Celia pushed to her feet, ignored the slight bit of dizziness that occurred as a result, and moved toward the door. Following a quick, careful glance up and down the hall—neither her assailant, nor Remo and Xavier were in view—she snagged a stack of fabric at random. She tossed it on the bed, relieved to find she had everything she needed. Pants, a top, and a mask and cap.
Moving as fast as her aches and light-headed state would allow, she discarded her robe and slipped into the scrubs. She tied her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, then snagged her purse from the nightstand. She winced, though, when she noted again how damaged the bag was. And after a quick glance revealed that there was nothing but the library card inside, she decided to simply toss it in the trash. With that done, she slid her feet into her shoes, then counted off three slow breaths. She took one more look around the room, then moved out into the hall. It was still clear.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
A bubble of dread made her stomach churn, but she ordered herself to stop. She had to assume the best until she had a reason to think the worst.
What had Remo said about where the pudding was? She thought he’d mentioned going down the hall and around the corner. But which way? Celia flicked a look back and forth. At one end, there was a T and an elevator. At the other, she could just see the nurses’ station. Her gaze hung on the latter. Surely Remo would’ve mentioned having to pass it, if that’d been the direction they had to head.
No time for second guesses.
Celia swung the other way and took five self-affirming steps. But as she lifted her foot for a sixth, she very nearly tumbled over. Because the elevator doors slid open slowly, and inside were Xavier and Remo. The blue-eyed man was smiling and held two pudding cups in his big hands. Oddly, Celia’s son was wrapped in a hospital blanket and seated in a child-sized wheelchair with a book in his hands. But it wasn’t that concerning fact that made her nearly fall. It was something far more frightening.
Coming into view and approaching them at a leisurely pace from one side of the T—seemingly unaware that the kid he wanted was right there—was the man who’d threatened her.
* * *
Remo glanced down at the kid and put his hands on the wheelchair—a “special ride” offered to him by one of the kitchen staff who’d had to dig out a pudding from the depths of dry storage—and prepared to exit the elevator. Before he could make a move, though, he spied a small, female figure hurrying their way. Her quick pace gave him pause. Frowning, he watched her stop abruptly in front of the last room in the hall, grab a chart from the door, then start his way again. Her eyes came up just long enough for Remo to catch sight of them before she dropped her gaze down to the chart. She offered him the barest hint of a nod, and he did a double take.
Celia.
In spite of the different clothes and strange behavior, he was a hundred percent certain it was her. What was she doing out of bed? Why the hell was she dressed like she was about to head into surgery? And why was she darting toward the elevator like it was life-and-death?
Remo hung back, waiting for an explanation. She didn’t offer him one. In fact, she said nothing as she ran through the doors, pressed her back to the rear of the car, and lifted the chart to block her face.
For a second, Remo was too surprised to say anything. He stared dumbly at the back of the chart, his mouth open a little. Before he could quite collect himself, a man’s voice drew his attention back to the elevator doors.
“This your floor?” asked the newcomer.
Celia’s foot came out and tapped Remo’s ankle hard enough to make him wince.
What the hell? Then he clued in.
Whatever the gray-eyed woman was up to, it had everything to do with the man who was currently holding the elevator doors open. Who was dressed in scrubs and looking expectantly at Remo.
“Your floor?” the man asked again.
Remo cleared his throat and quickly formulated the most obvious lie. “Not us. Just having a little ride for fun before we head back to peds.”
The man inclined his head, then stepped into the elevator and lifted a hand to press a button. He stopped when he saw that each and every one was already lit up.
“Hope you’re going down,” Remo joked.
“Sorry!” Xavier added immediately. “I pressed them all!”
Remo held his breath, waiting for the man to look down and notice the kid. For him to notice anything. But he just grunted and stepped away from the panel.
The seconds ticked by, the stop at each floor so tense it was almost painful.
Celia continued to stare at her chart, flicking the occasional page and scribbling with a pen.
Xavier stared down at the colorful book one of the nurses had given him, either unaware that they should’ve gotten off, or just not caring that their trip was five times as long as it should be.
Remo just kept his eyes on their companion. Who was he? Not Xavier’s father, or he would’ve recognized his kid. So someone acting on the father’s behalf? It was impossible to get a good read on the guy. The scrubs he wore obscured his clothes, and his face was expressionless. He said nothing through the entire ride, not even pulling out a cell phone for a glance. When they at last reached the lobby, and the man stepped off, it took a big chunk of Remo’s willpower to wait for the doors to shut before he rounded on Celia to demand some answers. When he did finally turn her way, though, the words stuck in his throat. Celia’s face was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. Automatically, Remo abandoned words and reached for her. Before his hands could get to her, she flipped the chart over. His gaze dropped to it, the words she’d scrawled there stopping him from speaking or acting.
Somewhere to talk, she’d written.
