HANNAH

by Leigh James

  “We need to make sure we have every available man on duty tonight,” I instructed. “All eyes need to be on the perimeter, to make sure Li Na doesn’t try something here, too.”

  Brian nodded. “I’ll call everyone who’s off-duty and have them come in.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Have you talked to Levi and Ash?”

  “They’ll be here in the morning.”

  He made himself scarce as Hannah rounded the corner, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

  I held my arms out to her. “Hey.”

  She came toward me, then stopped. “Why are you out of the chair?”

  I pulled her to my chest. “Don’t we have bigger things to worry about?”

  Lauren came in, looking exhausted as she unwrapped her scarf. “Where’s Gabe?”

  “He’s in the office, on the phone with his lawyer.”

  “Okay.” Lauren’s gaze briefly met mine, then she looked pointedly at Hannah. “Hannah, you should get some rest—this has been a terrible shock. Have you heard from Fiona again?”

  “No.” Hannah’s voice came out muffled against my chest. “Just that last text.”

  “What did she say?” I asked.

  “She wanted to tell us about Jim.” Hannah shook her head against me. “I can’t believe this is happening again. I can’t believe Li Na killed Fiona’s husband.”

  I wrapped my arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Nothing’s okay!” Hannah started crying. “They were married for fifteen years! They have two little girls!”

  Lauren’s face twisted with worry as she watched her sister. “Can I help?”

  Hannah abruptly stopped crying and pulled back from me. She wiped her face roughly as she turned to her sister. “You just need to stay safe. We should all get some sleep, not just me—tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “Levi and Ash will be here first thing in the morning,” I told them. “We’ll get everyone together and have a debrief.”

  “That’s good,” Lauren said. “We’re going to need to send a team to Protocol, and another team to watch Fiona and her girls.”

  Hannah shivered. “The poor things.”

  Lauren hugged her briefly, giving me another worried look as they embraced. She didn’t have to say anything—I understood. She was concerned about Hannah, that this was too much for her little sister to bear.

  Hannah pulled back from the embrace, but she still gripped Lauren’s shoulders. “We’re going to make her go away this time. She can’t keep doing this.”

  Lauren blinked. She looked as though there were a million things she wanted to say, but she bit back the words.

  Hannah turned to me. “I’m going to take a quick shower and go to bed. Are you coming?” Her gaze flicked briefly to the abandoned wheelchair.

  “In a minute.”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it—probably about the chair—and then headed to our room.

  Lauren started talking as soon as Hannah was out of earshot. “This is too much for her. Fiona is her friend, and we just saw her and talked to her. I don’t know what this is going to do to her. We just got her back from those animals, and she’s still so raw. I know she’s trying to hold it all together—”

  “She is holding it all together. She’s tough. Maybe she’s too tough.”

  Lauren went instantly on alert. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I think she’s dealing with all of this too well. I think she’s holding stuff inside, and I don’t know what to do to help her.”

  “Has she said anything?”

  I shook my head, wondering if Hannah would make a shish kebab out of me for telling her sister about the nightmares. But here I was, about to talk, so I might as well prepare to be skewered. “She’s been having nightmares. Bad ones. But she doesn’t remember them, or she says she doesn’t, and she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Lauren started pacing. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make her understand she doesn’t have to hide this. Stress is nothing to be ashamed of—”

  “Lauren.” I waited until she stopped pacing. “We might need to give her some space—she is an adult. The most important thing right now is to protect her.”

  “Agreed.” She started pacing again. I left her to it.

  As I headed to my room, I had to stop frequently. I leaned against the wall, desperate to catch my breath and not pass out. I wiped my brow and composed my features as I reached the door.

  It’s my issue, and I’m dealing with it.

  Hannah was in the shower. She came out a few minutes later in one of my T-shirts, her face puffy from crying.

  “C’mere.” I pulled down the comforter.

  She shuffled into bed, clutching a tissue.

  “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

  She blew her nose.

  “It’s okay, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”

  She sat up a little, glaring. “I’m not scared.”

  “I meant sad,” I backpedaled.

  “I’m not sad—I mean, I’m sad, but that’s not why I’m crying.”

  “Okay…” I waited to let her finish.

  “I’m mad. And I’m not just mad, I’m so angry, I don’t even know what to do. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I’m out of control. If Li Na was in front of me right now, I don’t even know what I’d do.” She shook her head. “I hate hating her. But I hate her so much.”

  I held her closer. “I know how that feels.”

  Many times, in the service and on the job, I’d felt a blinding rage, an urge to crush someone.

  “Do you feel like that now?”

  I shook my head. “Right now, it’s more like a dull throb. Like I’m the Hulk, and I’m getting ready to burst, but I’m not quite there yet. I’m more in the planning stage. I like to plan, then I like to burst. It’s more effective that way.”

  A brief smile crossed Hannah’s face. “I like that.”

  “Good.” I wrapped my arms around her. “The Hulk’s got you, babe, and there’s extra security on the premises.”

  “What about Fiona?”

  “Levi and Ash sent a team there. too. And the police are there. Her family’s safe.”

