Page 17 of Desire Me
He wanted to believe that, but Christ… A prickle struck the backs of his eyes as he blinked them open. “What happened?” he asked again, his voice slightly less Wolverine at his worst.
“She was the victim of a hit-and-run a couple of blocks up from your apartment.”
She’d been hit by a fucking car? And he’d been asleep, blissfully unaware that the woman he’d shared what felt like the deepest night of his life with could have died?
Questions raced through his mind, piling up on each other like cartoon train cars forced to an abrupt stop. Only one of them mattered. “Where is she?”
“Fulton County Memorial.”
One more. “You said she was going to be okay?”
“She is, but—”
He didn’t care about abut; he was already on his way out the door. A quick stop at his office to lock up, and by the time he was striding for the elevators, King was by his side, keys in hand. Saint glanced at them as he punched the down button.
“I know you’re anxious to get there, but I’m driving.”
A quick denial died on his lips when King held up a hand.
“We’ve already got one accident. I’m not risking another. I’m driving.”
“She was hit by afucking car. That’s no accident.” Just imagining the agony she must have gone through, how close she’d come to dying—how close he’d come to losing her—had rage boiling in his chest.
King followed him into the elevator. “We don’t know that. I haven’t had time to access the police report yet, only hospital records.”
They would find out, but right now, seeing her was most important. And right alongside the rage was an anticipation that made him feel sick. He shouldn’t be desperate to get his hands on her, hell, to just lay eyes on her when she was in pain. The fact that she was still in the hospital eight days later told him her injuries had been severe. All he’d seen was her face; what about the rest of her. Broken bones? Surgery? What had she gone through while he’d been stuck in the dark, frantically searching for her?
Would she even want to see him now, after almost dying minutes after leaving his apartment? After spending the night with him? Would she let him touch her again?
The fact that she’d snuck away from him knocked at the door of his brain, but he refused to let the reminder in. He had his second chance now, and he was grabbing it with both hands—and he wasn’t letting go until Rae forced him to.
He’d convince her. The night they’d shared had been too powerful for anything else.
His hand went to the crucifix that dangled around his neck, the metal thick and reassuring even through the barrier of his shirt. It had been his grandmother’s, passed down to him as the only son in his family. He’d worn it since his eighteenth birthday, and though he sometimes doubted the validity of a God—one couldn’t help but doubt with all the hate he witnessed in his job—still the roots of his family’s religion comforted him. A prayer passed like breath from his lips as the elevator doors opened to the garage and the two of them rushed toward King’s car.
His teammate might have insisted on driving, but he didn’t take his time. Ten minutes and they were pulling into one of the hospital’s parking garages.
“What floor is she on?” Saint asked as they stepped onto another elevator. King pushed a button, but Saint didn’t really care about the details of where they were going as long as they got there ASAP.
“She’s in a step-down unit from the ICU.”
“So she’s improving.”
“The doctors’ notes seem to indicate she is.”
There was an odd note in King’s voice, but Saint couldn’t concentrate enough to bring it into focus. His heart was banging against his ribs, in his throat, his breath ragged in his ears. And holy fuck, his palms were sweaty. Rae was waiting at the other end of this elevator ride—he’d see her again, touch her, kiss her if she’d let him. He swiped his palms along the thighs of his fatigues and squeezed his eyes shut just as adingannounced their arrival.
Here we go.
The corridor was blazing white, the sound of their footsteps on the hard tile cold. Saint swallowed against a dry throat as he followed King through the halls, grateful his teammate seemed to know where he was going. Grateful visiting hours hadn’t ended yet, though they were cutting it close. The hush of coming bedtime was settling over the floor, and Saint could feel the anticipation of rest in the sleepy atmosphere despite the bright lights. Nurses were focused on paperwork at their stations rather than rushing from room to room. King asked a blue-eyed blonde for directions once they reached the step-down unit gave them an impatient glance before lingering, a spark of interest flashing across her face. King gave her his trademark grin, the one that made him look like a movie star instead of a killer, and the woman melted. Saint rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet as he waited for her to direct them to Rae’s room. Her words didn’t register in Saint’s ears, just the pointing of her finger and King’s steps starting up again.
Almost there. His fingers went again to his chest and the crucifix hanging below his shirt.
King rounded a corner near the back of the unit. Two steps behind, Saint registered the sudden stiffening of his friend’s shoulders just before his gaze swept the hall, noting a man already halfway down the corridor. Baseball cap. Black clothing. Boots. Tall, lean in a wiry way. But none of that was too suspicious. It was something in the way he moved that caught Saint’s attention, and probably King’s too. The man was too quiet, cautiously easing his way along rather than striding purposefully, and when he came to the door he’d been approaching and turned as if to enter, Saint could see a hand sliding into the dark jacket the man wore, reaching for something Saint couldn’t see.
Every muscle tightened as his gut screamed a warning. King’s footsteps were already silent, a trade habit Saint had also fallen into. As if by unspoken agreement, both of them automatically flowed to the opposite side of the corridor, out of the man’s peripheral vision should he glance behind him. The air stilled around them, holding its breath as they advanced.
Without warning, the door the man faced flew back. A dark, heavy blur shoved out, right into the man King and Saint were tracking. He fell back but managed to stay on his feet by flipping sideways to slip some of the weight barreling into him. As he turned, his gaze met Saint’s. Dark. Deadly.
