Page 77 of Byte

“Papa,” Gabby admonished with a smile.

“What? They wired it once; they can wire it again.”

“Not before she tells someone who cut the wire,” Shaker said.

“That won’t happen if she’s threatened properly,” Ranger argued.

“I think I have a better idea,” Phoenix said. “Tina knows the detective working the case. Maybe he’d be willing to offer Lauren a chance at a reduced sentence in exchange for information on Chad.”

Gabby shook her head. “I don’t like it. She’s already going to get off easier than she should. I’m more than grateful that Patch and I lived, but attempted murder doesn’t receive the same sentencing as murder.”

Phoenix grinned. “She won’t get a lighter sentence. The detective doesn’t have the authority to make an offer like that. Attorneys do, but detectives do not. That’s also why I said ‘a chance at a reduced sentence.’ It’s all in the wording.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Gabby asked hopefully.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Phoenix said and pulled out his phone.

23

GABBY

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Byte said after everyone had gone home.

“I told you it would be fine,” I said and tried to carry a plate to the sink using my forearms.

Byte immediately took the plate from me. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to help,” I huffed.

“While I appreciate the effort, I’d much rather you let me do it,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and I know you don’t want to do anything to make your healing take longer.”

He had a point. “Fine,” I sighed and dropped into a chair. “This sucks.”

“You’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting,” I grumbled. I was totally pouting. “And I’m cute all the time,” I said and stuck out my tongue for good measure.

He put down the dishes and turned to study me. “You’re in pain.” I opened my mouth to say otherwise, but he raised his hand to stop me. “Don’t deny it, Gabs.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “I am. How’d you know?”

“Because you’re grumpy and trying to hide it with humor.”

“Well, aren’t you observant?”

“You should know that by now,” he said and left the room to get my medicine. A few moments later, he placed the pills and a drink with a straw in front of me. I could manage a fork or a spoon, but we learned that I couldn’t hold a drink in my hands on the first day home from the hospital.

I grimaced at the sight of the pills. “I hate the way they make me feel.”

“I know you do,” he soothed. “But it’s better than hurting. And I hate seeing you in pain.”

He was right, and I knew it. You would think the gunshot wound would be the most painful, but my hands hurt far worse than my shoulder did. I tried not to complain too much. Byte was doing everything for me. Well, almost everything. I drew the line at assisting me in the bathroom. Thankfully, my sister suggested installing a bidet so I could take care of my personal business by myself. Otherwise, I would’ve stayed with her. I don’t care what he said; I’d rather have my sister wipe my butt than Byte.

“Do you want to go lay down?” he asked.

“Not yet. I’ll keep you company while you finish the dishes. And maybe have a little snack.” He immediately went to the cabinet, got a pack of miniature muffins and a granola bar, and opened both before placing them in front of me. Since it took me so long to eat, I was usually tired before I was full, so it seemed like I was hungry all the time. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Hey,” he said, and tilted my chin up with his fingers. “What’s really going on?”

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