Page 82 of Pose for Me
“After the first seventy-two hours, you weren’t too hopeful?” I fill in for him.
The first seventy-two hours after someone is abducted are critical. If the person isn’t found in that time, it’s not likely they’ll be found alive, if at all.
I don’t blame Brock for thinking that was the case with me. It’s common with most abduction cases. Sometimes we get the people back alive, but unfortunately, it’s rare.
He looks almost ashamed, but he nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted that you’d find a way to stay alive. You’re a fighter.”
I keep my wince to myself. I’m not a fighter. After only five weeks, I gave up because I was too tired and my mind was too fractured.
“Can we talk about it when I’m not so exhausted and in pain?” I ask, my chest cracking in half with the weight of knowing that I’m not home with my Daddy. What am I going to do without him?
Brock nods and squeezes my hand gently. “Yeah sure. But one question.” I tick an eyebrow up. “Did you make a run for it? Your feet, they’re all torn up, bleeding, and the doctor says there might be an infection. Did you?—”
A knock sounds at the door, and Brock stops talking when he sees the tall doctor with a chart in her hands. She asks, “Can I come in?” as she pushes long braids over her shoulder.
Brock stands and wipes his hands on his pants. “Yeah, Doc. I was going to call you to let you know he was awake. I’m sorry, I was just excited.”
“All good,” she says and steps over to my hospital bed. “Mr. Bauer. Glad you’re awake and coherent.” I nod, my throat too tight to push words past it. Tears brim my eyes, but I blink them away, not wanting to cry.
“How’s he doing?” Brock asks anxiously.
The doctor—Dr. Jackson, her nametag says—aims a professional smile my way. “You’re in good shape, all things considered, but we had to give you some antibiotics along with hydrating you. You had some nasty cuts on your feet. We’ll have to keep you for a few days for observation.”
I nod, wiping under my eye to clear the tear that managed to escape. For the past week, I hadn’t eaten or drank much of anything, my mind stuck on figuring out how to get word to Brock that I was okay. I guess that worked in my favor, making me look more like a captive than I’ve been in weeks.
Brock nods, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “How long is a few days?”
“Could be a week, could be longer. The infection wasn’t too bad, but Mr. Bauer, you’re dehydrated, and you have been through a trauma, what with a kidnapping and possible escape attempt. We’d like you to see our psychologist for a few sessions to make sure you don’t need to be admitted after?—”
“No,” I say, forcing the word out. “No admittance.”
Brock places a hand on my forearm. “It’s okay, Lane. You don’t have to if you don’t want.” He glances at the doctor. “We’re FBI agents. We trained to handle ourselves in the event of a possible abduction. Lane is tight, right?” He looks down at me, his eyes widening a fraction.
I pick up what he’s saying:tell her you’re good and you can get out of here. You can see someone on your own time, but you won’t be locked up again.
If only he knew that I fuckingbeggedRyell not to give me up. He would think I needed to be admitted then.
Dr. Jackson sighs but thankfully doesn’t push. “All the same, we’d like you to see our psychologist. Then he can give you references for someone closer to your home.”
After she checks my vitals and the wounds on my feet, she leaves me and Brock alone.
Huffing out a long breath, Brock scans my body. “You lost weight, though not as much as I thought you would. Did they treat you okay?”
“Better than most,” I say simply.
Brock pulls his lips in, a contemplative look on his face. “I shouldn’t have left you that night at the bar. I should have?—”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him honestly. It was all on me. If I hadn’t threatened Ryell on the news, he wouldn’t have taken me. Now, I’m regretting being his captive because if he never kidnapped me, I wouldn’t have this hole in my heart right now.
Brock gives me a sad look. “It is my fault, but we’ll agree to disagree.” He stretches, his face drawn and haggard. “Our SSA will debrief you in the morning. I asked if I could talk to you first, before they started trying to bleed you for information. I wanted to apologize without an audience.”
“No apology needed,” I say, holding a hand out to him. Brock takes it, a stray tear sliding down his cheek. “Thank you for not giving up the search. I would have tirelessly looked for you too.”
He nods, a small smile on his face. “I’ll be back in the morning. For now, I’m gonna head to my hotel room and catch up on sleep. I was working cases and searching for you on my off time. Now that you’re in one piece, I can sleep without worry.”
Guilt assails me, the same guilt I felt when I saw how exhausted he appeared on the news. He’s been burning the candle from both ends while I was living my best life, enjoying not having a care in the world.
Pushing down the lump in my throat, I repeat my thanks and say, “Maybe you should take some leave, huh? So you can rest without work.”
