Page 8 of Bradford

"That's how it happened, but I don't know for sure that it was Bradford he was after. I mean, why take me hostage if he wanted him? It doesn't make sense. Bradford doesn't have a clue who the guy was either. Although, he does suspect there's more to it."

"What about an ex?" Walker asks.

"We covered this last night.”

“Humor us," Smith adds.

Sighing heavily, I repeat, "I broke up with my boyfriend about eight months ago. He pops up occasionally, wanting to get back together, but I ignore him. I'm not interested. I haven't seen the guy from last night before, so I don't think he has anything to do with Daniel." Silence follows my answer, making me wonder what they expected me to say. I haven't lied. My cheating ex only begs me to take him back when one of his many women kicks him out. That won't be me again.

"How's Mr. Winchester doing?" Smith asks.

"He's restless." I shrug. “You’ll have to check with Nurse Zaire.”

Walker tilts his head, looking thoughtful, maybe even a little smug. “If you’re not his nurse, why were you heading into his room?”

Huffing out an impatient breath, I move toward the door and pull it open. "I was going to say hello before my shift started. I can't do that now." I'm annoyed with the detectives as I walk away. If they had any useful information, I wouldn't haveminded being sidetracked from visiting Bradford. As it is, they had nothing to tell me. What a waste of time.

6

BRADFORD

My arm isin a sling because of my shoulder, and it hurts when I move my side. Yet, all I can think about is Florence. I wonder if I'll see her before I leave the hospital. I can't stop thinking about her. The nurse will be back with my discharge papers soon, but unfortunately, the one person I want to see isn't on shift. I can't believe I might miss my chance to say goodbye. No! It's not goodbye. I refuse to accept that. There's a spark between us that I want to explore.

The door to my room opens, and I see her standing there. She's smiling softly, looking a bit unsure of herself. My heart thuds as a slow flutter of desire courses through my body. "Hi," I say.

"Hi." She chuckles and enters the room, letting the door close behind her. "I heard that you're leaving us."

I shake my head and tease, "I'm leaving the hospital. I'm not leaving you, babe."

Her smile fades as she steps closer. "Bradford?—"

"I want to see you again," I say, cutting her off. I don't want to hear any goodbyes. I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh in relief. "Would you come to dinner with me? Please, Florence."

"You live in Boston, and I live here. I don't want to get my heart broken," she admits softly.

Reaching out, I gently take her wrist and pull her closer. I hold her hand and rub my thumb over her delicate skin. I feel her tremble under my touch, and I feel my body react to having her close. "You feel the connection, Florence. I know you do." I pull her between my legs, reaching up with my free hand to caress her neck and feel her pulse quicken beneath my touch. Her eyes meet mine, expressing a mixture of longing and uncertainty, as she leans into my touch.

With a slight tug, I pull her close enough to brush my lips over hers. As I pull back slightly, I see the desire in her eyes. The tension between us pulses hotly; there's no way she won't feel my arousal.

My breath catches in my throat when she goes up on her tiptoes and hugs me. Her fingers on the back of my neck cause me to groan. "I want more than anything to go to dinner with you, but I can't do that when you're going back to Boston," she whispers in my ear. "Please take care of yourself." Clasping the sides of my face, she holds me still and presses her lips to mine.

I watch her leave the room, desperate to go after her. What can I say, though? She's right. When I'm in Boston, we'll be over two thousand miles apart.

The hotel suiteis all sleek lines in white and light gray, creating a cold and impersonal atmosphere. However, beneath the veneer, glimpses of warmth can be seen in subtle elements, such as the comforting throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa and the vibrant artwork. I despise it at first sight. I keep mymouth shut, because my boss, Wyatt Peters, set this up for me until I can head home.

The massive hotel is located on the Strip and has a spectacular view of the city lights. Gazing out the window, I clutch my throbbing side, wondering what Florence is doing.

I reach up and touch my lips, remembering the feel of her lips on mine. She hasn’t seen the last of me, even though she refused to give me her phone number. I’d caught her on the way out of the hospital. She said it's for the best. I’m sure I’ll be able to find her. I have a few days to talk her around to staying in touch.

I sit on the sofa, hoping it's more comfortable than it looks. It isn't. I catch my breath as I stand and move into the bedroom, which is just as boring as the other room. I toe off my shoes and gingerly lie down, sighing in relief as tiredness washes over me. A nap sounds good right now, but before I can close my eyes, my phone rings with a video call.

Madden.

I roll my eyes and answer when I see his grinning mug on my phone. "Don't you have something better to do than keep calling me? I mean, you just got married."

"Tessa is perfect," he smirks. "She also told me to call you before I wear a hole in the floor." He frowns. "You're doing okay, right?"

Madden and Dario are my closest friends, but I'm not used to Madden worrying about me. During my conversation with Florence, she made me think that perhaps Madden felt responsible for my ending up in the hospital. After all, I was at his wedding. It was totally not his fault. He hadn't been driving the car—a drunk asshole had been.

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