Page 119 of Absinthe Minded

“Are you family?”

“I’m her fiancé.”

“And who’s this?” the woman asked in her pleasant volunteer voice.

“I’m Detective O’Malley from New Orleans PD.”

“She’s in room 230, second floor—”

Before she’d finished giving directions, I headed for the stairs. We’d received the call that Maggie had been found almost two hours ago. Waiting for information after she went missing felt like the longest few hours of my life. Allowing the detective to drive me to Baton Rouge was worse. Besides the news about my brother, Wayne was perhaps the only person in the state of Louisiana who drove the speed limit.

I stopped outside the door and drew a breath. I needed to put on my game face before I went inside. I didn’t know anything about her condition, other than she’d been drugged and bound in the trunk of a car. It’d do Maggie no good if I wept like a baby at first glance.

The door opened and a nurse came out of the room. She stopped and smiled.

That’s a good sign, right?“I’m looking for Maggie Guthrie.”

“This is her room. Are you family?”

“I’m her fiancé.”

“Go ahead. She’s expecting you.” The nurse smiled again.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“Yes, Miss Guthrie and the baby are both doing fine. The doctor wants to run more tests. He may keep her until the poison she ingested clears her system. She’s been through a lot.”

The hall became white hot, and I grasped the door jamb. Nothing the woman said after the wordbabyregistered in my brain. I considered the probability of there being two Maggie Guthrie’s in the hospital.

“Are you okay?” The nurse set her hand on my shoulder.

Wayne stepped beside me. “He’s fine. It’s been a long night.”

“And you are?” The nurse looked at Wayne as if she could tell his profession by his demeanor alone.

“I’m a friend.”

“As long as you’re not here to question her, you can go in.” She hurried down the hall.

“Go ahead, I’ll give you two some privacy.” Wayne grinned.

A baby? Maggie’s pregnant?I slipped into the room and stopped a few feet from her. I noted the bandages on her hands and the side of her head. She looked small in the center of the bed, with tubes running from her to various bags and machines.

She opened her eyes. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling?” I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Better.” She shifted her weight as if trying to sit.

“Here, let me.” I pushed the button with the up arrow and raised the head of the bed.

“Where are the kids? Are they all right?” She reached for a Styrofoam cup.

I helped her guide the straw to her lips. Her busted and swollen lips. “They’re with my folks. They wanted to come with me, but my mother convinced them to wait until you returned to New Orleans.

Maggie nodded and looked toward the window.

Her eyes brimmed with tears and what was left of my heart crumpled. She seemed so broken. I wanted—no, I needed—to know what she’d been through. How she’d got away. How she felt about carrying my child, but all of that would have to wait.

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