by J. D. Dexter
Having no idea what else to do, I grab Hunter’s hand like a lifeline, feel his strength and support in his grip. His grip is strong and reassuring.
Scarsman holds his hand in the air, looking like he could hold it there all day if needed. The room eventually goes quiet. “If you fail to appear as ordered, Ms. Tindol, a Dr. Hunter Jamison will be fired for medical negligence, which will in turn strip him of his license and ability to practice, in regard to concerns of population exposure to possible viral hemorrhagic fever outbreak from your time at the hospital.” Scarsman drops that bomb with nary an eyelash flutter or hitch in breathing.
Something about him is giving me the willies. I let the Spectrum consume my regular vision. His Spectrum is exactly the same: the colors, the waves, the pulses, the spikes and valleys. Which is something of a puzzle. With all of the hostility floating in the air, the outrage alone should have at least given him a swirl of concern or a pulse of uncertainty.
Pulling my normal vision back down, so I can see the room as it is, I see his eyes looking at me, but they are as lifeless as camera lenses; he’s taking in information, but it has no impact on him whatsoever. He’s merely recording what he sees. I can see my reflection in his dark irises.
“We need some time to discuss this.” Brent’s voice sounds coldly calm. “If you would leave your card with us, we will be in touch.”
“I can leave my card with you. But your discussion will have no bearing on the outcome; Ms. Tindol will appear at the KC FBI Field Office, or Dr. Hunter Jamison will be fired and be stripped of his medical license.” Scarsman doesn’t blink, his eyes fixed on me.
I feel like I’m caught in the crosshairs of an expert hunter, and this time I’m not going to survive.
“I’m Dr. Hunter Jamison,” Hunter interrupts. His tone of voice is the coldest I’ve ever heard from him. “I acted in the best interest of my patient, and there was no medical necessity in keeping Ms. Tindol in the hospital.”
Scarsman answers, but his eyes are still locked on me. “You ordered, and then subsequently cancelled, VHF tests with no medical reasoning to support your decision. That equates to medical negligence in terms of your responsibility, not only to the hospital, but also the population at large. Such a breach of negligence would necessitate your forced leave from the hospital, but also the pulling of your medical license to practice anywhere, domestically or abroad.” Scarsman finally deigns to look at Hunter, his head once again tilted to the side.
“I believe I could defend my decisions, should it come to that,” Hunter digs in, voice hard.
“I have been assured your defense would change nothing.”
“Assured by whom?” Brent demands. At some point he stood up and is now leaning over the table, hands fisted against the top.
I think I can almost hear the gears in Scarsman’s neck as he turns to look at Brent. “That is confidential.” Scarsman’s calm reply is like pouring gasoline onto a bonfire.
“We will not be bullied or harassed by our own government,” Brent exclaims.
“Then I will have to guarantee Ms. Tindol’s cooperation. That is not something you want to happen.” Scarsman’s tone of voice hasn’t changed, which gives even more credence to his vaguely veiled threat.
I hold up my hand, stopping any more comments from my family. “Am I allowed to bring someone with me? To guarantee the government upholds it’s end of this bargain.” I snort the last word.
Scarsman’s dead eyes focus back on me. I swear I can smell the burn of electrical wires.
“I will arrange for Dr. Hunter Jamison to accompany you.” The robot replies, not caring that he’s wrecked another life. One I care about greatly.
“Now, just a second,” Brent explodes.
“I’ll go.” Hunter agrees quickly, shaking his head at Brent. Brent looks like he wants to punch Hunter now.
“Excellent.” Scarsman makes a note in the notepad in front of him. He trembles just a little bit, and then graces us all with a huge smile that is completely inappropriate for the last twenty minutes.
He looks up at me again, and I notice that there is life behind his eyes again.
“How did you get my name, Agent Scarsman?” I ask him quietly.
Everyone around the table quiets, presumably to hear the answer, too.
