Squeeze Play

by Pierce, Nicolette

  “Another lesson learned,” he said as he turned off the engine.

  “Yes, don’t get frisky unless the engine is turned off,” I said with a deep breath.

  “I think I can live with that rule,” he said, placing another kiss. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “It’s not much of a surprise,” I said, wiggling on his lap.

  “Not that. You can always have that,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll show you tonight. I have to shower and change before we can go out. Care to join me?”

  “Would you mind if I stay here and play with the excavator while you shower?” I asked with a sweet smile.

  “You would rather play with a machine than with me?” he asked, looking wounded, though I could see a glint of mockery.

  “It has nothing to do with you. It’s fascinating sitting at the controls.” Even with the near accident, it was still fun.

  His face cleared. “I know. I was just teasing, hoping you’d pick me over a hunk of metal. I sat at the controls for hours before I realized I was starving and had missed two meals. Do you promise to be careful? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’ll only scoop a little at a time,” I promised.

  He seemed appeased as he slid out of the cab. “It’ll only take fifteen minutes and then we’ll head over to the surprise.”

  “Do I have to dress up for the surprise?” I asked. “I didn’t bring another outfit with me.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  I glanced down at my jeans and plain shirt with a raised brow, but he was already hopping off the excavator. He gave a small wave and a reminder to be careful before he headed indoors.

  I turned on the excavator with a beaming smile and settled back into the operator’s seat. It only took a few minutes before I got into a rhythm of scooping and dumping. Scooping and dumping. It wasn’t a smooth rhythm, but it wasn’t bad for a rookie.

  Scoop. Dump.

  Maybe I could become a heavy-equipment operator. It may be a fun job.

  Scoop. Dump.

  No, I’d miss poker too much. Plus, day after day of working with sweaty men might not be all it’s cracked up to be. I’m only interested in two sweaty men.

  Scoop. Dump.

  I should’ve helped Greyson in the shower.

  Scoop. Scrape.

  What was that? I tried to scoop again and heard the same scraping sound. Did I hit a rock? The sun was setting and a glare in the window prevented a good look at the bottom.

  I lowered the arm down to rest on the ground, set the brake, and jumped out of the cab. Peering down into the crater, I couldn’t see anything. Perhaps a layer of dirt covered the rock. Carefully trekking down the steep slope into the pond, I stopped near the bucket and used my shoe to shift the loose dirt. There was definitely something down there.

  What if it’s a pipe? I wondered with an uneasy feeling. God, I hope I didn’t bust a line. Surely with Greyson’s background in building development, he’d make sure he wasn’t digging in an area with pipes. Of course, he didn’t start off this dig with mental clarity. Maybe he forgot to check.

  I bent over and used my hands to brush away the dirt. The sound of the engine shifted just slightly but I didn’t think anything of it.

  Whomp!

  The scoop slammed to the side, narrowly avoiding me. Damn!

  “Greyson! Stop! I’m in the pond!” I shouted, scrambling to escape the swinging bucket. “Greyson!”

  With the sun’s glare, he probably didn’t see me.

  I frantically ran to the side and tried to claw my way out. The loosened dirt caved under my assault, sliding me back to the bottom. The bucket swung wildly, knocking into the dirt only a foot from my head.

  “Greyson!” I screamed. “Stop!”

  I bolted, trying to run past its reach. But not in time. The back of the bucket shoved me, sending me flying a few feet forward, slamming me into the ground. Breath ripped from my lungs. Clutching my chest with a burning wheeze, I rolled out of the bucket’s path.

  My eyes flashed to the cab. That’s not Greyson!

  Dirt flew up, caving the earth beneath me. The bucket swallowed me whole. I battled the heavy dirt as the bucket was lifted into the air.

  Oh God! Oh God!

  The dirt shifted as we rose higher and higher. The arm stopped with a clunk, stretched as high as it could go.

  “Greyson!” My yell turned into a high-pitched scream as the bucket tipped, abandoning me into the air with a shower of dirt falling fast.

  My limbs flailed against the open air. The ground came quickly . . . and then everything went black.

  Chapter 11

  “I think she just blinked. Nadia? Sweetheart, can you hear me? Please wake up, sweetheart. God, baby, please wake up.”

  “Give her time.”

  “Will she be okay?” His voice was hoarse.

  I couldn’t feel my body. It was numb . . . or broken? The only consciousness was that of my sluggish and addled brain. What kind of drugs did they give me? Do I only have a head left? Is that why I can’t feel anything else? How will I move? Oh, God, no more sex. I should have had sex with Caleb and Greyson when I had the chance.

  “She’s whimpering. Is she in pain? Can you give her anything?”

  “I’ll give her a little more. She’ll be out for a few hours.”

  “Nadia, sweetheart, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

  * * *

  Where am I? I cracked my eyes open to darkness.

  “Sweetheart?” a rough voice asked. “I’m here, baby. Can you hear me?”

  I scanned the darkness.

  “I’m right here,” Greyson said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll call for the doctor.”

