Page 71 of Concerted Chaos

“Right back ’atcha.”

“No, I look wan and sexy. There are legions of fans who would love to nurse me back to health.” He’s right. They’d fight for the chance to give him a sponge bath and check his vitals and make sure he’s comfortable.

“Does the media know you’re here?” I haven’t heard singing crowds, so I imagine they don’t. Devon was hospitalized once for appendicitis, and there were hundreds of loud fans clustered outside the building having a candlelight vigil, crying and belting out Last Baron songs, and generally being a nuisance to all the other patients.

“Mike says one of my neighbors has been blabbing that he spotted paramedics leaving my place, so I posted one of those shots Tanner took the other day and claimed to be back home. We should be good.”

I’d sigh with relief if it were physically possible. I don’t want anyone trying to sneak in while I’m sedated to take gruesome pictures of me for some online gossip mag. Though it’s not like they can get up here. This floor requires a special elevator key, then they’d have to evade the security guards. Tanner is the only one who has developed a magical ability to circumvent all of our safeguards, but he doesn’t know we’re here either.

“Have you heard about Silas?” I ask. The FBI has likely spent more time in here than in my room, so Powell’s information might be more up to date than mine.

“Yeah, he has ... he has ...” Powell looks to his personal nurse for assistance. The guy looks like he should be in a street-fighting match, not scrubs. I bet Mike hand selected this one.

“Hypoxic-anoxic brain injury,” Nurse Brute supplies. “He’s not expected to recover.”

“You strangled him good, sis.” Powell gives me an approving nod.

“You stabbed him though. I think that contributed to his condition.”

“Yay, teamwork? The Corbitt siblings solved the mystery and captured the criminals.” He tries to laugh, but it turns into a cough, and his nurse leaps across the room to make sure he’s not choking and chastises him for talking so much. Powell’s throat is still scratchy from the tube. I hope there are no permanent effects. We sort of rely on his voice to make a living.

“And nobody will ever know.”

“That’s right. My publicist already crafted a statement about Jace’s killers being caught and attributing it to Mike. I told him he can’t raise his rates on me now that he’s going to be in higher demand. And maybe he should hire you on a freelance basis.”

“So then I get double pay as your assistant and bodyguard? This is why you have a business manager, to keep you from making silly financial mistakes.”

“True.” Powell snorts out another attempt at a laugh, triggering another coughing fit. His nurse glares at me, as if it’s my fault.

My own nurse clears her throat. “We need to go. It’s surgery time.”

I hug my brother as best I can, without tangling our tubes.

“Hey, Cass,” Powell reaches out and takes my hand before I can be wheeled away. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Silas? I hope not.”

“I was talking about Tanner.”

“Oh.” I have been forcefully keeping him out of my mind. The way he looked at me during his arrest, the pain and surprise and betrayal in his eyes, that was all real. He wasn’t putting on an award worthy performance, he really was innocent. And no matter how I try to justify blaming him—the bomb was in a camera lens!—I can’t.

“Mike said he was released this morning. I’ll buy him a plane ticket or whatever he needs. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” I inform him, but Powell can see right through me. And yes, maybe I am a little worried. Okay, a lot worried. Tanner has been sitting in jail, probably terrified. Or perhaps furious. That would be my reaction to false accusations of murder. And all that fury will be directed at me, which is fair enough, given the circumstances. We’re probably not friends anymore. If I were him, I certainly wouldn’t forgive me.

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