He lifted his eyes up to meet hers. She clearly didn’t want to expose herself yet. Remo silently nodded his understanding—and his agreement—then turned back to the panel. He juggled the puddings, then pressed the button that would take them back to the family room he and Xavier had used before. And thankfully, without having to stop at every floor, the trip was over quickly. In under two minutes, the doors were sliding open. Remo stepped back to let Celia exit first, and she shot a grateful look in his direction as she brushed past and headed straight for a nearby bathroom.
Remo resisted an urge to watch her go. Instead, he looked away, dropped the pudding into Xavier’s lap, then grasped the wheelchair handles and gave them a nudge.
“Hey,” the kid said, as the chair bumped from the elevator onto the linoleum. “This is the wrong place.”
“Not the wrong place,” Remo corrected. “Just a different one.”
“My mom’s gonna worry.”
“Don’t worry, buddy. I think she knows where we are.”
“Good. Because she really worries.”
To that, Remo said nothing. He was starting to believe that Celia had a damned good reason for her particular brand of concern.
But what is it?
He was eager to find out, but—if he was being honest—he was getting pretty damned worried himself. He was tired as all hell, too. He’d been awake for nearly twenty hours, and the lack of sleep was starting to mix unpleasantly with the roller coaster of stress.
With a suppressed sigh and a dramatic pop-a-wheelie that made Xavier squeal, he pushed the wheelchair into the family room.
“Okay, my friend,” he said. “What’ll it be? Cartoons? Another puzzle? Or you just wanna read that book some more?”
Xavier’s little forehead creased thoughtfully, then cleared abruptly as his face lit up. “Mommy!”
Remo looked up. Celia stood in the doorway, hesitating for only a second before she stepped in and bent down to envelop her son in a hug. Her eyes stayed on Remo, though.
“This is a nice little space,” she said, her silent question clear. Is it safe?
“Nice
, private little space,” he amended. “This part of the floor is being renovated next week, so it’s more or less a ghost town.”
Celia nodded, then turned her attention to her son.
“All right,” she said, her voice full of real-sounding cheer. “There has got to be a story behind your new wheels.”
Remo stood back. He was only half listening to Xavier as the kid launched into an excited explanation that involved spilled puddings and lost puddings and new puddings. Most of his attention was on the boy’s mother. She’d stripped off the top layer of her scrubs, and now wore just the wrinkled bottoms with the pale yellow T-shirt she’d had on when Remo found her on the side of the road. His heart dipped at the memory. He hoped to God yanking herself from her hospital bed and running through halls wouldn’t set her back. But she seemed to be in an okay state. Better than she’d been in the elevator, for sure. As she continued to talk to the kid, her eyes were clear, her face a normal shade of pink.
“Remo?”
He blinked, realizing he’d missed something.
She smiled up at him, but it wasn’t quite as cheerful as her voice. “I just told Xavier that you and I were going to talk on that couch out in the hall for a minute so we don’t disturb him while he finishes his book.”
He nodded. “Yeah, sounds like a fair plan.”
He gave the kid’s hair a tousle, then followed Celia out. She pointed to the couch she’d mentioned, and as they sat down, Remo noted immediately that it was really more of a two-seater. Or maybe a one-and-a-half-seater, factoring in a man of his size. No matter which way either of them shifted, they still touched. Shoulder against shoulder, hip against hip. When Celia sighed and lifted her fingers to brush a wayward strand of hair back from her face, her hand brushed Remo’s, and a little flick of electric attraction sent his mind slipping back to the brief kiss they’d shared.
Was Celia thinking about it, too? Had she thought about it as many times as he had already? If Remo was being honest, it’d dominated his mind through the whole chocolate pudding retrieval. Her lips on his had been warm and sweet. As quick as the contact had been, it had also been heated in a way he hadn’t felt in as long as he could remember. His conscience had nudged a few times, suggesting that he might be walking a line. Reminding him about ethics. Professionalism. The nudges had been surprisingly easy to override, though. Sitting so close to her right then told him why. It felt good and natural to be near her. And Remo was the kind of man who believed that what felt like the right thing...usually was the right thing.
Chapter 7
“Tell me,” said Remo.
Celia drew in a breath. She still hadn’t quite shaken the terrible memory that had surfaced as she stood in the elevator with the man who’d threatened her life, and she itched to reach for Remo’s hand. She knew she’d feel safer if his fingers were clasping hers. Even the unintentional—but unavoidable—contact brought by the small couch was comforting. But she was well aware that in spite of the desire to draw strength from Remo, their current relationship status still bordered on “almost strangers who happened to have kissed.” And she honestly wasn’t sure where the boundaries were, or if there was a line she ought not to cross. So she settled on adjusting just enough that their knees stayed touching, and she clasped her hands in her own lap, then exhaled and explained what the man from the elevator had said and done.
Remo’s face grew darker, his azure eyes sharpening along with his voice. “Are you still dead set against contacting the police?”
She looked down at her hands. “Yes.”
He muttered something that might’ve been a frustrated curse, then said, “Private security, then, if we really can’t contact the police. An anonymous guard outside your room.”
“No.”
“It’s a compromise.”
“An anonymous guard wouldn’t be anonymous for very long, Remo. If I know anything, it’s that the man back there would find a way to go through someone in order to get to Xavier. I don’t want to risk any collateral damage. I’m not taking any chances.”