  “Wait,” I croaked.

  “What is it, sweetheart? Here, I’ll press the call button,” he said. I felt him shift over slightly, still keeping his hand in mine.

  “Dirt,” I mumbled.

  “I know,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Just relax.”

  “No, my mouth tastes like dirt,” I rasped.

  “Oh! There’s water here,” he said. “Can you sip from the straw?”

  I struggled to lift my head. His hand pressed me down.

  “Here,” he said, raising the bed into a reclined position. “I should have thought of that.” Worry and doubt saturated his voice.

  “What happened?” I asked after taking a sip of room-temperature water.

  He set the cup down and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “I came outside and couldn’t find you. You were . . .” he choked.

  “I fell,” I said, remembering the free fall.

  His hand took mine. “I came outside and couldn’t find you.” He paused to kiss my hand. “God, baby, I’ve never been so scared in my life. I found your hand sticking out of a pile of dirt.”

  “I hit a rock. I went to check.”

  “Didn’t you set the brake? I shouldn’t have left you alone. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

  “Someone . . .” I stopped as a nurse hurried in, flipping on the lights. I winced as electrical bolts zapped through my eye sockets.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, checking the blinking, beeping monitors and then my eyes.

  “My head hurts.”

  She nodded. “What about the rest of you?”

  “I can’t feel anything.”

  “You will. Believe me. Your vitals are good. The doctor will be in to you see you in a moment. I’ll get you some more water,” she said and hurried out.

  “Do I still have a body?” I asked when the nurse left. “I can’t feel anything.”

  Greyson’s hand smoothed my hair back, his liquid gray eyes brushed over me. “Yes. You’re heavily drugged. You’re bruised all over and you have a broken wrist, but the loose dirt protected you from serious injury.”

  “There was someone in the cab.”

>   “There wasn’t anyone in the cab. It was an accident,” he soothed.

  “There was. At first I thought it was you and you didn’t know I was down in the pond. But it wasn’t.”

  Greyson stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “It wasn’t an accident. Someone was intentionally trying to kill me.”

  “Who was it?” he demanded. “Who would try to hurt you?”

  “I don’t know. I saw hands moving the levers. They weren’t yours.”

  “I know they weren’t mine, but how could you tell?”

  “Your fingers are long and slim. I can pick out your hands from across the room. They weren’t your hands.”

  He glanced at his hand still stroking my hair. “Did you recognize the hands or anything else?”

  “No. I just know that it wasn’t you.”

  His removed his hand. “I’m calling the police,” he said, pulling out his phone as a doctor walked into the room.

  “How’s the patient?” the doctor asked in a hurried but good-natured tone.

  “My head hurts, and I can’t feel my body,” I said, glancing at Greyson who was pacing in a corner with the phone to his ear.

  “You will. Believe me.”

  I eyed the doctor. “That’s what the nurse said.”

  He gently held my arm and lifted it. “Do you see?”

  My arm was wrapped in a cast. “Oh.”

  “And not to mention this,” he said, carefully lifting my other arm.

  Patches of blotchy bruises in a rainbow of colors dotted my arm.

  “This is what your whole body looks like.”

  “Oh, God, I look like a cow.”

  He laughed and then quickly apologized. “I’m not going to lie, you’re lucky to be alive and with only bruises and a broken wrist. When I was told you had been trapped under dirt, I thought the worst. Luckily, your head wasn’t buried and you were still breathing. It could have been much worse.”

  I could have died. The free fall replayed on an endless loop.

  “When can I go home?” I asked.

  “Stay the rest of the night and relax. We’ll do a few tests in the morning and then release you once we’re certain there are no complications.”

  “But the cost,” I said, worried about how I was going to pay for a hospital stay.

  “You’re already in bed for tonight. Relax and we’ll try to get you out without too much extra cost,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about the cost,” Greyson said, returning to the bedside.

  “But . . .”

  “Sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. Please don’t worry about paying for anything, just worry about healing.”

  I gave a nod. It was a wonderful and protective gesture, but I wanted to cry and yell and throw things. I wanted to succumb to a colossal temper tantrum. Why do these terrible things always happen to me? His soothing voice and caressing hands calmed my angry spirit.

  Spirit.

  I had to laugh. The gypsy and her ridiculous spirits were kicking my ass.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m going!”

  “You’re staying in bed!”

  I scowled at Greyson who blocked my path. It was the night of the duet, and even though I wasn’t looking forward to making an embarrassing spectacle of myself, I did give my word to Frankie and Mark.

  “They’ll understand why you have to back out,” Greyson said. “Please go back to bed. One day is all I ask. You were just released from the hospital this morning. Then the police questioned you for the rest of the morning. It’s too much. You need rest.”

  “And then I relaxed in bed for the rest of the day. I’ve had plenty of rest.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re still on pain meds. You’ll end up hurting yourself if you go out.”

  “I can’t sit here all day. I’ll go for the duet and then come right back.”

