Page 93 of The Liar

She nodded. “I will, thanks.”

“And you.” The doctor turned toward me, his expression stern. “Come back immediately if you experience any difficulty breathing. I’m not worried about the swelling and bruising. That will heal. But secondary drowning is stilla possibility if you inhaled water.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him.

Joanna’s eyes narrowed. “If anything is off, I promise to bring him back.”

“Good.” The doctor straightened. “I’ll send a nurse in with your discharge paperwork, and then you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

Ten minutes later, we were making our way slowly along the corridor toward a hospital room with a uniformed police officer stationed outside. I ached, but thanks to a strongdose of painkillers, it was a nuisance rather than anything more severe.

Joanna was fortunately uninjured except for the cut on her shoulder and some swelling in her hand. I felt terrible that they’d hurt her to get to me. She’d suffered enough because of me. She shouldn’t have had to endure further pain.

I was also worried that the second I turned my back, she might disappear. There was no way my undercover role was still viable, which meant she no longer had to keep me around. If she asked me to get out of her life now, all I could do was say yes, no matter how much it pained me. There was no reason for the pretense to continue.

“Matthews,” Jo said as we approached the officer, “how is he?”

Matthews scanned us both, her eyes widening. “Safe. They put me here to make sure it stays that way. What happened to you two?”

Joanna waved her hand. “I’ll explain later.”

“Okay.” Matthews seemed disappointed but didn’t push the matter. “He’s awake and cranky as ever. Go on in.”

She stepped aside and I opened the door and held it for Joanna to enter first. I closed it behind her, breathing in the familiar hospital scents of antiseptic, blood, and body odor.

Hanson lay on a narrow hospital bed, propped up on pillows, his eyes half open. With visible effort, he opened them fully and scowled at us.

“You look like shit,” he rasped.

Joanna laughed. “I think this is a case of the pot and the kettle, Denny.”

One corner of Hanson’s mouth hitched up. “Maybe so.”

I remained standing while Joanna took the seat beside the bed.

“What’s the prognosis?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Women. Always fussing over me. The doc says I’ll survive. Should recover fully, although I’m thinking about riding a desk until retirement. I don’t fancy getting shot again.”

“You could do the paperwork and research while I’m in the field,” Joanna said. “I’m glad to hear you’ll be all right. Has anyone called Deborah?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes and then forced them open again. “She’s getting herself a coffee and a salad in the cafeteria. She’ll be back soon.”

“Denny.” Joanna’s good hand twitched, as if she’d almost reached for his and then decided against it. “What were you doing at that apartment building?”

I moved to stand behind her and rested my hands on her shoulders. Hanson’s eyes followed the movement.

“I’ll tell you that when you tell me what he’s doing here,” he grumbled.

“Soon,” Joanna assured him.

He harrumphed. “Fine. I went back to the Red Door. Had some more questions. I saw Portia and recognized her as the woman your husband was having coffee with. She wouldn’t answer my questions, but I got the feeling she was the key to everything. I’d been trying to catch her after one of her shifts to try again, but I wasn’t having any luck, so I persuaded the manager to give me her address. Real scumbag, that one.”

“You didn’t think that asking about her could put her in danger?” Joanna asked, chastening.

Hanson cringed. “I pretended to be a fan of her dancing.”

“And he bought it?” She sounded dubious.

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