6. Holden
SIX
HOLDEN
Odin’s already halfway down the hall when I fall into step beside him.
Five days. That’s how long this has been going, and I’ve barely slept through any of it—back and forth between this hospital, the station, and a crime scene I’m working as quietly as I fucking can.
In that time I’ve lied to three detectives, a watch commander, and the responding patrol unit.
I made sure the case didn’t land on my desk—I can’t be the detective of record on the woman I share a bed with—but a senior cop who happens to be standing at a scene gets listened to, and I made sure of that, too.
I walked it with a guy I’ve mentored for two years—who trusts me. I stood beside him and let the wrong story harden into fact while I nodded along like a man confirming the obvious.
Self-inflicted.
It’s good fiction—the kind that holds because the pieces look true. They’re just arranged into the wrong shape. There’s a cost to every lie. In this one, the bill lands on Sage.
It means she gets to watch the world treat her like she’s a threat to herself. Worse, it means they won’t let her out of the hospital without an escort. She can’t eat, sleep, or take a piss without someone observing. Her body, her mind, her motives—all up for dissection.
She didn’t choose this, and she sure as fuck isn’t the kind of woman who wants pity.
So every time I walk in and see her sitting upright in bed with the hospital blanket pulled over her knees like she’s royalty, I see the split lip, the gauze at her throat, the defensive way her hands curl into the blanket.
And there’s no fixing it. There’s just reinforcing the lie and making damn sure it never cracks.
Odin keeps walking until we’ve passed the nurses’ station, turned the corner, and reached the small alcove by the vending machines where a row of plastic chairs sits empty under a flickering bulb.
Then he turns to me, hands in his trouser pockets while he looks at me like I’m the one who’s supposed to start this conversation.
“Thank you for organizing Sage’s care,” I say, rubbing the back of my stiff neck and immediately resenting the need for a thank-you, a show of deference to a man who, in another life, would be across the table from me in an interrogation room.
“And for the paperwork. I realize you needed to pull a few strings to get her out of here so soon.”
“It’s in all of our best interests,” Odin says, but doesn’t smile. He surveys the alcove, grimaces at the flickering light, and sits with calculated nonchalance in one of the cheap chairs, crossing his ankles. He waves a hand at the chair beside him.
I ignore the gesture. I’d rather stand.
“I don’t want her at the Sanctuary,” Odin says, eyes locked on mine. “It’s not necessary. She’ll recover better at home.”
I blink, once, slow. “I thought that was the whole point of the transfer—that you’d keep her on-site. Round-the-clock medical care.”
He shakes his head, just once, like he’s irritated by the implication. “The facility’s at capacity. A small . . . situation I won’t elaborate on. But it’s locked down for now.”
“So, what? We just . . . take her home? Hope for the best?”
“To the contrary. Yes, you can take her home. But she’ll still get the best care money can buy,” Odin says, voice clipped. “A rotating team, handpicked. Every expert signed off, every protocol followed to the letter.”
“Who?” I ask.
“A trauma nurse with ICU experience. A respiratory therapist. A speech and swallow specialist for the next stage of her recovery. Two private aides for observation and assistance. Dr. Maddox will review her chart personally and visit within twelve hours of discharge.” Odin folds one ankle over the other more firmly.
“They’ll rotate in shifts. She won’t be unattended. ”
“And psych?” The word tastes foul.
A pause. “On paper, yes.”
I hold his gaze. “In reality?”
“In reality, she won’t be interrogated in her own home by some opportunistic clinician looking to satisfy liability requirements. A psychiatrist from my network will conduct the initial assessment, document exactly what needs documenting, and no more.”
Meaning: the hold gets satisfied without Sage being poked raw.
Good.
I slide my hands into my pockets to stop myself from rubbing my neck again. “Okay. But she doesn’t go back to her apartment. She’s staying with me. The medical team can set up there.”
He smiles. “Naturally.”
I look past him at the vending machine. A bag of pretzels hangs crooked on the spiral, caught halfway to falling. Feels about right.
“Has Fenrir turned up anything else on Stephen?” I ask.
Odin shakes his head. “He’s a wolf with a bone. But even he can’t pull something from nothing. Until Stephen makes a mistake, we’re stuck.”
“Damn.”
“It’s clear from their text communication that Stephen and Brock were involved romantically. But they seem to have gone to extreme lengths to keep that quiet.” He shrugs. “Whoever he is, the man doesn’t want to be found.”
That’s the part that keeps me up. Every predator I’ve ever hunted left a trail—phone records, financials, a sloppy text, a card used somewhere it shouldn’t be. People are careless. Even the smart ones.