  “No,” he said, turning me toward the bed. “You’ll rest.”

  “Dammit! I’m not resting anymore!”

  He studied my face, lingering on the bruise along my jaw and one high on my cheek. “I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt again.”

  “I’m going to dance for one song, and then I’ll come home.”

  His eyes flicked up to mine. “Home? As in here with me?”

  Oh. That was a slip of the tongue. “Yes.”

  His brow smoothed and he leaned over to place a gentle kiss on my split lip. “One song and then we come home. I don’t see how you’re going to dance when you can barely walk.”

  “I can walk just fine.”

  “You’re stiff and sore.”

  “That’s because I’ve been lying in bed for nearly twenty-four hours.”

  “Most of which was while unconscious.”

  “But it was still resting.”

  He held his hands up in surrender. “Do you need help dressing?”

  “I can do it,” I muttered, digging through his drawers to find something to wear until Frankie dressed me in God knows what.

  I was halfway to peeling off the shirt I had borrowed from Greyson that morning when my arms and back seized. Holy fish sticks!

  He was over in an instant, tugging the shirt back in place and stowing me back into bed.

  “Stay!” he ordered and marched out the door.

  I didn’t really have a choice. My muscles were convulsing and twitching. I curled in an awkward position until my back finally untangled enough to allow me to lie flat.

  A tortured sigh escaped.

  “I knew you weren’t ready to get up,” Greyson scolded as he flew into the room with medicine and water. “Take this. I won’t hear another word about you going to dance.”

  It was my turn to surrender. “Will you call Frankie and let him know?”

  Greyson must have been holding his breath in anticipation of an argument because he let out a long, slow, and very relieved breath. “I’ll call him in a few minutes,” he finally said, rearranging my pillows. “Are you comfortable? Hungry?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Do you want to watch a movie?”

  “Will you watch it with me?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Can I pick the movie?”

  He smiled. “As long as it keeps you in bed.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing here?” a voice demanded.

  “Playing,” I said, not bothering to look up at Remy as I threw two chips into the pot and winced as a muscle tweaked.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  I leaned back in the chair and flashed my eyes up at him. “I take it you spoke with Greyson.”

  “He called to ask if I could keep my eye out for you. Why aren’t you in bed? You look like hell.”

  “I feel like hell,” I muttered. The pain meds were wearing off and I only had a few more pills to ration.

  “Come to my office. I want to talk.”

  “Let me finish this hand,” I said, raising the pot. “I’ll be there in a minute, unless that moody cocktail server gets me first.”

  Remy glanced up at the cocktail server who had been circling my table with glaring eyes. As soon as she realized he was watching her, she lit up with a beaming smile. He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll have a talk with her later.”

  I shrugged and then winced as a muscle contracted.

  An ace appeared on the turn. I grumbled, tossing my cards to the dealer. With the entire table playing the hand, someone was bound to have an ace, making my queens garbage.

  “Let’s go,” I said, pushing back from the table and pocketing the remaining chips. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

  Remy led the way to his office in back, avoiding the cocktail waitress.

  “You slept with her,” I stated.

  He faltered a step.

  “Did you know she was crazy before you slept with her or did you figure it out after?”

  “Jet,” he warned.

  “After,” I concluded. Men are always the las
t to know. His brooding silence confirmed it.

  We rounded into his office.

  “So, what happened?” he asked, closing the door and settling into his chair.

  I sunk into the chair opposite of him. “Someone tried to kill me,” I said plainly, though I wasn’t feeling nearly as calm as my exterior appeared. But that was because it was too stiff to appear like anything else.

  “That’s what Greyson said. He’s worried.”

  I gave a nod. “I know he’s worried. I’m worried too. I’ve been in this situation before and it’s not something I want to relive.”

  “It’s different this time. We knew who wanted to kill you before. Now we only know the shape of his hands, which is completely useless. Why would someone want to kill you?”

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself.” I shrugged and then winced. I really need to stop moving. “I have no idea why anyone would want to kill me. I have nothing that anyone would want. I have no money, no secret data, no connections. I’m a homeless poker player. That’s all.”

  Remy picked up on the homeless part and I silently cursed myself.

  “You’re staying at Greyson’s, right?”

  “I have been.”

  “And tonight?”

  I shrugged. “Dammit!” I growled as muscles clenched and seized.

  Remy was at my side in a flash. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My shoulder!” I cried.

  I shrank away as his large hand descended. “Sit still,” he ordered.

  “It hurts!”

  “I know. I’m trying to help,” he said, his large hand still coming at me. I tried to move away, wincing as my muscles knotted tighter. “Jet, sit still!”

  “You’re going to hurt me.”

  He stopped. “Why would I hurt you?”

  “Do you see how big your hands are? Not to mention you have a tendency to throw me over your shoulder like an angry gorilla.”

  “I promise it won’t hurt.” He touched my shoulder lightly. I flinched, ready for it to turn into a death grip. “Relax!” he said.

  “It’s hard to relax when you’re barking at me.”