“How is she?”
“Are you Miss Jensen’s family member?”
Liza, carrying a foam cup of coffee, arrived in time to hear the question. “I’m her sister.”
From the beginning, the doctor had come off as unpleasant, especially when he learned Reece had called in someone else, who would be arriving shortly. At Liza’s claim, he smirked, appearing skeptical. “You’re her sister?”
“Don’t even!” Liza snarled, looking ready to throw her coffee into his face. She was as intimidating as Jessica. “Now answer the question. How is my sister?”
Liza was as intimidating as Jessica. “We’ve run several tests and are treating what we can. The skin rash is already clearing up, after several more washings. Her eyes have been flushed. The redness is still there, but the watering is slowing down.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Liza, looking hopeful.
“Unfortunately, being exposed to so much industrial-strength bleach meant she ingested dangerous vapors. She has minor soft tissue damage to the nose, mouth, and throat.”
Liza sniffled. “Oh, lord”
Reece put a hand on Liza’s shoulder, bracing her. This time, she did not shrug it off.
“For that, she only needs rest, antibiotics, and pain medication.”
The doctor’s inflection told Reece the worst was yet to come. Liza must have realized it, too. She crossed an arm over her chest and put her hand on top of Reece’s, gripping tightly.
“The most serious issue is her lung inflammation. In exposure cases like these, patients whose lungs are affected can develop chemical pneumonia, which can be quite serious, sometimes leading to the failure of other organs.”
Reece closed his eyes, trying to maintain steady breaths. In. Out. Stay calm.
Hands landed on both his shoulders. Rowan and Raine stood behind him, and each one of them was offering the same thing he was providing Liza: a strong hand as a reminder of support.
“We will keep her here for a minimum of thirty-six hours to watch for the onset of pneumonia.” The doctor pursed his lips. “The throat injuries are unfortunate; we had to intubate her.”
In. Out. Stay calm.
Hearing Liza sniff, Reece glanced over to see tears trailing down her cheeks. He held her hand tighter, and she gripped his like she was drowning and he her lifeline.
The doctor was apparently used to ignoring the tears of family members. “She needs to be kept on oxygen, and on IV pain medication and steroids, for a minimum of twenty-four hours. I’m afraid with the throat irritation, the experience isn’t going to be pleasant for her, especially when the tube is removed.”
How doctors could describe torture as “unpleasant” boggled the mind.
“But it’s better to be safe than sorry when dealing with something as tricky as this. We’ll keep doing X-rays and breathing tests. As long as nothing more serious appears to be developing, she should be all right to go home in a day or two. She will have to continue checking in to make sure she doesn’t develop bronchitis.”
“If nothing more serious develops,” Reece said.
Liza parroted him. “If.”
As Liza thanked the doctor, Reece stood still, remaining calm.
At least on the outside.
Inside, he was a roiling, seething mass of anger, confusion…and fear. Though he was someone who prided himself on remaining rational and practically emotionless in most situations, he felt as though he had ingested a chainsaw and was being cut to ribbons inside. He couldn’t stop wondering if he was to blame for Jessica’s condition. It would have been bad if she had been hurt in an accident. But for it to possibly have been because someone was after him was something he wasn’t sure he could get over.
He kept going over the doctor’s warnings. Soft tissue damage. Chemical pneumonia. Organ failure. Below all of those fears, though, was a steady refrain that had been repeating in his mind, all night. The four words she’d whispered crept out of his memory to accuse him, console him, and challenge him.
Their echo had also made him face something, a truth that had been dancing around in his mind. He didn’t just care about Jessica Jensen. He was falling in love with her. He’d never been in love before, which was probably why he hadn’t even recognized it as it happened. But seeing her on the bathroom floor and hearing what she was going through had him ready to cut out his own lungs to give to her.
