Page 31 of Savage Reckoning

What?

“My phone…” She shoves against me. “Gabe, my phone’s ringing.”

Shit. I blink, my scattered senses gathering fast. I roll onto my back with a grimace. “Do you need to answer it?”

Silly question, we both know that.

She sits up, suddenly self-conscious, her arms wrapped across her chest. “I think… I left it in the bathroom.”

“I’ll get it.”

By the time I return with the trilling killjoy in my hand, she’s found her T-shirt and pulled it back on again. She takes the phone from me with a muttered “Thanks,” and hits the green button.

“Beth? Is something wrong? Is it Aaron?”

I check my watch. It’s half past midnight, so unlikely to be a social call.

“No, I don’t know anything about that. No, I wouldn’t have thought so either.” There’s a short pause in which Megan meets my eyes, her expression concerned, then, “I’ll call Mr Hussein and double-check. Meanwhile, tell him to hold off.” Another brief pause. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

“What’s happened?” I demand as I dragl my shirt on.

“Some doctor’s arrived wanting to give Aaron more sedation or pain relief or something. Beth wasn’t entirely clear but wasn’t sure why he needed more drugs so rang me.”

“Sedation? I thought he was doing well now.”

“Exactly. His consultant is Mr Hussein, but he’s probably at home in bed. I’m going to give him a call anyway to find out if he prescribed any change in medication and why.”

I nod and head back into the bathroom to retrieve Megan’s clothes. When I return, she’s just hanging up the call.

“Mr Hussein didn’t order any change.”

“Phone Beth back. Tell her I’m on my way.” I leave her to make the call, get dressed, and follow as quick as she can while I sprint for the door.

Aaron Savage’s room is two floors above the family suites. I take the stairs three at a time to arrive on the corridor where he’s located. It’s deserted, apart from an orderly pushing a cleaning trolley.

“Which way is room thirty?” I demand.

He points behind me and plods on.

I charge along the corridor checking room numbers. Eighteen, sixteen, fourteen. Shit. Wrong way.

I spin around and retrace my steps just as the orderly wheels his trolley into the lift.

“Fucking moron,” I snarl when I jog past him.

I burst into room thirty to find a man in hospital garb sitting up in the bed, and a petite woman pacing the floor, a phone in her hand.

“Aaron?” I bark.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Gabe Sawyer. I’m on the team.”

“Since when?”

“It’s recent. Are you okay?”

He scowls but nods.

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