Page 19 of The Plunge

Chapter 9

Libby

"We're leaving."

That's it. That's all he says upon entering my room in a hurry. He's wearing a heavy leather jacket and a black knit cap and carrying a pile of clothes as he approaches my bed.

"Get up."

I cast him a confused look, my heart racing in fear. Why is he in such a hurry? And how on earth does he think I could ever keep up with the speed he demands of me right now? It's only been four days since the event, and while I'm no longer as heavily sedated as I was in the beginning, I'm still far from healed. Even taking a few steps around the room every now and then has taken its toll on me, leaving me breathless after just a few minutes.

"I-I can't," I stutter, sucking in a sharp breath of air when he pulls my covers aside.

I'm wearing nothing but a lightweight hospital gown, barely reaching down to my knees. Nothing else, not even underwear. I don't know what happened to the clothes I was wearing on the night I was brought here. I'm assuming they're ruined anyway—at least the dress—but I've always wondered whether not providing me with a decent option of clothes was part of their way to keep me at bay and prevent me from fleeing.

Not that that has ever been an option. As soon as I was able to get out of the bed on my own, stalking on my legs like a newborn deer with my head heavy and dizzy, I tried to open the door. Of course, it was locked. Every single time anybody walked in or out of my room, I heard the lock turn, reminding me there was nowhere for me to go. Unless, of course, I managed to overpower the person as they were stepping in like they do in the movies.

This was actually my plan. It was my main reason for getting up on my feet as often as possible, trying to regain my strength as quickly as possible. It was also the reason I asked for the morphine doses to be lowered, despite the bliss they brought.

"You'll have to," Keane insists, reaching for the IV in my arm. "Hold still."

I freeze in horror, watching as he removes the needle from my arm with an effortless speed that suggests he's done this before. He applies pressure on the insertion while fetching a Band-Aid from the table next to my bed and placing it where the needle used to be.

"Please, you're scaring me," I say, casting him a pleading look. "Are you letting me go? Can I leave and go to a real hospital? Is that it?"

He destroys the glimmer of hope that lifted me for a euphoric moment by shaking his head. "No. We're going somewhere else."

"We? So you're coming with me?"

He looks at me, a crease appearing between his hazel eyes. "Of course."

"Good." I swallow dryly, unsure whether I should disclose the relief that's washing over me upon hearing those words. Next to the doctor, he's the only person I've seen or talked to in the past four days, and while neither one of them ever answered any of my questions, I feel an odd sense of security around him. The doctor ducked away every time I threw another question at him, looking just as scared as I am. At some point, he even begged me to stop like a frightened child. Whatever brought him in this position, it appears he dislikes being here as much as I do. Maybe he has been kidnapped, too. Maybe he's just a man in need, trying to pay off a debt. Either way, he never gave me the impression that he'd be able to protect me in a situation that called for it.

Keane, however. He's... something else.

You know what he is. A criminal, a murderer.

He radiates intimidation and power, seemingly in control even when he's clearly not the one steering this scary boat. He may be the one responsible for my predicament, but in spite of everything, he also appears to be protecting me from something.

Or someone.

"You should get dressed," he says, holding up the clothes he brought with him. "Quickly."

I hesitate, my eyes moving back and forth between him and the pile of clothes. They look like men's clothes and way too big. I didn't expect to see any of the things I wore that terrible night ever again, but my bloodstained sneakers have been waiting for me right next to the door ever since I woke up.

His eyes narrow. "Do you need help?"

A hot wave of embarrassment overcomes me at the thought of asking for his help. It means he'd see me naked, completely naked. And he'd touch me.

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

He nods and steps aside, letting me believe for a second that he'll leave the room to grant me some privacy. But it appears he has other plans. He just moves aside so I can get off the bed, showing no intention of leaving me by myself.

"Could you... not look?" I ask with my voice quivering while I slowly, very slowly climb off the bed, letting my feet dangle over the edge for a moment before I lower them down to the floor.

My head is turning just from sitting up. Shit.

I can do this. I have to.

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