What he felt for her was hard, it was uncomfortable, and it was painful. It was also completely consuming, which was why he’d begun to suspect it was love. He had no idea how she felt about him, other than strong attraction, but it didn’t matter, as long as she was all right.
You called me Jess.
Yes, he had, after being a stubborn ass from the minute he’d laid eyes on her.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again, as long as she pulled through. He’d call her whatever she wanted him to, and be glad to have the chance.
As long as she didn’t hate his guts for putting her in danger.
* * *
Maisy sat alone in her mansion—close to where Reece’s place was being rebuilt—waiting for news coverage about what had happened at the hotel. She hated waiting; she’d spent too much time doing it when she was young. She’d waited for visiting day, for bland meals, for medicine. Mostly she’d waited to get out.
She didn’t like thinking about it, so she instead thought about her and Reece, living together in her beautiful house. Going room to room, she admired the shine of the gold plate she’d had put on every fixture, including the toilets. She loved the hand-painted tiles with adorable little puppies she’d used for all the kitchen counters.
Mostly she loved the colors. The interior decorator she’d hired when she bought the place had wanted everything to match. How stupid. What was the point of having a lot of rooms if they all looked alike?
No, she’d wanted something different every time she walked through a door, which was why her house was sorted by color. The white room was closest to the front door, with ultrabright carpet and walls. She had breakfast in the yellow room. The purple one was for dinner. The black one she used when she wanted to disappear. The red one was for when she was angry. Her bedroom was all green, with jungle wallpaper covering every surface, including the ceiling.
It was perfect, and all hers. She’d never had her own house before, but she’d bet this one would win awards for how beautiful—and expensive—it looked. After she and Reece were married, they would have big parties and invite people in for tours. For a fee, of course. Maisy might be rich, but she knew you only stayed rich if you watched the pennies and then the dollars would take care of themselves.
As she changed into her pajamas, Maisy let herself drift into happy memories from earlier tonight. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything better than the redhead kissing a disgusting, germ-ridden toilet bowl. Well, maybe the chemicals splashing all over her dress, turning it into a polka-dot nightmare. Everything had worked out perfectly.
Lucky Maisy. Lucky, lucky Maisy.
During the dancing, she’d gone looking for a place to set her trap. A few people had been walking down the other hallway, using the facilities, but she’d shut off the overhead lights, and they stopped coming. She’d found a maintenance closet, almost crying out with joy when she saw the big jugs of bleach. The hotel worried about their workers’ safety: there were long rubber gloves and little single-use face masks on a shelf above the chemicals. It was like somebody up there was looking out for her.
She’d had a real scare when Reece and the woman had disappeared for a while, until she’d spotted them in the lobby. Getting close enough to eavesdrop, she’d heard the woman say she was heading for the bathroom. Then it was just a matter of giving her some friendly advice about avoiding the line, and getting over there to wait for her to show up.
Lucky Maisy. Lucky, lucky Maisy.
Wondering if there were any news updates, Maisy turned on the TV to one of those entertainment channel
s. They were talking about it, and she quickly turned up the volume.
“Chemical accident?” she said, repeating the newscaster’s words.
Did they really think it had been an accident? Was the girl too dumb to realize she hadn’t been alone in the bathroom? If they thought it was an accident, nobody would be looking for her, would they? Reece would think it was sad, then he would get a look at the redhead’s scarred face and bald head and would never want to see her again. Everything had worked out the way it should. And once again, Reece was all hers.
Maisy was the only woman he needed, and it was about time she proved it. Her competition was out of the picture, ugly and bald. Their house was all ready.
All she had to do now was bring him here, tell him of her love, and everything would be perfect.
Chapter 11
Again and again, Jessica dreamed she was choking on something. Sometimes it was a lollipop, other times a hunk of meat. Always it terrified her. Always it hurt.
