Page 38 of Stay Close
CHAPTER 14
Lucas
I lean near andshe gasps, “Get me out of here.” As far as the rest of the conference is concerned, I might be communicating a brief message from the Sondish queen or a note from her law firm. My presence lends a veneer of official business when she holds her hand up and says, “Excuse me. A short recess.”
I escort her from the room, and she takes a hard right around a corner, outpacing me and ignoring every security protocol we’ve developed over the past weeks.
“What’s wrong?” I catch up.
“Throw up,” she gasps, stumbling into my arm. “Oh—”
She drops to her knees, gripping my hand, and retches into a trash bin, her frame rigid and shaking. When she begins on a brutal second round, I fan her with my security lanyard, rubbing her back. It seems to go on and on, but finally, wrung dry, she sags against a marble pillar.
I crouch over her limp figure, brushing sweat-dampened hair from her temples. “Are you okay? How long have you been sick?”
Her eyes are glazed, and her lips are pale. “After breakfast maybe?”
I think back to the oatmeal and juice ordered from the palace commissary. There should have been nothing upsetting about breakfast. I made a point to ask them to keep back anything pickled. It contained no strong odors or fermented fruits.
Awareness of the danger crawls over my skin. Edie’s sick when she shouldn’t be. Sick at a crucial time. We’ve left the safety of the conference room, and we’re isolated. I spin as soon as I hear the tap of a footfall, taking the brunt of a side table against my forearm. This isn’t the movies. It doesn’t shatter into pieces but cracks against my bone, pain breaking in every direction.
Edie screams, and in a wild blur of movement, I register the staff uniform of a food service worker. My assailant grabs me around the waist, charging forward and tackling me onto the tiles. As we land, I roll, throwing him off with my feet.
“Run,” I shout at Edie, reaching for my weapon. There’s not enough time to retrieve it. The man is half-trained but furious, bleeding from the side of his mouth and already coming at me again. Using his bulk, he pushes me to the edge of a broad staircase. I hook his arms and take him with me, twisting so that he takes the brunt of every marble stair tread. Adrenaline courses through my veins, blunting the pain when my wrist andthumb are smashed. We roll to a stop. When I would be pinned by his arms, I keep moving, always moving, deflecting blows in close combat, dodging his massive fists.
I’m not lucky forever. A fist connects with my brow, splitting the skin and sending hot blood streaming down my face. I blink, vision narrowing into pulsing black shadows, and my mouth fills with the taste of metal. I stagger on my feet, and then the fire alarm goes off.
My attacker is caught off guard. It gives me an opening. I wrap my hand around his apron, throwing him off balance with a quick jerk. He slams to the tiles. With more wildness and less technique, I plant a knee in the middle of his back, capturing his hands. Only when I’m securing his wrists with a zip tie do people begin to stream down the stairs.
Security pulls us apart and marches my assailant out of the way. I slump against the wall, breathing hard. Edie gets to me first.
“I’m okay,” she says, eyes wandering over my face like a firefly on a Texas night.Are you okay?
I grip her hand and bring our fists up, kissing them together. My lungs heave with effort.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says.
I never lose consciousness, but I don’t let go of Edie’s hand either.
While I give the security authorities my statement, my palm pressed against my ribcage, a doctor flashes a light in my eyes and suggests a visit to the hospital. I evaluate my own injuries—achecklist I’ve gone over in Montreal, Caracas, Accra, London, so many more places—and opt for Her Majesty’s personal physician to see to my wounds at the palace.
“You’re being silly,” Edie says, her hand tightening in mine on the drive back to the Summer Palace. Her posture is rigid, and her mouth tucks periodically like she wants to cry but won’t let herself. “You need to have an MRI or a CT or—”
“You make a better lawyer than a doctor.” I smile, and my thumb brushes hers. “Are you feeling better?”
“Better than you.” She pushes a lock of hair off my forehead. I rock our hands, demanding an answer. “Hollow. Weak. I never want to see a tray of food again.” She plucks her blouse, much damaged during the Great Sick. “How many of my things is Sondmark going to ruin?”
Caroline greets us at the palace doors, and when she gets a look at my face, her lips press together. If experience is anything to go by, I look like a bare-knuckled boxer with crusty blood and livid welts. She speeds us through the passageways, collecting information on the way, and by the time we halt before a black door with a sign in gold lettering reading ‘Surgery,’ she knows about Edie’s unexplained sickness and the assailant linked to the incident at the harbor.
“We run a small clinic on the grounds of the palace. You’ll be seen by the best.” She taps on the door, pushing it open when a voice calls for us to enter. “Doctor Frum,” she greets him.
“He's got to check Edie first,”I say.
Edie shakes her head. “I’m not the one who looks like he walked face-first into a meat grinder.”
“I’ll leave you in the doctor’s hands while I confer with the security team.” Caroline smiles, ducking out of the room.
The doctor must recognize the uncompromising look on my face because he escorts Edie to the examination table and performs a satisfyingly thorough inspection of her, walking through symptoms, noting everything. In the end, he tells her to rest on a gurney, gives her a cold compress for her neck, a packet of salty crackers, and clear liquid to sip through a straw. She complies meekly but sends me a stern look, saying to the doctor, “Don’t let him treat this like it’s no big deal.”
