SIX
Dax paces back and forth across the room. Is pacing an inherited trait? Just like Tom in the stairwell earlier, he takes four steps and then turns on his heel. The swish of the turn squeaks the worn linoleum.
“Are you absolutely sure it was him?”
“Yes. Blue eyes, fair hair, that scar on his chin. I didn’t see him properly at first; he hid on the steps, but he was the one in the corridor and the one I saw reflected in the mirror.” There is no doubt in my mind. Cold eyes and sharp, calculating features. It was him. My heart hammers in my chest; another confirmation that it’s him.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” He slams the side of his fist against the wall as he turns, barely breaking his stride.
“You don’t believe me?” I guess I can’t blame him. He knows that guy. He probably trusts him—and who am I? A stranger from the Vale. A nobody. Still, the truth doesn’t stop his words from stinging. For some reason, it’s important that he believes me. I want him to trust me.
He stops pacing and turns to face me, sucking in air through his nose and huffing it all out before speaking rapidly. “Even if I doubted your memory of events, even if I dismissed it all as shock, there’s no denying your physical reaction to Ben when he walked in. You damn near ripped my hand off.”
“Sorry.”
He steps closer, his shoes touching the end of my sneakers. His hands come down upon my shoulders, his grip gentle. “Don’t apologise.” He speaks softly, encouraging me to look up, read his face and see what he really means. “Do you know why they were there, in the Tower?” He draws the question out, keeping eye contact with me the entire time.
“No.” I shake my head. “I heard them talking. It sounded like they expected trouble. One of them mentioned telling Dax…you…but the other said not to bother you with it.” I was paraphrasing but knew I’d covered the basics. So why did I feel like I was missing something? Something important…
“Did he get a good look at you?”
“Ben?” I ask. Dax nods in response. I watch lines between his brow deepen and realise my response is important.
“I’m not sure. He didn’t see me in the corridor, but they both saw me on the stairs. Just for a second, but that might have been enough.” I only saw him for that moment in a reflection, but I’d recognised him easily enough. My chances aren’t great.
Dax stares over my head. His eyes narrow, his black lashes obscure his eyes. He licks his lips from left to right and gives himself a brief nod. “If he questions you, play dumb. You found Tom when you came back from the store, got it?”
I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but I scrutinise every micro movement and inflection in his voice. I watch it all and know without a doubt he’s formed a plan.
“Sure.”
“You don’t know anything about anything.”
I shrug, bob my head in a casual nod, and curl my lip in a basic smirk. “Pretty sure I’ve been trying to tell you that all night.”
He chuckles. “Good.”
A moment of sheer silence passes between us. Silences are so rare in my life that I expect them to feel peaceful; brief moments to exhale between the gulping gasps that life forces me to swallow. The silence between Dax and me feels heavy. Burdened. Full. There are words unspoken, secrets, lies, fears, concerns, and a myriad of possibilities in this moment that are too cumbersome to bear, so I hammer through it with a question.
“Are you sending me home now?”
Although his eyes haven’t left my face, my question pulls him back from somewhere else. He shakes his head in a ‘no’ gesture; the opposite of what I expect, and resumes pacing again, though somewhat slower than before.
“I probably should, for your own sake, but I want to see what happens. Will you stay a little longer?”
“You’re giving me the choice?”
“Of course! I know I seem heavy-handed, Jules, but my actions are in your best interest. I’d never force you to do anything.” Doesn’t he realise he makes saying no really difficult? I tried back at Carlo’s bar and instead of listening to me or Aiden, he came down personally to cajole me with his charm.
“Just heavy-handed coercion, huh?” I try to make it sound like a joke, but the words carry too much truth to sound light-hearted.
“I’m sorry it feels that way, Jules. If it puts your mind at ease, Aiden is a good man. I trust him with my most important tasks and my most precious people, which is why I sent him to you.” It doesn’t make me feel at ease; more curious.
The insinuation is that I’m precious, or perhaps that I could be? I let myself believe it for a second, even allow a smile to swell across my face, and then I give myself a heavy dose of reality. I am a nobody. A stranger. The information he needs is precious, not me. Information he now has. I might have been important half an hour ago, now I’m back to being useless.
“So, I picked the best man to take me home?” I joke, trying to push the thoughts out of my head. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. It is what it is.