When not dreaming of that, she found herself floating on a cloud. Or swimming in a sea made of fog and brightly colored fish. She’d never used drugs, other than once trying a joint at a high school party, but she imagined this was what it felt like. She was weightless, dizzy, and unable to focus. She didn’t like it, wanting her brain to stop spinning so she could think for more than a few minutes at a time.
The only time she felt safe and normal was when heard a concerned male voice promising she was going to be all right. Reece. That’s Reece.
She wanted to touch him back. Every time she started to feel more aware, though, a warmth would spread through her. It started at her wrist, traveling through her veins. Within seconds, she would disappear into cloud land again.
She didn’t understand why it wouldn’t stop. She wanted to ask him to make it, to let her come down to earth and be herself, but for some reason, she was unable to speak.
Because you’re choking on a lollipop.
“Oh, honey, baby doll, can you hear me? I’m here with you now. You’re gonna be okay.”
She grimaced. Whose voice? Not Reece’s deep, even tone. Not Liza’s. Someone else. A voice that made the cloud she was riding on spin faster and faster, making her sicker and sicker.
“Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again, Jessie. I promise you.”
Something heavy landed on her leg, above her knee, and squeezed. The touch made her skin crawl, like a huge bug had fallen on her. She realized it was a hand when it began to move up her thigh, possessive and intimate. Jess tried to shift away to escape his unwelcome touch but couldn’t be sure she was moving, or if any of this was even real. Find out!
Pushing through the waves, swimming out of the cloud and the fog, away from the fish, the haze, and the lollipop, Jess forced her eyelids up. Little by little, she let in the light. It was harsh and artificial. Her eyes stung, and she had to blink a lot before she could keep them open.
Once she’d focused, she catalogued her surroundings.
Ceiling tiles. Fluorescent bulbs overhead. Cinder-block walls. Coarse sheets beneath her.
Johnny Dixon sitting beside her on a hospital bed.
Her heart pounded, her pulse raced, panic setting in. She didn’t understand why he was here; she only knew she didn’t want him to be. He shouldn’t be anywhere near her. Shouldn’t have his big meaty hand so high on her leg, as if he had the right to touch her, to claim her.
She tried to tell him to leave. No sound came out. She was choking, though air was still filling her lungs. But she could not say a word.
“Honey, baby, you’re awake! You gave me such a scare.”
She stared into his pale blue eyes as he hovered over her. He leaned too close, his breath hot on her face. She didn’t remember much, but she knew Johnny had no business being here.
“I saw the story on the internet this morning. They showed a picture of you from the night of the gallery shooting and said you’d been attacked again. I just about lost my mind.”
Pieces of the puzzle came together. The gala. The steamy stolen interlude.
Edward. His real name is Edward. How funny.
The man in the room, who was not the man she wanted to see, sneered, and tightened his grip on her leg. “Winchester left you alone, didn’t he? The asshole dumped you here and ran out, only wanting to save his own skin. He better not show his face again.”
Winchester. Reece. Where are you?
“Why didn’t you call me?” That little-southern-boy whine. How she hated it. “You know I’m always here for you, baby doll. I would have come runnin’.”
Thoughts and memories circled in her brain like ingredients in a mixing bowl. By sheer force of will, she plucked them out of the batter, one by one, and sorted out what was going on.
She’d been ambushed. It happened in the hotel bathroom. Chemical rain pouring down.
Now she was in a hospital. She was on heavy painkillers that oozed in from an IV at her wrist, keeping her drugged and confused.
Her stalker ex-boyfriend was right beside her bed, and nobody else was in the room.
A tube was in her throat to help her breathe, so there was no way she could have called this fucking moron, if she ever would have, which she wouldn’t.
He bent closer toward her face, as if he planned to kiss her cheek. She jerked away. Well, she thought she jerked. Her movements were sluggish and unclear, like moving underwater. At the very least, though, she got her cheek out from under his mouth.
“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, looking down at her with storms in his eyes. It was the way he always looked at her when she rejected him.
Where the hell were the nurses? Liza? Reece?
