Page 43 of Sinful Seduction
“And Tim?”
“Downstairs.” She drops her foot and smirks, dirty and teasing. “He’s good at that.”
I swing out with a furious arc of my arm and hammer-fist her hip.
“No hitsies!” She catches my hand and twists away before I can swing again. “No, boss! That’s a lawsuit if I ever saw one.”
“You’re not even downstairs where the discussions are taking place, Doctor Emeri.” I tear my arm from her grip and fix my sheet in place. “Your reasoning has come undone.”
“My reasoning remains solid, but since you were still up here, I figured there’d be no harm in coming up and getting you.”
“Watching me sleep.” I snarl. “Ya creep.”
“You appear significantly kinder when you’re unconscious.” She lays on her back again, releasing a gentle sigh. “It’s so weird how looks can be deceiving, when anyone who knows you awake knows you’re not kind at all.”
I narrow my eyes and consider kicking her. But my knee aches, and I’m kinda hungry.
“Have you asked Ben who shot him yet?” I fold my arms, stiffly tucking the sheet against my chest and fisting the end in case Emeri decides to get sassy. “You could just ask and save us all this trouble.”
“Tried.” Instead of biting at my temper, she merely studies her nails. “He’s not telling. It’s honestly kinda weird, like he’s throwing up shields. But that’s how it goes sometimes. I wouldn’t mind taking a swing atMolly if we get a chance. She’s more creative. More expressive. I’d bet she’s a giant, open book. She might’ve seen who it was before she was out.”
“So go.” I gesture toward…the window. “Get the hell out of my room and touch her. Solve this case and save us all a bunch of time.”
“You’re extra cranky this morning, huh?” She unsnaps a button on the side of her cargo skirt—the kind that shows extra thigh, but comes with extra pockets for all those extensive carrying needs—and taking out a sucker, she offers it and a sparkling smile. “Sugar?”
I whip my hand forward and snatch her gift, tearing the wrapper off before Archer uses his super hearing powers and tries to take my candy away. Shoving it between my lips, I look toward one of several doors this room boasts. One leads into the hall, another, into a walk-in closet. A third—into the massive bathroom with a full-sized bath, a walk-through shower, and most important of all… a faucet.
If I could simply hobble in there and turn my head upside down, I could drink straight from the pipes and hope, eventually, I catch enough liquid to replenish what I lost yesterday.
“Thirsty?” So helpful, so sweet, Aubree bounds off the bed and strides to the sitting area portion of the room—single chairs, a coffee table, a television built into the wall, and, when she opens a low cupboard, she reveals a mini-fridge and a half dozen bottles of water. “Archer told me you’d want some.” She grabs a bottle and slams the door shut again. “He also said he stocked the fridge, and even if you don’t ask for it, I should force it down your throat.” Meandering back, she cracks the lid and sits on the very edge of my mattress, not so far from my bandaged knee hidden beneath a slate gray sheet. “Here.” She forces the bottle into my hand and peels the sheet up at the side, allowing me my dignity while still getting a peek at my wrapped wound. “How does it feel?” She doesn’t unravel the bandaging. But she places her palm directly over top of my kneecap, gently pressing down and firmly running the pad of her thumb along the side. “Can you walk?”
“Of course. I’m not an invalid.”
Feel like one, though.
Pouting, I bring the water up and test the cold liquid on my tongue. Just a little at first. Just a taste. But then I tip the whole thing back and drink until my lungs protest and my stomach sloshes. I drink until I can’t hold my breath anymore, and only then do I drag the bottle away and inhale a replenishing breath. “Jesus, Aubree. There are people out there dying. There has to be.” I wipe my mouth and look out the window, though all I see are trees. “I have asafe home and people looking out for me, making sure I eat and drink. I work in an air-conditioned office, and it’s not like my job is particularly physical.”
“Except when we’re lifting bodies,” she counters, massaging the side of my leg. “You tell me what other job means lifting men twice our size, and he ain’t even alive to help. There’s a reason they call it deadweight.”
“My point being, I’m young and fit and healthy, and I still feel like a walking corpse this morning. There are thousands of Steves and Theos out there, and they don’t have an air-conditioned house on the hills and a mini fridge in their bedroom.” I drop my head back, gently hitting it on the wall, and release a long, noisy exhale. “Our fridges are going to be especially full over the next few days.” I close my eyes and let her do her thing with her magic hands. I don’t mention it, and neither does she. But I let her heal, because I’d rather that than limp a single minute longer than necessary. “Is the power back on in town?”
“Yeah.” She brings her second hand into the mix, working both sides of my knee. “Heard it came on around three o’clock this morning, but they expect it might conk out again later today. There’s just too much demand on the grid, and it’s too hot outside to keep up.”
“So I’ll spend my time at the George Stanley.” A yawn grabs hold of me, lazily traipsing through my chest and out until moisture sits in my eyes.Good sign: I’m not dehydrated. Peeling my eyes open, I stare up at the ornate ceiling Timothy Malone the Second thought to have installed, with gold trim framing the widest edges and creating a 3-D appearance, like the ceiling sinks in at the middle, even if it technically doesn’t. It’s a visual delight, a puzzle he might’ve worked on solving while lying in bed andnottorturing other human beings. “Heard anything from the hospital?”
“I called while we were driving here.” She slides her left hand along my leg, all the way to my ankle, and presses her thumb against my Achilles. “I spoke to Officer Clay first, since I figured he’d be easiest to grill.” Grinning, she peeks up from beneath long lashes. “He clocked out somewhere around midnight and stumbled home to sleep, but he went right back to the hospital at eight this morning.”
“Eight?” I search the room for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Right now? It’s nearly ten.” Predicting me, she pins my leg down and stops me from bounding off the bed. “Ten is fine, Chief. Stay.”
“I should have been doing rounds an hour ago, Aubree! I should have?—”
“Pretty sure Doctor Raquel is quite happy playing chief for the day. She lined them up and swung your ruler around, and like the good littlesoldiers they are, they reported on their cases, and she took notes. Those notes are in our email inboxes.”
“Aubree—”
“So, Officer Clay has been at the hospital for nearly two hours. He’s assigned himself as Molly’s guard until Archer or Fletch tell him differently.”