“You did.”
Another silence swells. This one full of awkwardness. I run my mind over everything again, a stupid attempt to find another way to be useful to this man. My memories are like bullets and the impact of each is like a sledgehammer to the brain. I’ve already told him everything I know, haven’t I? Why do I feel like I’m missing something important?
“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” I admit.
“Something about tonight?”
“Mm hmm.” What have I missed? I mentioned Ben, Tom, the chase, hiding, finding him, and doing my best to help…what else is there? I slump back against the plastic seat and screw my eyes shut.
God, I’m so tired. My whole body aches.
Dax sits and pats my knee. “Try not to worry. The more you stress, the longer the information will remain blocked to you.” His finger reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear again. He trails it down and lifts my chin. “I’m bringing them back in now. Are you ready?”
I can’t bring myself to speak, not with him holding my chin. I nod and press myself further into his touch.
“That’s my girl.”
Most girls would bristle at those words. Most would find them condescending, but for me the praise had a totally different effect. Almost soporific. His praise is like a fingertip caress; soft and reassuring. This is something I can do. I can pretend. I spend most of my life pretending.
With a tender tap under my chin, he winks and rises, strolling to the door in four graceful, steady steps.
“Ready?” he asks again, his attention focused on my face.
“Yes. Ready.” I straighten my clothes and swallow down the embarrassment that swells like bile in my throat. I’m a mess. Bloodstained and weary.
Dax turns the handle and pulls open the door. Sylvie stumbles backward into Dax, falling through the doorway. He catches her and sets her upright, then signals for her to sit down. She chooses the chair opposite and parks herself in a sullen slump.
Ben doesn’t wait to be invited. He saunters in, keeping his eyes fixed on me the entire time. He takes up a seat perpendicular to mine and folds his arms over his chest. As soon as he sits, Dax returns to sit beside me, allowing Aiden and two other suits to join us in the little room.
“Do we get an explanation?” Ben sneers.
Dax barely lets him get the words out before he’s answering him with another question. “For what?”
“For why she ran.”
“You think you need to know that?” Dax leans back in the chair, his face impassive and his tone unnaturally calm. “Do you think it’s your business?”
“Tom’s my friend. If she had anything to do with—”
“With him being shot, you mean?” I cut across him, pissed that he deigns to speak over me as though I’m not in the room. “Well, I didn’t. I came home to find the damned lift not working and a dying stranger on the stairs. You tell me what you’d have done when half a dozen suited-special-agent arseholes come barging through the door.”
Aiden’s brows lift slightly and there’s a tiny twitch at his lips. I’ll probably have to apologise later.
“Explained myself like any normal human being,” Ben snaps, leaning forward in his seat with his eyes burning holes in my face and his teeth bared.
What a fucking liar. Two-faced, no-good dickweed.“Really? You’d stick around, would you? Tell them why you were there?” A movement to my left catches my eye and I remember my promise to Dax. I need to calm down. “You’re clearly not from the Vale, Mister. No one in the Vale sticks around to be helpful. Helpful gets you dead or worse—brings a shit ton of drama.” I wave my arm to encompass the room full of accusing eyes and prove my point.
“So, you live there then? In the Tower? Why were you coming home so late? Where did you run off to because most normal people would have minded their own business and gone home, right? That’s what people from the Vale do?”
“Are you deaf or just stupid? I don’t answer questions. My business is my own. I told Mr Nagano what he wanted to know. If he wants to tell you, then that’s his deal, but from here on you can leave me the fuck out of it.”
“Enough. Jules, thank you for helping both with Tom and with my questions. I’m sorry you couldn’t tell me more, but I’m glad to know my brother had someone with him. That he wasn’t left on those stairs alone.”
Dax clearly aimed to burn with that comment.
Ben visibly flinches and he flicks his eyes toward the wall giving me a welcome reprieve from his laser-beam stare.
“Ben, if Jules had done what you said and minded her own business, Tom would be dead. You weren’t there to save him. She was, and I, for one, am glad she was there. So, from now on, we will address her with respect. Is that clear?” Ben nods feebly, Dax continues, “If I think there’s anything you need to know, I will tell you. It is not your place to question her.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The atmosphere shifts; the air growing awkward and tense. I press my back into the chair and feel the reassuring brush of Dax’s thumb against my shoulder blade.