He cupped her face in his hands and bent down again, lips scraping her forehead. There was no way to escape this time, and she closed her eyes, praying she wouldn’t vomit into the tube and choke to death.
“Get your hands off her, you son of a bitch!”
A shape ran across the room. Johnny went flying. A jolt of warmth hit her wrist.
No, not now! One surge of her pulse and heat traveled up her arm. Another and it hit her chest. Then her heart. And then it was off to the races, spreading through her body, and taking Jess to cloud-and-lollipop land.
When she came to full consciousness again—a minute or ten days later—Reece was there. He was sprawled on a chair beside the bed, asleep. He still wore his tuxedo shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up. It was dingy and had a smear of what looked like coffee on the front. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, and the pants were wrinkled. She looked over the side of the bed, seeing he’d kicked off his shoes and was wearing black socks.
Her brows pulled in a frown. Reece hadn’t been taking care of himself. She wondered if it was because he’d been too busy taking care of her.
She shifted. He must have heard her, because his eyes flew open. Seeing she was awake, he burst from the chair, coming to her side. “Don’t try to talk.”
She shook her head, already having figured out that much.
“They have you on pain medication. You’ve been in and out of consciousness.”
No kidding.
“The doctor said you’ll need to be given oxygen like this until it’s been at least twenty-four hours. Then they’ll run some more tests.”
She lifted her hands, putting them palms up to her side, shrugging a question.
“It’s Wednesday evening. It’s been twenty hours so far.”
Twenty hours? She’d been lying here, rolling in and out of some weird psychedelic world for almost a whole day? Those must be some powerful pain drugs.
A storm falling on her. The reek of chemicals.
Oh. Right. The powerful bleach might be involved, too.
She suddenly remembered something else, unsure if it had been real or a dream. Shivering to think that it had really happened, she had to ask now, not later. She held one hand out, palm up, and positioned her other over it, pantomiming writing with a pen and paper.
; He shook his head. “You should rest.”
She glared and pressed the imaginary pen harder, insistent.
Realizing she wasn’t going to give up, Reece sighed, dug in his pants pocket, and got his phone. “It’s the best I can do.”
Good enough. She tapped the screen, trying to form letters, though her eyes stung and remained blurry. It was like looking at a screen through Vaseline-smeared glasses. But she believed he’d understand what she was asking.
Taking the phone back, he read aloud. Jony hre. His jaw tightened and she saw him grit his teeth. The flexing in his cheek said he might bite hard enough to break his own jaw.
God. Johnny had been here.
“Yes.”
She waited, but he didn’t say anything else, so she grabbed the phone back, scrawled a few letters, and held it up for him to see.
U hit hm? A slow smile creased the mouth that had done such amazing, wonderful things to her last night before everything had gone straight to hell.
“I might have.” Reece looked as self-satisfied as a cat. “He won’t be back. Ever.”
Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as a possible meaning crossed her mind. Rather than take the time to tap the shocked question on the screen, she quickly drew her index finger across her throat in a slashing motion.
Reece gaped, and then threw his head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
“You crazy, wonderful woman. You are going to be all right, aren’t you?” Sliding on the bed next to her, he drew her into his arms. “No, I didn’t kill him. I might have broken his arm, though, and definitely broke his nose.”
Her expression must have revealed her surprise. Johnny might be a scumbag, but he was a big scumbag.
“Rowan and I fought our way through public school as teenagers. Now he’s a cop. Raine’s an ex–military bodyguard. We always have each other’s backs. I have to work my ass off so I can keep up with them in case they need a wingman.”
She liked that he always had backup. Being in the spotlight, he certainly needed it.
“Dixon won’t bother you again. I dragged him into the parking lot and taught him a lesson, until my brother pulled me off him.” He grinned. “Your sister showed up, too. When she heard he’d been in here, she almost ripped his guts out with a plastic spork from the cafeteria.”
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