by Amy Marie
He never said what time they would be meeting, but Roland was the type to take care of business first thing in the morning. Sitting at her kitchen table, she sipped her coffee and waited for what was to come.
She perked up when the sound of a key going into her lock echoed through her apartment. Staying as relaxed as possible she remained in her seat, waiting for Roland to make his appearance.
As he entered her kitchen, she did her best to look unaffected. Last night, she did the only thing she thought might save her and wrote out a statement detailing everything that had transpired over the last few weeks. She denied any involvement in approving the clinical trials of Hydromexlizine and the threats made against her, as well as Ryder and Bill, if she didn’t comply. The statement went on to say that she was meeting with Roland today and that if anything happened to her or the MacIntoshes, that the Spurlock family was responsible. A copy of the letter was stored on her hard-drive and her email and was forwarded to the one person she knew the Spurlocks didn’t have on their payroll: Elizabeth Stein, the FDAs commissioner for media affairs. Their reach was far in regards to politics and law enforcement, but given the amount of scrutiny the commissioner had given them, unrelated to Hydromexlizine, Emma hoped she was the one person who could be trusted. Now, if only the woman checked her email before seven in the morning.
“Your phone.”
Roland held out his open palm, and she handed it over expectantly. He might be an evil POS, but he wasn’t stupid. If she thought she’d get away with having nine-one-one on the phone it would have been her first move.
“You should know better than to try to outsmart me by recording this conversation, but just in case.” He slammed her iPhone on the ground, shattering it, and then stomped on it with his Italian loafer for good measure.
He didn’t bother checking it; people didn’t fight the Spurlocks, and if they did, it would be a fruitless battle. His cockiness would be his undoing.
“Let’s take a walk.” He grabbed her shoulder harshly and pulled her from her chair while pulling a revolver from his suit pocket.
A revolver. She didn’t bother to hide her eyeroll. The gun may be loaded, but he sucked at trying to come off as a badass. Was he expecting a Clint Eastwood–style shoot-out?
Positioning her body in front of him like the milquetoast he was, he walked her through her apartment checking each room like the privileged executive that he was. He even checked behind the shower curtain, as if the first place she’d hide someone would be the most obvious one.
Satisfied that they were alone, he led them back to the kitchen table and shoved her down in the chair.
“You sure you don’t want to check under the beds?” Her tone was mocking, but she didn’t care. What exactly did she have to lose by pissing him off?
Apparently, a tooth. The hit came too fast for her to even register what was happening, but when she tasted copper and took in the blood around her once her eyes came back in to focus, she was keenly aware that he’d hit her with the gun. Oh, and the fact that one of her lateral incisors was resting amid splatters of blood on the table was also a giveaway.
“At least it wasn’t one of my central incisors.” The hit had knocked her stupid enough to not only speak the words aloud, but also fogged her brain so that the words didn’t form clearly enough for him to make them out.
“This is simple. Hand over the deed, sign the paperwork and this will all be over.”
She almost laughed at the demand but thought better of it. He had to think she was a complete idiot to believe he’d allow her to walk away after all was said and done. He might think he could threaten her into submission but he knew her well enough to know that he would never silence her. Following the career path that she had showed a lapse in judgement, but her integrity wasn’t nearly as fickle.
Stalling for time was her only hope at this point, so she took the papers from him and pretended to read them over, the letters appearing to scatter with animation after the hit she’d taken.
Impatiently, he handed over a pen before putting the revolver in his pocket. He didn’t release it from his grip though. Part two of his plan was obvious.
“Who is making you do this?”
Roland was the type of man who liked to be in control, and when he wasn’t, well, it didn’t stop him from acting like he was. He would never let her believe he was a puppet, and just maybe his ego would keep him talking.
His laugh held no humor as he slid into the seat across from her. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
Where was the gun? She couldn’t see it now that half of his body was hidden beneath the table. Was it still in his pocket? Was he aiming it at her?
“Do you have any idea the payday Hydromexlizine will provide? We are talking billions of dollars.”
Dollar signs danced behind his eyes as she pictured him imagining the life that payday would bring. “You have money,” she reasoned. Sure, everyone wanted more, but to take this big of a risk, to hurt so many people when he could already buy a small country?
“So naïve.” He smiled. “It’s true I never needed your money, but how could I turn down your mom’s offer? She handed me the one thing I could use to my advantage. My own personal guarantee in phase one of clinical trials.”
Using the bottom of her T-shirt, she held the fabric against her bleeding mouth. “What happens next? Just because you can force me to sign off, what makes you think you’ll be able to do the same for patient testing?” She kept her eyes on the paper and held the pen in her shaking hand.
“You think I don’t have the power necessary to keep a few doctors and commissioners in my pocket? You have no idea how much control I have,” he gloated. “You’re not stupid enough to believe anyone would believe your word against mine, do you?”
