not return until someone mends that leak. You know where to find me. Go!”
Smirking, the dynamic duo wave goodbye, no doubt pleased Sean’s no longer running interference.
My head, merely throbbing a moment ago, has now notched up to excruciating.
“Before I answer any questions, I’ll need a super-duper-strength Tylenol. Probably three.” I point to the top frowny face on the wall chart, the one with tears streaming down its face. “Tell the nurse it’s a ten.”
As soon as my headache subsides to the not-going-to-kill-someone level, the nurse allows the Wade and Mike show back to my bedside.
The fire expert opens a low-tech spiral notebook, then clicks his pen. “At any time, did you smell anything unusual?”
“Pearson’s aftershave. God, someone should tell him less is more.”
Mike grins, but Wade has no sense of humor. “I meant paint, chemicals, or cleaning fluids.”
“Umm…” I close my eyes. “I guess. The place had that newly painted smell, but not over-the-top.”
“Open electrical outlets?” he asks, scribbling on his paper.
“Ah, the covers were off in the kitchen. It was torn apart. Unfinished. No appliances. Plumbing half done.”
A few more questions later, we eventually wind down.
In the silence, Mike glances down at my empty left ring finger. “Are you really engaged?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. As I’m about to ask what business it is of his, Sean returns wearing clean yellow hospital garb. “Hey, babe. All sewed up.”
Wondering where to donate our ever-growing collection of scrubs, I return to Officer Hwan’s question. “I am in a committed, monogamous relationship. The next logical step will be marriage. So, in that respect, I am engaged. To Sean Clark. Not Jeff Pearson.”
It takes forever, but eventually Mr. Fireman and Mr. Policeman leave. Afterward, I have a CAT scan. When the doctor is convinced my brain isn’t going to leak out of my cracked skull, he signs the release papers.
All the while, Sean expounds on hospital policies and procedures, including HIPAA. “…even a fiancé isn’t family. If you’re injured, your father has more rights to see you than I do.”
Not this argument. Not again. “Honey, I don’t need an expensive ring. Why not trade me for a pig and two cows? It comes from the same tradition of male dominance. Ownership.”
“No, babe. It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” I really don’t understand.
Sean rasps a palm across his stubbled chin. “Forget it.”
Staring at him, I bite my tongue.
There is no way he’s letting this go, but neither will I.