Rock Bottom

by Canosa, Jamie

  “Um . . .” I glance at Declan, but all he has for me is a completely useless shrug. Some knight. “Sure.”

  ***

  “I spoke with Elijah’s doctors. They said he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

  “Mm-hmm.” We’ve wandered down four-and-a-half hallways so far and I’m still wondering what it is we’re doing.

  “That’s good news. He’s a lucky man.”

  I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is a word I’d use to describe Elijah, but he’s definitely got something going for him. “I guess. Detective, why are—?”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Better.” Not having full use of my dominant hand is more annoying than anything else. “Elijah’s doctor told me to wear the sling for a couple of weeks and said something about therapy.” Remembering not to shrug is also a pain in the ass.

  She nods and I notice how she doesn’t remark on my ‘luck’.

  “Are you here to arrest me?” I hadn’t meant to just spit it out like that in the middle of a crowded hallway, but all of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit is getting under my skin. The paranoid part of my brain keeps insisting she’s taking me somewhere less likely to cause a scene before breaking the news.

  Fawn stops, causing a disruption in the flow of traffic that she doesn’t seem to notice. “No, Rylie. Of course not. We’ve already explained that your actions were justified. No one’s going to arrest you. I came here to tell you that John, Detective Tanner, has spoken with your family several times.”

  Being eighteen, he wasn’t required to inform my parents of the events surrounding the case, but I vaguely remember him making an offer to do so that night at the warehouse—was that only two nights ago? At the time, it sounded like a good idea, not having to tell them myself. Now I’m rethinking the soundness of that plan, though. I didn’t have to tell them everything. I could have lied, sugarcoated, stalled . . . for a decade or two. But it’s too late.

  “We’ve been running . . . interference.” She reconsiders her word choice. “Stalling. I got the impression that maybe seeing them right away wouldn’t be a good thing. That . . . maybe you needed time to recover first. Time for Elijah to recover. But your father refuses to be delayed any longer. They’re driving in tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow! I knew they’d come eventually. Sooner rather than later. In my occasional moments of clarity, I’ve been surprised they aren’t already here. Now I guess I know who I can thank for that. But my reprieve is up.

  A small alcove leads to a door labeled, ‘Employees Only’ with an impressive key pad on the handle. Fawn steps inside and I follow.

  “Listen, Rylie.” Her mouth puckers like she’s tasted something sour. “Elijah accused Detective Tanner and myself of using you. More than once.”

  “I—”

  She cuts me off. “Maybe he was right. We were so focused on those girls and Damien that we honestly didn’t see you. Not as anything more than a means to an end. It was an honorable end, but that doesn’t justify what happened to you in the process.”

  “I volunteered—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your arm’s in a sling. I’m sorry that you were forced to kill someone. I’m sorry that your boyfriend is lying in a hospital bed.”

  She left out some of the more difficult stuff, but I’ll take what I can get. Honestly it’s more than I ever expected. “Thank you.”

  A stiff nod and the matter is closed.

  “They picked up Rafe Bellor last night. I figured you had the right to know before anyone else. His name’s been added to the defendant list for the pending trial along with Abdir Hariri. Brian Taurig didn’t make it through surgery.” Her fingers twitch at her side before curling into a tight fist. “We’re still searching for whoever tipped off Damien, but I promise you, if he had a cop in his pocket, we’ll find out who it was.”

  “What about Boz?” I have a lot of fuzzy memories surrounding that man and even more questions.

  “Officer Boskerelli has been working undercover for the past three years, trying to bust Damien Cross.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Indignation colors my voice.

  “We can’t just go around giving out the identities of undercover agents, Rylie.”

  “But then, why . . . If you already had someone inside, why did you need me?”

  “Three years and he was never able to get as close as you did. Cross was a very private man, bordering on paranoia. He played everything extremely close to the vest. We needed . . . Well . . .” Fawn embarrassed, now I really have seen it all. “What we needed was someone he wouldn’t suspect. Someone who could get inside that vest.” She draws a deep breath and huffs. ”There’s something I want to show you. Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” I’m anxious to get back to Elijah.

  “We’re not leaving the hospital, don’t worry.”

  The clap of her shoes against the tile takes me back to Damien’s penthouse. To sitting in my room, listening to Rosita move about the apartment. I idly wonder what happened to her—if she’s been deported—but I can’t find it in me to care enough to ask. Someday I might.

  Fawn comes to a stop outside of a door just like every other door in the entire building and I drag myself back to the present. “Whose room is—?”

  “Just look.”

  I peek through the small rectangular window in the door. An older woman sits in the corner, holding two wiggly children on her lap. Near the bed, a couple hovers over the patient. There are tear stains on the woman’s face, but smiles all around. The little boy scrambles free and barges between his parents to climb up onto the bed. Laughter filters through the thick wood as the crowd parts and I find myself staring at a familiar face.

  “That’s . . .”

  “Tori Jackson. The girl you saved.”