“Sir,” Aiden breaks the silence, pressing the earpiece deeper into his ear, listening to someone at the other end. “The surgeon is here.”
“Let him in. Jules, do you wish to stay or go home now?”
“Um…I’d like to know how it went…”
“Of course.”
The surgeon enters, haggard and worn from hours in surgery. His scrubs are stained, his elastic cap sits askew, black tufts of hair peek out beneath it. He pulls it off as he enters and then stops in the middle of the room, looking at each of us. He gravitates to Dax, recognising his status and shuffles on his feet.
“Well? You were about to tell me how it went,” Dax reminds him.
“The surgery went as well as could be expected. He was weak and his stats were on the floor when he arrived, but we got those to climb once we repaired the damage to his stomach and the internal bleed. He will remain in intensive care until we see a significant improvement in him, but these first twenty-four hours are critical.”
“He might not survive?” Sylvie snaps, pushing herself so far forward in her seat she risks falling off.
The doctor sucks in a deep breath before he speaks. He tries to avoid eye contact with Sylvie, but Dax’s stares boldly until the surgeon turns back to him. I watch the man squirm as he speaks, once again ignoring everyone else in the room.
“There’s the possibility that he sustained too much damage from blood loss.” His words are almost a question. Does he lack confidence, or does he fear relating the information to Dax? There is no doubt of who holds the power in the conversation when the surgeon gifts it to Dax.
“Was it my fault?” I blurt. Dax shakes his head and lowers his outstretched arm to take my hand. He squeezes it.
The surgeon bothers to look at me for the first time since entering the room. I get the feeling my presence is a surprise. “Are you the one who found him?”
“Yes.”
“You probably saved his life.” He speaks without emotion, but I’m overwhelmed with relief. I slump into my seat and allow a breath out.
“The ballistic trauma resulted from two close contact gunshot wounds. The first bullet travelled through in a sharply diagonal trajectory that narrowly missed most vital organs but caused substantial blood loss and a rupture to the stomach. We irrigated the possible contamination to the peritoneum and closed up the tear. The second gunshot to his shoulder will have detrimental effects on the mobility of the arm. He may need further surgeries to repair potential damage. When he arrived, he was presenting with stage four hypovolemic shock. We have him on a ventilator. He’s been given a transfusion and IV antibiotics, but trauma like this—”
“You think he might not wake up? At all? Ever?” Sylvie interrupts again, jumping to the worst conclusion.
“We need to wait. We won’t know the extent of the blood loss damage to his organs and systems for a while. We are monitoring him closely.” The surgeon’s response sounds practised and insincere.
The room falls quiet as everyone takes in what the surgeon has said. Dax slices through the silence with a question that has us all turning our heads. “How long until he is safe to move?” I wonder whether he listened at all or perhaps he just doesn’t believe things are as bad as they sound?
“Ex-excuse me?” The surgeon stutters, shaking his head. “No. You need to understand, moving him now is far too dangerous. He is in a critical—”
“Yes, I heard all that and, of course, I’ll wait twenty-four hours to see how he does, but I want him moved. I don’t know who did this yet and, until I’ve found them, I want to know he is safe.” Dax isn’t seeking permission. My presumptions were wrong. He knows exactly how serious things are and will do whatever he needs to keep Tom safe.
“I honestly can’t advise you on that, Mr Nagano. Perhaps we would be better discussing this once Tom shows definite signs of improvement?” the surgeon urges, his eyes wide and palms held out in a halting gesture.
“Fine,” Dax concedes. “Until then, he needs to be guarded and monitored around the clock.”
“We simply don’t have space or the staff—”
“My men will stay with him, and I will send a private nurse, but I expect you to work with her seamlessly, do you understand?” Whether the surgeon understands, he nods, and I nod along with him. The authority that rolls off Dax is heavy and intimidating. The soft, oblanceolate curve of his eyes becomes sharp and penetrating when he narrows them. His thick pouted lips thin as he rolls them inward with a frown. He is two different men; the soft, kind, and funny one, and the sharp, determined one. I like the first and have a fearful admiration of the other.