“Your former patient, Mr. Franklin Whittier,” he replies with a tired smile. Between one breath and the next, he’s morphed back into the tired agent that walked through my door.
“I’ve never had a patient by that name,” I say cautiously. Could he be talking about DHS Agent Whittier?
“Be that as it may, you have agreed to appear in KC two days from now.” Scarsman taps his pen against his notepad. A satisfied smile smug on his face.
Clearly he is done with the interview since he gets up to leave. Brushing his tie down to lie flat, he looks at everyone sitting in stunned silence around the table. “Thank you for your time and your desire to help our government. You should be commended for your patriotism,” Scarsman says, like he didn’t just blackmail me and Hunter into compliance.
Something is seriously wrong with this whole thing, but I can’t fight about it. Not unless I want to get Hunter fired and his licensed revoked.
I walk Scarsman to the door, Hunter right behind me. Agent Lockwood is standing on the porch, not in the car where she was told to wait. She’s idly playing with her nails.
As Scarsman steps through, she turns to look at me, nastiness and a hateful glee making her eyes sparkle in the late-afternoon sunshine. “We eagerly await your arrival in Kansas City, Ms. Tindol,” she says maliciously. She flicks her hair at us before following Scarsman to the car. Hunter and I watch as they drive off.
Chapter Twenty-Two
To say the tone in my dining room is subdued would be a vast understatement. Everyone looks like they just got bitch-slapped by the Hulk.
“So, forced vacation aside, I’m a little freaked out about Scarsman’s robot impersonation.” My statement jolts everyone, and, in Mom’s case, makes her jump in her chair.
I give her a silent apology when she glares at me.
“What are you talking about, Finley-babe?” Brian asks, still at his place around the table, a dazed look in his eyes.
“Did no one else notice that Scarsman seemed more like a cyborg than a human while doing the ‘interview?’” I make air quotes around the last word. That sick feeling back in my stomach when I think about his odd behavior and actions.
A chorus of no resounds around the room.
“I wouldn’t say cyborg, but I would say that I noticed something off about him,” Hunter says softly from behind me.
I whip around to face him. “Really? You promise?” I cling to his answer, needing to know that I’m not any crazier than before we started this whole fiasco.
“I promise,” he says, his eyes locked on mine, before pulling me into his arms.
I huddle into his warmth. Not that I’m complaining, but it would be nice to have a normal and boring day with him. Just like Mom said, boring and normal sounds much more fun that the travesty that has become my life recently.
“Brent, can he really do this? Can he really make Finley do what he said?” Mom cries softly, Dad gripping her around the shoulders.
“I don’t think we want to find out, especially considering what the possible consequences could be.” Brent says, flicking his gaze to Hunter.
“Now I know why you guys were so against asking the government for help. I feel like someone ran over my dog,” Hunter says, “and I don’t even have a dog.”
“We’ve never had any experience like this, but I wouldn’t put anything past our illustrious leaders,” Brian grumbles.
“Let’s try to keep this on track, and not go off into conspiracy land,” Mark says, his voice set to soothing.
“I think this is the stuff of conspiracies, especially since they blackmailed Fin into working for them,” Josh adds in.
“I want to know why his be
havior changed so rapidly.” The weirdness is something I just can’t get passed.
Scarsman’s behavior is creeping me out; I want to know who was behind his eyes. Because I’ve never seen such a vacant expression on a living person’s face before. Heck, I’ve seen cadavers with more life in them.
“We need to get these two ready to leave, not to worry and bicker about things we can’t change,” Dad says, focusing on the end result as usual.
“Scarsman—or whatever he was—said he would arrange for Hunter to be able to leave with me. Does that mean he’s arranging things with the hospital, or what?” I ask the room at large.
No one has any answers or suggestions. We sit there in silence, trying to come up with something to offer.
“I’ll give them until tomorrow to call me about my leave. If I don’t hear anything, I’ll call and take a hiatus,” Hunter says into the quiet.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, my heart breaking at the loss on his face. I’m wondering if he’s hating me just a little right now.