  She looks different than she did back at the warehouse. Strawberry blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. A spark in her eye gives them life, dulled only by the ghosts there—ghosts I wonder if only someone who’s been through something similar can see. Ghosts she’ll probably carry with her for a lifetime. But her smile . . . her smile lights up the whole room. It lights up everyone around her. There’s so much love and happiness in that room. I have to believe she’ll be alright.

  “Her family got in this morning. Had to travel all the way from Washington.” Fawn quiets while I get my fill of the scene before turning away. We continue along the hallway with no particular destination in mind. “She’s been missing for five months. I got to make the call to tell them we found her. That she’s going to be okay.” Her words choke off and I turn to see tears in the woman’s eyes. “All because of you. All of that back there . . . that’s because of you. What you did. And she’s not the only one. Dozens of girls have already been reunited with their families. Scenes like that one are playing out in states all over the country, a few in Mexico, because of you. I just thought you should know that.”

  I don’t even realize tears are running down my cheeks until Fawn passes me a tissue.

  “Look at us, a couple of weepy girls. Pathetic.” She huffs a laugh. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear Elijah’s going to be alright. Please let him know that we’ll need to speak with him when he’s feeling up to it.”

  And we’re back to business. “Of course.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” Her boots squeal on the floor as she spins toward the exit. “And Rylie?”

  “Huh?”

  “Good luck tomorrow.”

  Luck . . . I’m going to need it.

  ***

  By the third straight day with no sign of improvement, the wait for Elijah to regain consciousness has gone from taxing to nerve-wracking. The doctors refuse to admit it, but their growing concern becomes obvious as talk of more testing begins to circulate.

  “You should eat something.” Declan’s been hanging around Elijah’s room with me for two straight days and we’re both starting to go a little stir-crazy. He hovers near the window, watching
the parking lot as though it’s the most thrilling sight in the world. There’s a TV in the room, but daytime drama isn’t really either of our thing. I’ve had enough of that in my life already.

  “I’m not really hungry.” I haven’t been hungry in days, unable to overcome the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yeah, well, if Elijah wakes up to find a half starved fiancée sitting next to his bed, he’ll kick my ass. So what do you like? I’ll run out and grab something.”

  I doubt I’ll be able to eat anything he brings me, but I understand his need to get out and move. To feel useful. To do . . . something. So I give him the excuse he needs. “How about a burger?”

  “Mmm. And fries. Sounds good.” He digs the keys out of his pocket and practically lunges for the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  I don’t have to tell him where I’ll be. Where I always am, minus the few quick showers I’ve grabbed in Elijah’s bathroom. The hospital room is nice. Clean, quiet, private. Expensive. Added to the list of things I can’t stop worrying about is how in the hell he’s going to be able to pay the bills once he recovers.

  A nurse bustles in—a heavy set woman I’ve seen a few times during our stay—and checks Elijah’s vitals, something I swear they do a million times a day. “How’s our patient today?”

  Our patient. As though I have anything to contribute to his recovery. “The same.”

  For days, they’ve been promising me that Elijah will wake up. They just can’t give me any idea of when that might be. ‘When he’s ready’ and ‘In his own time’ are just a few of the standard lines I’d been fed before I gave up asking.

  He’s certainly taking his sweet-ass time. And driving me to the brink.

  After the nurse clears out, I move to sit on the edge of Elijah’s mattress and run my fingers through his hair. It’s getting long. He’ll need a trim when we get out of here. “Listen to me, Prince. You’ve had more than enough beauty rest. It’s time to get your lazy ass up.”

  I scowl at him and try my best to firm my voice. If he can hear me, I want him to know I’m not screwing around anymore. “If you don’t wake up right now, I might lose my ever-loving mind. And I know Declan will. You’re driving us both insane. Enough with the theatrics. Wake up.”

  I want to shake him, but I’m afraid of aggravating his injuries.

  “It’s just your shoulder, for chrissakes. It’s not like you got shot in the head.” I fist my hair and tug at the roots, fighting the urge to rip it all out. “Stop being such a drama-queen and—”

  “Who’s a drama-queen?”

  My head shoots up to find a pair of hazy silver pools peering back at me.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  “You’re awake.”

  He probably already realizes that, but I need to say it out loud. To hear him confirm that I’m not hallucinating.

  “Pretty sure.” The corners of his tight lips tug upward.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Deep creases carve into the corners of his eyes and mouth. The pain evident in every one of his features squeezes my heart.

  “Like death,” he groans and I lean into him, wanting to soak up his pain and make it my own.

  “Elijah, I’m so sor—”

  “Like I died.” His lips clamp down and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s trying to hold back a smile. “And went to heaven.” He releases the tension in his facial muscles and in a flash looks a million times better. “Because I must be looking at an angel.”

  I just sit there, gaping at him, stunned into silence. Then his grin breaks out and I swat at his good arm. “You’re such an ass-hat!”

  “Hey. I took a bullet for you. You could at least be nice to me.” The spark in his eye gives me the inexplicable urge to duck and cover as he ponders the situation. “A back massage, a few sponge baths, and I think we can call it even.”

  I bury my face in my hand to hide my smile and force a groan. Clearly his smartass glands are in perfect working order. He must be feeling better.

  “Where’d you go?”