He was mocking her, but she did her best to appear shocked. Although, given the tightening of her face her cheek was beginning to swell, showing any sort of reaction could very well be moot. “Novak?” She tried for a gasp, hoping she hadn’t overshot.
He laughed again, this time more genuine, and for a moment, she thought he might not continue.
“We play golf together on Saturdays.” He winked. “Turns out the man has his own problems, and let’s just say I know people who can make—things…” He paused, looking her up and down, “disappear.”
Yeah, yeah, she was catching his double meaning. What time is it? Her eyes darted to the stove, but she wasn’t able to make out the blue illuminated numbers. Was it after eight? Had Commissioner Stein even had a chance to read her email? Oh, God, what if it went directly to her spam folder? She may never even receive it.
Emma’s heart was racing, and for added fun, she could feel it not only in her chest but also in her cheek and where her tooth had been. Keep him talking.
Risking another blow to the face, or worse, she continued. “I find it hard to believe you could bribe Director Novak into doing anything.” That wasn’t true of course, Novak might be the Director of the FDA’s Oncology Center for Research, but she’d never doubt what a man was willing to do to save himself. At least men who associate with people like the Spurlocks.
When he looked surprised at her accusation, she narrowed her eyes. He smiled. That was exactly what she was hoping for. Go ahead, keep talking, she encouraged without words.
“Novak was all too eager to help out with the human trials, especially after my family managed to get rid of his little child porn indiscretions.”
Just when she thought Roland Spurlock could not be anymore of a worthless pile of human waste, he went and said that.
“Now sign the fucking papers. Believe it or not, I don’t exactly enjoy your company.”
The hit she’d taken had definitely knocked something loose, well other than her tooth, because she let out a snort of a laugh at his words. Apparently, it took out the part of her brain responsible for self-preservation and the filtering of her words.
“SIGN THE FUCKING PAPERS!”
He was losing it. The thought entered her mind just as he landed another blow, this time she watched his fingers tighten on the barrel of the gun before the grip hit her in the same side of her face once again.
When she came to, she was disoriented, not sure if it had been five seconds or five minutes since he landed the blow. A high-pitched tone sounded through her head but at a far away distance somehow, as if she was deep inside the ocean’s depths.
“Wake the fuck up!”
Slow motion. Far away.
Emma tried to open her eyes but couldn’t recall the necessary mechanics to make that happen. She was aware that he was screaming, his words echoing through her head with more of a throb then sound.
The damage to her head was significant. Things stopped making sense all together. Her vision was shot but it was as if her small kitchen held much more than just the two of them. Roland’s voice was different, still yelling, yet seemed to take on different pitches and tones as it overlapped in her mind. The words may as well have been spoken in a different language; she couldn’t understand them.
She tried to stand, to fall, to crawl, yet all she felt was pain. Not the chair or potentially the floor beneath her, not her body as she willed it to move. Only pain. Pain and confusion. Was she dying?
She sensed movement around her, too much movement to be real. Pops. Crashes. Vibrations of movement. Falling.
At that moment, it was Ryder she saw. Her eyes didn’t work, and she could barely hear, but in her mind, she took him in with complete clarity. Cornflower-blue eyes that gazed down at her through thick lashes. His unruly blonde hair that stuck out beneath his cowboy hat, and his perfect lips outlined by a five-o’clock shadow. He smiled and she wanted to touch his dimple. She could spend forever in the splendid cocoon of his embrace.
“Ryder.” She smiled as his name left her lips. He really was with her and they were at his ranch again. Her home. She looked up at him, overcome with the fact that he was truly hers, and she was his.
“Ryder,” she repeated when he kept staring off into the distance. “Ryder. Ry—”
Chapter 17
Ryder
“Get out of the way!” he yelled and flailed his arms before returning his grip to the steering wheel.
They wouldn’t let him ride in the ambulance with Emma, wouldn’t let him near her, or so much as tell him if she was okay. There were two stretchers, and even though he’d seen it with his own eyes, he had to keep reminding himself that the body covered entirely by the white sheet was far too big to be Emma. That left the second stretcher being rushed into the ambulance he was following. It was her, he felt it, despite the fact that the only thing he could make out was an orange neck brace and lots of blood.
Sirens and horns blared as he followed as close as he could to the ambulance. He’d be damned if he was going to follow traffic laws at a time like this.
When they arrived at the hospital, he was out of his rental car before they opened the back doors and pulled the stretcher out.
“Emma!”
He made it to the stretcher before all four wheels met the ground, and his heart stopped. It was her. Her blonde hair stained with blood, her eyes closed, her face swollen. Bloody. Wrong.
“You need to get back,” one of the paramedics yelled as more people rushed out of the Emergency entrance.
She was being pushed away from him and through the electric doors, but he held on, trying to keep his grip on the stretcher as they pulled her away. He came to an abrupt halt and noticed two large fists, which were holding on to his shirt and keeping him in place.