Stephen’s given us nothing. No surname. No address. A first name that fits thousands of men. But none of them have any kind of active link with Brock. He’s the only one with information, and he’s decomposing under six feet of sand and stone where we put him.
“Tell Fenrir thanks for trying.”
Odin lifts his chin. “He’ll keep looking. The man doesn’t like the unsolvable.”
I press my lips together. “Neither do I.”
He lets out a breath and stands. “The transport should be here soon. I’ll be in touch.”
I nod. “Thanks for coming.”
He turns to go.
That’s when Rosaline comes around the corner with a patient file in her hand.
She’s reading as she walks, flipping between pages, her braid over one shoulder and a pen behind her ear.
I’ve watched her work. She’s good. Thorough without being clinical, gentle without being patronizing. Yesterday she braided Sage’s hair off her neck without being asked, and when she caught Sage trying to see her own throat in the chrome of the IV stand, she quietly angled it away.
She looks up before she walks into us, and I watch her professional expression settle into place.
“Detective Cross.” Her gaze flicks to Odin and seems to get stuck there. Heat floods her cheeks as the air thickens in a way that makes me think I should leave these two alone for a minute—or perhaps yell at her to run. She seems too pure to be tainted by the world we operate inside.
“Mr.—” She catches herself, like she’s just realized she doesn’t have his name. “Sir. I’m processing the paperwork now. Sage should be ready in about an hour.”
“Thank you.” His gaze drops to the name tag at her chest. “Rosaline.”
He says her name soft and deliberate, and her blush deepens. She’s half his age and not the kind of woman who should be on Odin’s radar—and the fact she is tells me something I’m not sure I want to know.
She pulls her eyes from him, gives me a small nod, and turns on her heel, heading back down the corridor.
Odin watches her go.
His face doesn’t change. But his eyes narrow as she rounds the corner. It’s the look I’ve seen before. Right before he—
“Holden.”
“Mm?”
“Find me everything you can on that nurse.” He turns back to me.
I go still.
For half a second, all I hear is the fluorescent buzz overhead and the soft mechanical hum of the vending machine. Then my mouth moves before the rest of me catches up.
“No.”
Odin’s brows lift a fraction. “That wasn’t a request.”
“It should’ve been.” My voice comes out flat. Controlled. “She’s a nurse doing her job.”
He studies me. “And?”
“And maybe it should stay that way. She’s young—a good person.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Like I said, it wasn’t a request.”
I take a step back. “Sure. Whatever you want, boss.”
“Good.”
He turns and walks down the corridor. I watch him go. He doesn’t look back. The double doors at the far end swing shut, and the corridor goes quiet again.
Fucking hell.
Find me everything you can on that nurse.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck for?
I drag a hand over my face and push off the wall.
If I don’t move, I’m going to keep thinking about it, and if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to start thinking that telling Odin to go fuck himself isn’t a bad idea.
But that’s not an option. Not with Sage half-healed and our lives balanced on a lie already straining at the seams.
So I do what I’m good at.
I fall into fucking line and pour my focus into Sage.
By the time I get back to her door, I can hear Milo on the other side, which means he’s made it upstairs and no one’s managed to sedate him with a tranquilizer dart yet.
“—and then this old guy in radiology deadass asked me if I was family, and I said emotionally or legally? Because one of those is a yes and one of those is a felony waiting to happen—”
“Keep your voice down,” Knox rumbles.
“Why do you keep saying that? Hospitals are noisy as fuck. How’s kitten supposed to hear me over all the beeping and whooshing of the machines if I don’t project for her?”
I push the door open.
Sage is propped against her pillows with her blanket gathered over her legs, looking furious and exhausted in equal measure. Her eyes come to me immediately, and the knot in my chest eases one degree.
“Hey, wildcat. Miss me?”
She nods and smiles.
“Obviously,” Milo says from where he’s perched on the end of her bed. “He’s got that whole brooding, badge-and-trauma package. Very sexy. Super marketable.”
I glance around the room. Knox is in his usual chair beside the bed. Micah’s by the window, and Eli’s still on his vow of silence in the corner.
“Transport’s in an hour,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “Maybe less. They’re processing it now.”
“Good,” Knox says.
Milo claps once, soft. “Amazing. Love an escape arc.”
Sage’s fingers tighten on the blanket. “Where?” she rasps.
I walk over to her bed and take her hand in mine, keeping my voice low so no one outside the room can hear. “You’re coming home with me, wildcat. With all of us.”