  I part my fingers to peek through. A lock of dark hair has fallen over his forehead and I abandon my hiding place to brush it away, marveling at the fact that this fine specimen of masculinity is mine to touch. “How are you really feeling?”

  Elijah’s shrug is lopsided with only one working shoulder.

  “Like I got shot.” Some of his swagger fades away, making the strain in his eyes, the crease in his nose, the pinch in his brow all more pronounced. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Guilt sneaks back in. He got shot because of me. He’s in pain because of me. All of this is because of me. “I—”

  “But I would do it again. That was my decision. You took responsibility for yours, now let me have mine.” If I hadn’t already given it to him, his crooked grin would have stolen my heart. “No way am I letting you douse my epic show of heroism with guilt and remorse. Don’t even try it, Princess. I was totally badass and I intend to take full credit for it.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that, other than, “You were totally badass.”

  His laugh is followed quickly by a wince, but I squash the accompanying regret.

  “How long was I out?” He’s eyeing the window as though it may give him some clue. What he needs is a friggin’ calendar.

  “Three days.”

  “Three—whoa! Time flies.”

  “Not really,” I grumble, but I doubt Elijah hears me.

  His gaze has turned inward and I know he’s searching his memories, putting the pieces together. “What happened?”

  “After you were shot?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty clear up to that point.”

  So much has happened. It feels like years have passed. Lives have been restored. Lives have been destroyed. Lives have been lost. And yet, I haven’t done much more than sit in an uncomfortable chair.

  I give Elijah a rundown of the latest news. He stays quiet through most of it.

  “Damien?” the name rumbles through his chest.

  “He’s . . . dead.” I don’t know if Elijah knows I’m the one who killed him or not. I’ll talk to him about it eventually, but it’s something I know I’m going to need help to get past. More than he can give me. Professional help. And this time, I intend to get it.

  “And you?” He runs a finger along the strap of my sling until his hand finds mine. “How’s your arm?”

  “It’s fine. Dislocated shoulder, that’s all.”

  “That’s all.” A shadow crosses Elijah’s face though there isn’t a cloud in the sky. “You’ve been sitting around this room for the past three days, haven’t you?”

  Give or take. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to be.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. Declan’s been here the whole time. He just ran out for food.” Speaking of Declan, I should probably call him.

  “What about your parents?” He struggles to scoot up and I slide my one good arm under his one good arm to give him a boost. What a pair we make. “Have you talked to them yet?”

  “Not yet. They’re coming, though.”

  “When?”

  My tongue runs over my upper teeth. I’ve been doing my best not to think about it all morning. “Today.”

  “Today?” Elijah nudges me back and reaches for the corner of his blanket, tossing it off his lap. “Looks like I have perfect timing. As usual.”

  “What are you doing?” He’s pushed me all the way off the bed and is squirming around, removing lead lines that are attached to his chest monitoring his heartbeat. The machine squeals and I hit a button to silence it.

  “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it at my place.”

  “What?” I should probably be holding him down or something, but the sudden change in events is too confusing to react properly.

  “Rylie, you’re not seeing your parents for the first time in months in some hospital room. And I fully intend to be there, so if you wouldn’t
mind . . .” He reaches for me, but I hold my ground.

  “Elijah, you can’t just get up and—”

  “Watch me. I’ll call your dad and have him meet us at my apartment. We can—”

  “You have my dad’s number?” Of everything he’s saying and doing, that’s the one that stands out to me. Go figure.

  “Princess . . . I’ve spent more time talking to your father than you in the past year.”

  “Oh.” Duh. “Right.”

  Foregoing my assistance, Elijah swings his legs over the edge of the bed and attempts to stand on his own. A grunt is the only warning I get before his knees give out. I’m at his side in a blink. Chest pressed against his side, I wedge my shoulder under his arm and he gives me some of his weight.

  “Thanks.”

  My teeth grind in frustration. Helping him do something stupid was not the idea. “Be careful. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  “I’m alright. Just need a second.”

  “Elijah, why can’t you just—”

  “Kiss you already?” A grin eases some of the tightness in his face. “Because I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Hold that thought.”

  I hold it—and him—for another minute before he’s able to fully support his own weight and slips into the bathroom. I can hear the water running from where I position myself outside the door in case he needs me again. He must be using my toothbrush, or Declan’s, because his is still packed away beneath the bed.

  “Done.” A few minutes later, he’s back and smelling minty fresh. “Now . . . where were we?”

  Keeping his injured arm folded tightly across his body, he clutches as my waist, tugging me closer. The heat of his chest soaks into my palm and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart. Mine speeds up to match.

  He nuzzles the side of my nose and the first brush of his lips is feather soft, as though he’s afraid of hurting me. But Elijah’s touch could never hurt me. All it does is erase the hurt. Banish the darkness. And replenish my soul.

  My hand slides upward around the back of his neck as I press up onto my toes. I gasp at the warm slide of his tongue across my lower lip and he delves inside. My head spins. My stomach drops. And by the time he’s finished, my knees are definitely weaker than his. Swaying slightly, I catch myself against the wall.