  Now.

  She looked as if she might start crying again, but I rocked her a little, holding her close.

  “Go to sleep, babe. And tomorrow?”

  She looked up at me expectantly.

  “Tomorrow we plot our revenge.”

  She snuggled against my chest. “Plan, then burst.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “You got it.”

  Chapter 7

  Hannah

  The burly guard leaned over my bed. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Fuck off.”

  He grabbed my arms and held them over my head. “You know, I never minded a little back talk. Sort of keeps things interesting.”

  “No! No! No!” I sat up suddenly, still thrashing, to find Wesley watching me, his bedside lamp turned on.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face, wiping sleep from my eyes. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Wes gave me a long look. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

  His voice sounded thick with emotion.

  “Don’t be upset—it was just a dream.”

  I scooted over toward him and rested my face against his chest.

  “You’re comforting me?”

  I closed my eyes and didn’t move.

  “I want you to tell me what happened to you.”

  “Nothing happened to me.”

  “I want you to tell me.” Emotion rolled off him in waves, but knowing I’d been through enough for one day, he kept his voice even.

  I kissed his chest. “I already told you everything.”

  Still stricken about Jim Pace, it took every ounce of energy I had left to keep from bursting into another round of tears.

  Wes pulled back and got out of bed.

  Seeing him standing made me panic. “Babe, what are you doi
ng?”

  He didn’t look at me. “I’m going to get some water.”

  I hopped out of bed. “I want some, too.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I know you don’t.” The tears were close. “I just want to be with you.”

  His shoulder sagged. “Honey…”

  I threw my arms around him and hugged him hard, harder than I’d dared to in the weeks since he’d come home from the hospital.

  “I’m sorry I keep waking you up,” I finally said.

  “You’re not. I was awake.”

  I pulled back and looked at him. “You’re not sleeping?”

  “Not tonight.”

  He shrugged, making the cords in his neck stand out, and I noticed that although he looked exhausted, he also looked more like himself. More muscular, more filled out—stronger.

  “You look good, babe.”

  He started to laugh, surprising me. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  “No, I mean it. You look more like your old self. Are you really feeling better?” I stroked his cheek. “Good enough to be out of your wheelchair?”

  “It’s time. I’ll be fine.”

  “Can I come to your next doctor’s appointment so I can ask Dr. Kim some questions?”

  He gave me a tired smile, sinking back down on the bed. “Of course. I have an appointment later this week.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be there. I don’t know when Jim’s service is going to be.” I shook my head, the reality of the previous day catching up to me. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe someone shot Jim.”

  “I know.”

  His voice was soothing, and I let him pull me back under the covers and pull me against his massive chest.

  “Try to go back to sleep—we still have a few hours.”

  I relished the feel of his arms around me, which I was getting used to. Before, he’d only slept over on the occasional night he was off-duty. Otherwise, he was awake guarding me or on the couch. I nestled against him, loving his warmth. I’m getting spoiled.

  Safe in his embrace, I fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep, at least until my alarm went off.

  I hopped out of bed, kissing Wes lightly as he slept. My follow-up appointment with Dr. Lourdes Fisher was first thing—a fact I’d kept to myself and my three security guards. Dr. Fisher had been hounding me to come back in. If I cancelled again, she’d be all over me. I had enough stress to deal with at the moment.

  “We’ll be back in time to meet with Levi and Ash to talk about increasing security. Please don’t mention this appointment to anyone,” I instructed Brian when we got to the office.

  He frowned.

  Brian was the lead guard assigned to me. He liked rules—following them, explaining them to others…following them.

  “Okay?” I pleaded. “I don’t feel like having Wes and Lauren ask me if I’m okay three million times today.”

  Brian didn’t say anything. He just continued to frown, looking sour.

  I ignored him as the nurse ushered me in. I changed into a faded, pastel-pink johnny. I didn’t look at my body as I changed—I was pretty sure the bruises had faded, but I didn’t want to see any trace.

  The nurse weighed me. “You’ve gained back ten pounds,” she said, checking my chart.

  “Yay?” I said, trying lamely to make a joke.

  “That’s really good.” She finished running through routine questions, updating my chart.

  My knee bounced nervously as I waited for the doctor.

  Dr. Fisher, who’d treated me and Lauren for years, smiled pleasantly when she came in. “It’s nice to see you finally made it in here.”

  “I know. Sorry about that.”

  Her smile quickly turned to a frown when she saw me fidgeting. “How’re you doing, Hannah?”

  “I’ve been better.” I wouldn’t tell her about the nightmares, but I couldn’t keep everything a secret. “A friend of mine was shot last night. He died.”

  The words tasted funny, sour, on my tongue.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Dr. Fisher put a hand over her heart. “What happened?”

  “We think it was more corporate espionage.”

  She peered at me over her glasses. “The same people?”

  I sighed shakily and nodded.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you having anxiety?”

  “No. I’m…fine.”

  Dr. Fisher arched an eyebrow. “You’d have to be a superhero to be fine with all this. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” I moaned. “I have to get back home for a meeting. Can we just get this over with?”