“It’s not your fault. I never finished your file stating my reasons for cancelling the VHF tests. I should’ve just finished the file like I was supposed to, leaving out your superhero powers. Granted, I had no other reasons than your superhero powers, which don’t really work for medical reasoning.” The corner of his mouth droops into a sad smile.
“Our meeting has been nothing but bad for you,” I confess quietly. My head dropping under the weight of destroying his life. I can feel my stomach hollowing out.
“Never think that.” His voice is as fierce as his eyes when he lifts my chin to meet his gaze. “I’ll admit, we’ve had a couple downs than ups, but I’ve loved the ups. I love having you as a partner in all of this.”
“Me too. But I don’t want you to get sucked so far in to the awfulness that you begin to regret meeting me.” I share one of my fears. When the going gets tough, I’m more accustomed to new people in my life to get going. The ones who have stayed are the ones in this room.
“How about this: I’ll tell you if I ever have regrets,” he offers.
“And what will you do if you have those regrets?” My heart beat picks up. Again, I’m glad there are no machines, so others can hear it. I’m never this clingy or whiny. Part of me is appalled at my behavior, but the scared pieces of me are struggling not to leap into his arms for comfort.
“We’ll have a grown-up conversation about them, and what we can reasonably do to mitigate them or change our circumstances,” he says. His mouth is tipping up just a little at the corner.
“Well, if we’re going to be all grown-up about it.” I say, grimacing just a little, before giving him a smile. Sometimes I feel like such a teenager being around him, my emotions all over the place.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled.” Hunter kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m more worried about trying to pack for six weeks. Are we going to have access to a laundromat or washing and drying machines?” He screws his face up into the cutest look of confusion I’ve ever seen on a grown man.
I laugh softly, right in his face. “That’s what you’re worried about? Clean clothes?” I gape at him.
“Hey, clean clothes are vitally important. I do remember, vividly, a certain gorgeous patient who was less than flower-fresh after being in hospital gowns for a little under a week,” he says cheekily.
“Watch it, mister.” I poke him in the belly. “I’ve been nothing but flower-fresh since then.”
“Proving my point.” He returns the poke to my belly.
“Well, I’ll be in yoga pants and tank tops for the duration. I’ll make sure to take some nicer clothes, like dresses, but I’m sticking to my usual work clothes,” I tell him.
His eyes glaze over just a little bit. “Yoga pants,” he says. He swallows harshly, and then, “Tank tops,” falls just as reverently from his lips.
My eyebrows screw together. “Is something wrong with yoga pants and tank tops?” I’m a little confused at his reaction.
“No. But yoga pants,” he looks at me meaningfully.
I’m still not getting it.
“Sweet cheesecake, Fin. Men love yoga pants on hot women. Get with the dang program,” Josh calls from the table.
Apparently, our conversation was not as quiet as I thought it had been.
“Oh.” I look back at Hunter again. “Is that it?” I whisper.
He just nods at me, his face a little slack.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, a wicked gleam in my eyes.
“Have some mercy on me,” he gulps. Right before his eyes flick to the table full of my family. My overprotective family.
“For now.” I pat his cheek gently. His low growl pulls at my belly.
Everyone leaves after plans have been made. Hunter and I are planning on driving up together, so that way they have less chance to separate us.
“You’re driving?” Hunter asks me, glaring at my Mini Cooper, two days later.
“Um, yeah. I’m the one who was blackmailed.”
“Actually, it’s my job they were leveraging, I think I should get to drive. Besides, I’ll never fit in that tuna can.” He glares derisively at Coop.
“You would fit; Brian fits just fine. Although, admittedly, he does feel like he’s sitting in the back seat by the time he gets the seat all the way back.” I tilt my head to the side, thinking about it.
“Exactly, we have a three-hour drive, and I don’t want to have to have you work on me just so I can walk,” he states firmly.
