Page 53 of Twin Deception

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have an idea.” It wasn’t so much of an idea as it would be a request. Hehadto stop that bleeding immediately, and I knew damn well we couldn’t waltz into any old hospital and have a legitimate doctor look at him. Eyeing him cautiously, I wondered how he’d react to my next question.

“What?” he arched one brow, watching me with the same skepticism I was likely showing him.

“Are you with the police?”

He hung his head back and groaned up at the ceiling.

“Well? Are you?”

He jerked his head back down and smirked at me. “Why? Why would you think I was a cop? For fuck’s sake.”

I shrugged. “It’s a valid question. It’s either cops or other criminals who have an issue with Louis. Fifty-fifty guess.”

“What would make me look like a cop?” he challenged, not hiding his frustration. “Did I call for backup when I went after that sniper? Did I radio in for a crime scene crew when I killed that man in the alley?”

“All right.All right.” I opened my eyes wide. “Jeez!”

“I just can’t see how?—”

“Then you’re the other one. A criminal.” I looked ahead as the doors were about to slide apart. “Which means you’re not going to want the cops to know where you are, that you’ve been shot, and all the other sordid details of what you’ve been doing for the last few days here.”

“Correct.”

“Which means we need alternative means of healthcare…”

I recalled where that walk-in clinic was and guided him to the front of the hotel. Ordering the valet as we passed, I requested a ride to be called for us.

A taxi pulled up before Miguel could lean on me any heavier. The moment we were seated, I blew out a deep breath of relief at not having to support his bulkier weight.

I asked for the driver to take us to the nearest walk-in clinic, and once we arrived, I was glad it was the one I’d been trying to think of. It wasn’t far, and I prayed that my idea to get us in faster would work out.

“Follow me.” I helped Miguel out of the car. “I mean, follow my lead.”

He furrowed his brow at me, looking ragged, doubtful, and so exhausted.

We entered, and I laid on the waterworks with a side dose of theatrics as I helped Miguel walk.

“Oh, my God,” I called out loud. “My husband! Someone please. Please help my husband!”

I clutched the arm of a nurse as she walked by. She paused, staring at me with wide-open eyes. Seated in the small waiting room were others, all equally shocked by my dramatic entrance.

“He was trying to save me from this bad man, this awful, horrible man who just won’t leave me alone, and now look. Look!” I tugged him closer to me, forcing him to fall a bit from the sudden shift. Hugging him to me, I gestured at his arm. “Look at what happened!” It wasn’t a question or an exclamation but a drawled-out, high-pitched, and hysterical cry for attention.

And it worked. Fast.

Not one but two nurses ran up to us. “Easy, ma’am. Easy.”

“We’ll help.”

“This way. Come on, we’ll go this way.”

Ushered back to a room immediately with Miguel walking alongside me, I kept up the tears and mournful sobs. Because they worked. Crying woman, check. Screeching pleas, check. A hint of hysteria to distract everyone within my radius, check.

No one was going to ask us our names. Or for an ID. Or to verify who we were at all.

When a woman was this distraught, there was no sticking with protocol.

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