“So you’re going to do what?” he asked. “Leave the hospital? Risk your own life by not getting the medical care you need? How does that help your son? That’s nothing but taking a chance.”
“I can’t stay in one place. I told you that already. And now that they know where I am... You’re right. Running might have risks, but staying here is a guaranteed loss.”
“We don’t know who ‘they’ are,” Remo pointed out.
Celia couldn’t help but be warmed by his use of the word we, but she didn’t have time to sit and enjoy it. She had more to share. She inhaled again, the air burning against her lungs.
“But there’s something else I do know,” she told him.
She unclasped her hands, brought them to the edge of her T-shirt, and pulled it up to reveal the faded scar she knew was there. She didn’t have to look down. Its shape was etched in her mind, and it seemed crazy that her memory would’ve let it go in the first place. Unconsciously, she slid her fingers over the uneven puckers.
“I might not remember who ‘they’ are,” she said, “but I remember getting this. I was trying to get away from...someone. Xavier’s dad, I’m assuming, even though that bit’s still spotty. And that man back there came after me. This scar...” She touched it again. “It’s from the shot he fired at me.”
She looked up and found Remo’s gaze hanging on the mark in question. “That’s an unusual-looking one.”
“I guess you’ve seen your fair share of gunshot wounds.”
“I don’t get to see the healed version all that often, but I gotta say that this one looks pretty unique.”
“How many have you seen that were on a formerly pregnant stomach?” Celia asked softly.
Remo’s eyes jerked up. “What?”
“I was pregnant with Xavier when he shot me. Very pregnant.”
“How in God’s name could anyone shoot a pregnant woman?” He spoke like he couldn’t help himself, his horror and anger palpable.
Celia shook her head. She didn’t know, either. In the elevator, it had run over her like a race car. Fast. Unstoppable. And with an excruciating kick. Because as much as the bullet had hurt her, the absolute terror that it might hurt her unborn son was far worse.
“I think Xavier’s father is a dangerous man,” she said. “Even more dangerous than the guy in the elevator.”
“It’ll come back to you,” Remo promised.
“I wish it didn’t have to,” she admitted with a glance toward the room where her son sat reading. She couldn’t quite see him, but she was aware of his presence. Like an extension of herself. “In my head and my heart, I know I’m a good mother. But...”
“Don’t second-guess yourself.”
“I can’t help it. What if I’m blocking things out because I’m not...” She trailed off, fighting tears. “I mean, look at where I am now. I want your help. I’m sitting here, hoping you’re going to keep offering.”
“My offer stands,” he assured her.
“But the problem is that I’m going to take your help.”
“Why is that a problem if I’m giving it willingly?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
“Because I know it means you could be hurt. Because I know what my son’s father and his men are capable of, but have no idea who they are. Because—”
“Celia.”
She took a breath that felt like a gasp. “What?”
Remo’s hand came up to cup her cheek. “I’m aware of the danger. And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you face it alone.”
“You already saved us once.”
“I know. And what kind of man would I be if I just let that go to waste?” He said it in a low, intense voice, with his eyes fixed unwaveringly on her face.
She leaned a little more into his touch. “What kind of w
oman would I be if I just let you endanger yourself on behalf of a stranger?”
“You’re not a stranger.”
“I’m not?”
“No.” He inched closer.
Her breath caught, and her eyes started to drift shut. “What am I, then?”
“The mother of my new best friend.”
“The—” Her eyes flew back open. “What?”
A small, teasing smile made Remo’s lips curl up appealingly. “Chocolate puddings are the way to the boy’s heart. You can go ahead and confirm with him in a minute. Then you can ask me about my plan. But first...”
His head dipped down, and his mouth found hers. And just as it had with the first kiss, heat leaped to life, swirling through her entire body. But unlike the last time their lips had met, this time the contact wasn’t immediately cut short, and Celia had time to appreciate every bit of it.
Remo’s mouth was warm and welcoming. Firm in just the right spots. Exploratory but not hesitant or overly forceful. He tasted faintly sweet—like maybe he’d helped himself to a taste of the same pudding he’d procured for Xavier. Celia might’ve smiled about it if not for two things. First, there was the fact that her lips were already preoccupied. And second, there was the more important fact that Remo deepened the kiss right then.
His tongue came out to dart along her lower lip, and her mouth dropped open in an automatic invitation. Her response earned a rumbling groan from somewhere down low in Remo’s throat, and the sound made her vibrate. His tongue came out again, this time to explore her waiting mouth. Slowly. Deliciously. Toe-curling-ly. And Celia’s toes were curling—literally scrunching up inside her shoes in an absolutely heavenly way. And her hands seemed to have their own agenda, too. They slid up Remo’s well-muscled arms, reveling in the obvious strength there. They tripped along his shoulders, then found their way to the back of his neck and settled there. His dark hair was thick and soft, and the short strands tickled her fingers in a thousand, shiver-inducing licks.
First Responder on Call Page 7