“And you drive…what?” I tip my head back a little bit, shielding the light from my eyes.
He grins, angling his head at the black Range Rover parked across the street.
“Yes,” I say quickly. I’ve always wanted to ride in one.
“A little jealous?” he asks.
“Maybe just a little.” I discreetly check my chin for drool.
“I’ll get your stuff moved to my car. When is the family supposed to be here?” he asks as he bends at the waist to open my trunk.
I admire his butt in his jeans. I would love to get my hands on that, and not for causing him pain. Well, not only for causing him pain. I bet his deep hip rotators are in excellent condition. My mind drifts a little, thinking about all of the things I could do with my hands on him.
“Finley?” he calls from inside my trunk.
“Huh? What?” I jerk back to the present.
His head emerges from the trunk, both of my bags in his large hands. A questioning look on his face.
“When is the family getting here?” he repeats.
“Oh.” I glance at my watch. “Should be anytime.”
“Good. I’ll get these stowed, and then we can go inside to wait.”
“Works for me.” I watch the grace of his muscular body as he moves across the street. The fluidity of his gait making him a study of masculinity in motion. I will gladly study him with passion and zeal. That’s one test for which I wouldn’t mind the study time.
“You’re a little spacey today.” He’s walking back towards me.
“What makes you say that?”
“I asked you another question, and you just stared at me.” He chuckles.
“Oh. Whoopsie Daisy.” I shrug my shoulders. Not at all embarrassed to be caught staring at this man.
He laughs. “Right. Anyways, back to my question: do you want to sit outside to wait for everyone? It might be awhile before we get to be outside for any length of time.” His face is serious.
“Sure.” I gesture to the swing on my porch. “Want to swing with me?”
“Anytime, anywhere.” He takes my hand, leading me up the two short steps of the front porch to the swing.
We sit there, comfortable enough not to have to fill the silence with chatter.
A couple minutes of comfortable silence passes before the first car full of family pulls into my driveway.
I keep my hand in Hunter’s, leaning my head against his shoulder.
; “You’ve got great parents,” he tells me. We’re watching as my dad goes around to my mom’s side of the car to open the door for her.
“The best,” I confirm.
“Hi, kids,” Mom hails, walking up the short steps to my porch.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Mrs. T, Mr. T.” Hunter nods his head, standing to shake Dad’s hand.
I snicker a little. I pity the fool.
I stand up, giving both of my parents hugs.
“Ready for your adventure?” Dad asks, moving back, pulling Mom under his shoulder.
“The Forced Adventure for State, yeah.” I shrug a shoulder.
“Make sure you stick together, keep each other safe.” Mom tells us, pointing her finger at each of us in turn.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter reassures her.
“Good.” Mom’s voice is shaky. She takes a big breath, appearing to settle herself.
“Want to join us while we wait for everyone else?” I gesture towards the swing.
At their nods, I step over giving them the swing, sitting with Hunter on the edge of the porch, our legs hanging over the edge.
Reassuring silence settles around us once again. I can hear the kids down the street playing outside. A deep bass rumbling the windows, shaking in my chest. The loud music is blaring from a house down a couple of yards from my own.
I don’t get the chance very often to just sit outside and breathe, let the day go on around me. I settle against the side of Hunter’s body, just taking in the moment. The smells, the way the wind blows through the little tree in my front yard, the noise that comes from life.
I have a feeling, deep in my stomach, that when I come back here, everything is going to be a lot different. I’m not sure if it will be me that’s different, but I do know that everything will have changed in some significant way. I try to keep the worry shoved down deep.
A blue SUV slows in front of my house before turning in behind Dad’s car. Four big men climb out, all of their expressions somber.
I see the wrenching pain in Josh’s face. It tugs at me. Hopping a little to get to my feet, I’m striding across the lawn, flinging myself into his arms. His arms wrap around my waist, his chin buried in my neck. I keep my feet on the ground this time. The time of wrapping my legs around their waists has passed.