  She laughed. “Gee, Hannah, tell me how you really feel.”

  “It’s nothing personal. It’s just that I know you’re going to poke and prod me, and I don’t feel like dealing with it—which is why I’ve cancelled my last three appointments.”

  “Fair enough. I’m just glad you finally came in.” She smiled, warmth and concern lighting up her face. “But now it’s time to poke and prod. You ready?”

  I sighed and tried to relax on the exam table, but the paper underneath me crinkled. Ugh.

  “Sure.”

  Dr. Fisher checked my chart. “Your weight gain’s good. That’s solid progress. Are you exercising yet?”

  Before I’d been kidnapped, I was an avid runner, hot-yoga devotee, and I’d joined a barre gym. But I hadn’t even glanced at my sneakers since I’d been home. “Not really—I’ve been walking a little, pushing Wesley around the grounds. I’m just trying to make sure he’s getting enough fresh air.”

  “You don’t need to exercise until you feel up to it, but don’t forget to make time for yourself, okay?”

  “I’ll get back to it when I can.”

  I was about to say when things get back to normal, but that seemed too optimistic.

  “Fine.” Dr. Fisher smiled. “How is Wesley doing? He’s been home for a couple of weeks now, correct? What’s the prognosis?”

  I swallowed. “The best news is there’s no brain damage, even though he had head trauma. Dr. Kim from El Camino says that he’ll make a full recovery, but he needs to go slow. Because he was in a coma and in bed for so long, his muscles are weak. I know he wants to quit using his wheelchair, and he’s really pushing himself. I think he’s having a hard time.”

  “Does he seem depressed?” Dr. Fisher asked.

  “No…” Was Wesley depressed, or just frustrated? “Maybe.”

  “Let me know if you want a referral for a therapist. For either of you—you’ve both been through a lot, especially with what’s just happened.”

  “Um, thanks, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  “Have you two had intercourse yet?”

  Dr. Fisher sounded clinically casual, but I could hear her concern.

  I picked at the johnny. “No. Wes isn’t cleared yet.”

  “Is your sex drive normal?”

  “I don’t know. I think so? I’m not really thinking about it. There’s too much going on.”

  Dr. Fisher wrote something in her notes. “Lie back and we’ll start the exam. My hands are pretty cold—sorry.”

  She was silent as she worked, pressing on my ribs, palpating my stomach. She listened to me breathe, her stethoscope, which was even colder than her hands, pressed against me. I hated going to the doctor. I’d never liked it, but I didn’t want any extra scrutiny after being kidnapped. All these questions and everyone fussing over me was starting to drive me nuts—we had a murderer on the loose. Who the hell needed a palpated abdomen?

  “I think we should do a full gynecological exam and a pap today, okay?”

  I sat up a little. “Why?”

  Dr. Fisher arranged the stethoscope around her neck. “Because I want to make sure everything’s okay. I examined you when you got home, but I need to be thorough.”

  “Fine. But I really do need to get going.” My voice sounded tiny.

  “It’ll just
take a minute.”

  She started the examination, and I forced myself to think about something else, something pleasant, anything but Jim Pace and poor Fiona and the girls. I racked my brain until I thought of the perfect distraction: Lauren’s wedding. She wanted to hold off picking a date, but I hoped she’d change her mind. In the interim, I continued to dress-shop for her—even though she’d made me cancel all the appointments I’d made with bridal salons.

  Not that I was going to let a little thing like that stop me.

  Still, as Dr. Fisher examined me, I pictured the strapless lace gown I’d picked out for Lauren. My sister would kill it in that dress. I just had to convince her to try it on…

  “I’m just going to insert the speculum,” Dr. Fisher said.

  “Oh, joy.” I winced as I felt the cold metal inside me, but she was mercifully quick.

  Her back was to me as she cleaned up. “Hannah, is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “N-no.” My chest squeezed. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything looks fine.” Her voice was soothing. “But we never went into detail about what happened while you were held captive. There was never any evidence of trauma, but I’ve been practicing medicine for three decades, and I can tell when something is off. Hannah, were you sexually assaulted?”

  “No one raped me.” I wanted to scrunch my eyes shut, but I forced myself to relax my face.

  “There are other types of sexual assault.”

  “I told you—I’m fine.”

  “Are you having any difficulty—trouble sleeping, anxiety, anything like that?”

  “Wes said I’ve had a couple of nightmares, but I don’t remember them.”

  Dr. Fisher came back to the table and patted my arm. “If there’s anything you want to tell me, now is the perfect time. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a person you have a professional relationship with than it is to talk to your family.”

  Jesus, is this some sort of conspiracy?

  “I’m fine, really.” I sat up and grabbed my clothes.

  “Are you having any symptoms of depression or panic? Any heart racing? Jumpiness?”

  “No, no, and no,” I said, trying to keep from sounding snippy and failing. “But I appreciate you being thorough.”

  Dr. Fisher pursed her lips and handed me several handouts. I glanced at them briefly: Anxiety, Depression, and PTSD – Symptoms and Treatment.