He barely managed to avoid punching the security officer, but there was no point. They had taken her away, behind more closed doors, which required key cards for entry.
Ryder sat in the emergency room waiting area nervously tapping the heel of his boot. A few annoyed glances were sent his way, but switching to nail biting only distracted him for so long before the rhythmic sounds resumed again.
He checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Somehow only ninety minutes had passed, yet it felt more like the sun and risen and set at least twice in that time. How did hospitals operate this way? He wasn’t family, but what? That meant Emma had to be back there all by herself? Had they at least told her he was here?
He wiped his sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs before trying another approach with the woman who sat behind the desk. He’d tried desperation, but she met that with an indifference that could only be mastered after years of giving zero fucks.
The pissed off forty-something-year-old lady didn’t bother to look up as he stood in front of her. Her attention still trained on her computer monitor as the repeated clicking of her mouse made him want to take the damn thing and throw it across the crowded waiting area.
“How can I help you, sir?”
Seriously? Was she being willfully dense, or had she already forgotten he was waiting to hear about Emma’s condition?
He gave her the best smile he could muster. “Yes, ma’am. I’m waiting to see Emmason James. She was brought in by ambulance over an hour and a half ago.” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but given her annoyed reaction to him he likely didn’t hit the mark.
Shit. And he already lost her. Her eyes back on her monitor she resumed the incessant clicking of her mouse.
“As I explained, sir, visitors are restricted to the patient’s family members.” Click, click, click.
“Mr. Watts?” she called out into the waiting room.
Ryder stepped aside as whoever-the-hell Watts met her at her desk.
“You can go on back to room thirty-two.” She addressed the man with about as much compassion as a box of tissues, but at least the guy was getting through the double doors.
Screw. This.
This time, the smile that left his lips was sincere. It didn’t matter that the thoughts going through his mind would have his mom turning in her grave. He was done waiting. Instead of going back to his seat, he started pacing the hallway, the one right in front of the double doors that separated him and Emma.
The prison guard of a receptionist paid him no mind, likely due to the fact that it was only in her job description to regurgitate responses to predefined questions.
He waited for his opportunity, and it only took another fifteen minutes before the doors swung open for someone else. He strolled inside as if he knew exactly where he was going and followed the long hallway. It had been a while since he’d been inside of an emergency room, but this was a lot different than he remembered. Instead of small closet-sized rooms separated only by curtains, the rooms looked more like what you’d expect for patients who had already been admitted and had sliding glass doors. It was much harder to find her with this kind of a setup.
There was zero chance he was going back into the waiting room, so when he came upon a second nurses’ station, he went and waited in front of a woman who didn’t look like she was the gatekeeper of hell.
“Ma’am, I had to leave to get ahold of family and can’t find Emmason James’s room.” He looked around the emergency room floor trying to come off confused.
She smiled as she typed Emma’s name into the computer. Her eyebrows pulled together as a small frown pulled on her lips.
Ryder pulled a shaky hand through his hair. This wasn’t good. Was it Emma? What was she not saying?
“It looks like she’s already been moved to surgery.” She gave him a regretful smile that he could tell was sincere. “You need to go to the main elevators and take them up to floor two. The surgery waiting area is marked with signs.”
He was already in motion before she was finished speaking. Thinking better of his manners, he looked back to the nurse and tipped his hat before rushing through the hallway to the main elevator.
He passed a gift shop and a chapel, the latter making chest tight. She was going to be okay. She had to be okay.
By the time he made it to the surgery waiting area, a sheen of sweat had broken out
across his forehead. This time, the person behind the counter greeted him with a smile, and while she wasn’t able to tell him Emma’s condition, she promised someone would be out to talk to him.
Unlike the emergency room, there were far fewer people waiting in the large area. Judging by the way people were sprawled out on couches with their cell phones plugged in to various outlets, the wait might be significant.
He checked his phone and wasn’t surprised to find that his battery was about to die. He sent a quick message to his dad telling him he was in the surgery waiting area and letting him know he’d be without a phone. His dad was the only reason he hadn’t already lost his mind, reminding him that making a scene in the hospital would only result in him not getting to see Emma at all. At least now he was in the right place.
Three hours later, he was still waiting, his head resting against the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling. Closing his eyes was tempting. There was zero chance he’d fall asleep, but if they came out to tell him Emma’s condition and his eyes were closed, he feared they would think he was asleep and not talk to him.
When he felt a hand clasp on his shoulder, he jumped, expecting it to be a doctor or a nurse. Standing, he turned to find his dad.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Instead, he walked around the chairs and went to his dad, accepting the hug he was offering.
Neither he nor his dad were what anyone would consider affectionate, but right now all bets were off. His dad’s presence was reassuring, yet at the same time it was a sobering reminder that he wouldn’t be here if the situation wasn’t serious.
“You don’t fly,” he said into his father’s shoulder.
His dad kept his hands on his shoulders as he took a look at him. “What are they telling you?”