“Good. Then I’ll let you make arrangements with your hospital’s administrators. Alex, go with him and report back to me when it is done.” The door guard secures the strap across his holstered gun and adjusts the radio clip in his ear. He gives a small nod and jerks his head toward the door for the surgeon to follow. Hurrying out of the waiting room without so much as a squeak, I sense the surgeon is relieved to go.
“Aiden, please take Jules home,” Dax orders, extricating his hand from mine. Is it strange that we keep reaching for each other’s hands or stranger that my chest and eyes sting when he snatches his hand away as though disgusted by me?
I stand and grab for my things, shoving my books into the backpack along with my jacket. Busying myself with the task keeps my tired, embarrassed tears at bay, because that’s all it is, right? Embarrassment at being so easily dismissed? A reminder that I’m no different from the surgeon; someone who played their part in the game and needs to get off the damn board. The more I think about it, the angrier I become; slamming the books haphazardly into the cramped bag until I inevitably drop a few on the floor. Feeling five pairs of eyes judging every movement, I sink to my knees and scramble to gather the pile.
“What’s that?” Ben leans forward in his seat and reaches around behind me. His fingers trace the curve of my backside before I slap him away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“You’ve got something in your pocket that doesn’t belong to you. It’s mine. Give me it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He reaches again, this time slightly above my waistband. He grips and pulls. I feel something sliding out of my pocket and slam my hand over it to stop him. I’d have forgotten it entirely if not for Ben’s greedy eyes, but now I remember exactly what it is and who it’s for—the envelope Tom made me take for Dax.
“It’s mine. My shopping list. You need to keep your eyes to yourself.”
“It’s got blood all over it. I think it’s mine and you stole it from Tom.”
“I think you’re talking shit. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing a torn and bloody shirt, carrying a bloody jacket and have stains all down my jeans. It got everywhere, and before you go accusing me of stealing, you want to check your facts.” He pulls again. I press my hand to my backside, feeling the envelope give slightly.
“Enough.” Dax’s loud bark brings us both to a sharp stop. Ben pulls back, giving me the opportunity to turn away from him and stand. Dax holds out his hand to me. “There’s one way to solve this. Give it to me.”
I cross the room and lay the envelope in his outstretched palm. With my back to Ben, I pray Dax can read my face and understand that I need him to play along. Tom wanted Dax to have it but every bone in my body knows that giving him the envelope in front of Ben is a bad idea. I can’t risk telling him Tom’s warning without potentially warning the enemy at the same time. Sure, I don’t know if Ben is a danger or not; all I know is that boy has been throwing serious shade at me since I laid eyes on him. That’s enough for me to suspect him.
Dax’s eyes narrow as he inspects it, keeping the front side low and obscured from Ben’s view. He looks up and straight into my eyes. I flare them and quickly compose my face.
“Sometimes I feel like I forget things. Important things. So, I note them down to deal with them later.” I shrug but hope he catches my deliberate wording and the message within them. This is the thing I forgot. Please let’s talk later.
“No crime in lists, Jules. I have a few of those, too.” He speaks casually, folds the envelope in half to hide the fact it is blank, and hands it back to me.
“Shopping list, Ben, but your eager accusation has sparked my interest. What did you suspect it was? What did you give Tom, and why did he have it on him tonight?” Dax shoots the questions across the room. Ben’s sneer vanishes, along with the colour in his face.
I shove the envelope back into my pocket, then rush back to grab my bag, seizing the extra books and throwing them under my arm. “Ready,” I mumble.
Dax nods. “Thank you for your efforts. If I need anything more, I know where to find you.”
Aiden crosses the room and wraps his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the door, recognising a dismissal when I clearly can’t.
My jaw hangs wide until we hit the parking lot, my brain spinning.
“Are you okay?” Aiden asks, pulling open the rear passenger door and waiting for me patiently to notice that I need to climb in.
Am I okay? Loaded question but it deserves an answer, if only for myself. Am I? Nothing about this night is okay; not the attack, not the rescue. Not work, nor Carlo, nor the suits coming for me. Not Dax, nor the hospital, and certainly not Ben. I’d lost control more than once. I’d taken responsibility for things that were none of my business. I’d put myself in the middle of something that no doubt will come around to bite me in the arse.
No. I’m not okay. I doubt I’ll ever be okay, but I give the only response I know how to give, the one I say so many times a day. I almost believe it to be true.
“I’m fine.”