Page 4 of Resurrection

“You’re not married yet. There’s still time for you to do better.”

“I was warned about you.”

I put a hand over my heart and give her my best wounded expression. “Warned about me? Now who would warn you about me?”

Her eyes light up with mischief as she backs toward the door. “You’re all set here. Use the buzzer beside your bed if anything comes up.”

Christ, all I need is a name or a clue where this place is located. Sun streams in from the window, but the view outside is so generic I can’t tell if I’m in America or another foreign land. I should have paid more attention in science or geography class. I might be able to identify a tree or two and have a fucking idea of where I’ve landed. Fat lot of good my almost English degree does me now. Memorizing Shakespearean quotes was a waste of mental space.

On the bedside table is last month’s MMA magazine, and I pick it up and riffle through. Wherever I am and whoever orchestrated this, they know me. From the hot blond nurse to the MMA magazine to the sheet quality…

Hot nurse.

I grab the buzzer and hold it down. She pops her head in the door.

“Yes?”

Might as well ask. “Where am I?”

She worries her bottom lip, indecision crossing her features. “In a private home of a sort.”

I frown, scanning the room. No photos. No paintings. No personalization.

“Whose home?”

She wags a finger at me. “No, no. That’s all you’re getting. My employer will be here soon. I’ve been instructed to leave you in the dark so you’ll behave.”

“I’m probably the best patient in this place. No trouble.”

“You don’t have much competition, so I suppose you’re right.” She leans against the doorway, crossing her arms. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’ve been told that more than once in my life.” Lifting the top sheet, I readjust the covers on my lap. “I’m bored out of my skull.”

“This is the first day you haven’t been on heavy painkillers, so I can see why you might be restless.”

I narrow my eyes. “I woulda remembered seeing you one of the other days.”

She taps the side of her head. “Your brain is fried. Also you had previous injuries that weren’t healed. They added to the complications of being shot half a dozen times.” She hesitates. “And I only came into your room when you were knocked out cold.” A smile touches her lips. “I heard you raving at the doctor about…well, everything. Wasn’t too keen on getting in on that.”

“Raving.” I scoff, crossing my arms. “I was asking questions.”

“You were demanding answers.”

I stare at her, and she slides out the doorway. I open my mouth to summon her back and realize I don’t know her name. “Hey—what do I call you?”

She laughs and reappears in the entry, shaking her head. “Eve.”

She glances over her shoulder, and with a frown, she disappears again.

“Eve!” A second surge of annoyance rushes through me at my helplessness. Earlier I tried to get out of bed and almost fell on my face. I snatch up the buzzer and press on it again. I’m not fucking amusing myself. No TV and one magazine will not cut through my boredom. I keep my thumb on the buzzer as I twist to grab the MMA magazine with my free hand. My stitches stretch with me, and I wince. Movement registers out of the corner of my eye, and I look up.

“You’re awake,” she says, her voice soft, familiar.

I release the buzzer, and the magazine slides off my lap, onto the floor, hitting the carpet with a thud. At least ten differentemotions war for dominance. My heart squeezes in my chest, and my cock twitches under the covers, which occupies most of my brain. Like always, the sight of her is painful.

“It was you?” I shouldn’t be surprised.

Why hadn’t I considered her? She’s a meddler. A fixer.

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