Page 47 of Warrior's Cross

Cameron opened his glazed eyes again. “Julian?” he asked, like he didn’t remember that they’d just spoken a few minutes ago. He stopped to fight his way through a couple breaths. “Is it Tuesday?”

“It is,” Julian answered gently.

“Couldn’t call,” Cameron rasped as his head lolled in Julian’s lap. “No number.”

Julian’s apology was an agonized whisper.

One of Cameron’s hands crept up to press lightly against Julian’s chest, and he lapsed back into a fitful doze.

Julian covered him with his coat and rubbed at his shoulders as the car whipped through the city at worrying speeds. He paid it no mind.

Preston was a professional. The only thing Julian worried about was Cameron.

It was quiet in the hospital room now that the doctors and nurses had come and gone. Tucked into the bed, Cameron looked pale and even smaller than usual with the oxygen tube set in his nose and the IV in his arm. He was out cold, drugged to the gills—both to counteract the drugs he’d been given by the Convenient Care doctor and to treat what was really wrong.

Pneumonia, the doctors said, and a really bad case of it.

X-rays confirmed the fluid filling Cameron’s lungs, and it had worried the doctors enough that he had been admitted immediately.

They’d even considered a breathing tube. Now, with Cameron settled, Julian paced restlessly in the hospital room, his overcoat and scarf trailing behind him like a supervillain’s cape as he prowled.

Long minutes passed before a nurse came in to check Cameron’s vitals again. She paused just inside the door, surprised to see the dark-clad man there. “Hello?”

“How is he?” Julian asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

The nurse gave him a look and went to check the machines hooked up to Cameron. “He’s just fine,” she told him. “Reacting well to the medicine and resting easy.” She looked back at Julian in slight annoyance but then seemed to notice the tension in him. “You don’t have to stay. I promise we’ll take good care of him,” she offered.

“I have nothing more important to do,” Julian responded without tearing his eyes away from Cameron.

Her expression softened. “You may be more comfortable in the chair,” she said. “There’s a cafeteria downstairs; it’s open twenty-four hours. Don’t you get sick too,” she scolded gently as she left the room.

Julian meant to murmur a thank-you as she left the room, but his attention was all on Cameron. He moved closer, his mouth dry and his chest tight. Cameron’s face was still, drawn, and shadowed. Even asleep, he looked exhausted. Julian reached to touch him but stopped before his fingers made contact. It wouldn’t do to wake him.

He examined Cameron carefully, feeling sick over just the thought of whatmighthave happened. He moved impulsively and this time ran his fingers gently through Cameron’s hair. Heat still radiated from him, despite how pale he looked. Deep in the drug-induced sleep, he was totally relaxed against the mattress.

“Don’t you do this to me again,” Julian whispered to him. He’d faced many things in his life that most people never faced, but he was not immune to terror. He’d discovered tonight that being scared for someone you cared about was an entirely different animal from simply fearing for your own life and limb.

He turned slightly when he felt someone else enter the room.

“Shall I park in the overnight lot, sir?” Preston asked him in the same soft tone Julian usually used.

“No,” Julian answered with a shake of his head. “You may go for the night, Preston. Thank you for your speed.”

“Yes, sir,” the man murmured with a nod of his head. “Will he be okay?”

Julian simply nodded and turned back around.

Soft footsteps shifted a little outside the door, and the nurse re-entered just after Preston departed. She looked at Juliansympathetically as she moved closer and changed one of Cameron’s IV bags.

“You’re Mr . . .?”

“Bailey,” Julian answered softly as he watched her hands move.

He’d slipped enough bags of tainted saline past hospital security to know how it was done, and he found he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust anyone completely. Definitely not with Cameron’s health and safety.

“Mr. Bailey. Visiting hours are over at eight for non-family members,” she said. “So from now on, you’re his brother,” she advised.

“Thank you,” Julian said to her sincerely as he looked back at Cameron and chewed worriedly on his lower lip.

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