Page 105 of Prodigal Son

The cops at the door perked up, suddenly, stepping out into the hallway. Eden heard footfalls approaching, more than one set.

“Sir,” one of the cops started, and then froze.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me,” a familiar voice snapped, forceful as a drill sergeant. “What in the bloody hell is the meaning of this display? Uniforms crawling all over the intensive care wing? Preposterous!”

It was Morgan, she realized with a lurch. What in the…

The cops both shrank down into themselves. “Oh, um, sir, we’re only–”

“Only stepping all over my investigation, that’s what! Christ, you idiots, this is official MI5 business! And you’re about to blow my whole bloody case dragging my undercover in here like this with a goddamn armed guard!” He wasn’t a big man, but he could shout with the best of them.

The cops fell back before him, revealing a very furious and red-faced Morgan Harlowe–

And Simon Cavendish.

Eden popped up out of her seat and rushed to the doorway.

A nurse arrived at the same time, angrily shushing the lot of them. “…Very sick people in here!” In the shuffling that followed, Eden snagged hold of Simon’s sleeve and pulled him to the side.

“What’s going on?” she asked, and hoped it conveyed the dozen things she really wanted to ask.

Simon looked grim, but his expression turned to one of relief when his gaze landed on her. “Eden. There you are.”

“What’s going on?” she repeated.

He cast a cautious glance toward the cops, still backing away down the hall in the face of Morgan’s wrath. “I popped by Baskerville Hall to talk to the boys there – we’ll talk later. But. They’re putting something together. A counteroffensive. And I want to help if I can.”

“Why is Morgan here? This is too dangerous–”

“It was his idea. Flash his old credentials around, pull the MI5 card and get Cross out of here. Or would you rather leave him to get arrested?”

“Well…no.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her back around, urged her forward.

Raven was already marching down the hall back toward Albie’s room, heels clipping along the floor.

Morgan waved his old ID at the cops in front of Albie’s door, and they stepped aside, though one reached for his radio.

A doctor rushed up. “What’s going on? This patient needs rest–”

“Can he be moved?” Morgan barked.

The doctor frowned. “It’s isn’t advisable–”

“But it’s possible?”

The frown became a scowl. “Technically. Yes.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but this is a matter of national security. I’m having him moved to a more secure facility.”

A half hour later, a still-loopy Albie was being wheeled for the exit.

~*~

Just a few short weeks ago, Axelle would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d suggested she’d be here fluffing pillows and fussing over the blankets for an injured Lean Dog. She’d given up on trying to justify it, it was just a simple fact at this point: whatever her feelings about the Dogs in general, she cared about this one, and the sight of him lying out cold in that hospital bed had hit her like a punch and left her breathless and close to tears. It had been so easy, before, to think of the Dogs as faceless villains, maniacal madmen twirling their mustaches and laughing at the misfortune of others.

But that wasn’t Albie. There wasn’t much about him that was legal, but there was a lot about him that was honorable. And kind. And gentle, in a way. Stepping into his ICU room had been a critical moment for her; a chance to either run away, or plant her feet and accept that she’d been wrong. About a lot of things.

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