Page 33 of Dreaming

He drank it, his throat burning.

“She flags associates so she can track their money as well. By the end of the puzzle, Nia can tell you the date of birth of the cashier who works for a restaurant owned by a food supplier owned by an umbrella corporation owned by the syndicate. Her mind won’t allow her to rest, truly rest, until she solves every single piece.”

“What are you saying?”

“This particular puzzle was personal, Mr. Hancock. Her worry for her mother, her sister, and you pushed her beyond her usual assignments. It took longer because she wanted every member - every single member of a crime family who employed more than two hundred people - off the board.”

“Is she alright?” Dennis’ voice was barely a whisper.

“Toward the end of the assignment, her team had to feed Nia intravenously because she would not stop to eat. They drugged her at night, which her body and mind fought, because she would not sleep. She began to hallucinate from sleep and vitamin deficiency. Two weeks ago, Nia collapsed from complete physical and mental exhaustion.”

Tears dripped from Dennis’ chin to the hospital gown.

The man said gently, “She’s doing better. Still recovering.”

“Can I…see her?”

“The reason I came here personally, Mr. Hancock, something I rarely do, was to gauge your feelings toward Nia. I won’t let you near her if you continue to behave as if she did something deliberately to hurt you when all she’s ever done is hurt herself.”

“I’m sorry.” Dennis swallowed. “I-I messed up.”

The man stared at him for a minute in silence. “I understand you’ve been confused and hurt, Mr. Hancock. I-I experienced something similar a few weeks ago.” He cleared his throat. “However, I cannot allow you to place that on Nia’s shoulders because I don’t believe she can bear the weight of it right now.”

“I won’t. I swear it.”

Inhaling deeply, the man replied, “Fine. Pull your shit together, get cleaned up. Take a few days if you need it. Let me know when you’re ready to face the woman you’ve screamed about for the better part of a year. When you are, I’ll take you to her.”

“Who are you?”

“Another member of the Think Tank, a friend of Nia’s, and someone who very much wants to see her happy. My people call me Hollow.” Then he turned and left the room.

Dennis stared at the door, his mind reeling. He hit the call button and a nurse appeared a minute later.

“I need to be released. Get the doctor.”

Working his way off the bed, his chest ached and he rubbed it. A combination of chest compressions and pain for Nia.

One of his bodyguards entered the room. Dennis asked, “None of you fucks could have just told me what was happening?”

“We didn’t know, Dennis. The people in the Think Tank…that shit is as top secret as you can get.”

He pulled sweats over his lower body. “That’s a stupid fucking excuse in this scenario. A single sentence would have saved me months of agony. She’s working to come back. That’s fucking it.”

Pulling a t-shirt over his head, he barked, “I want everything ready in a week. Be prepared to follow me at a fucking run.” Grabbing his cell phone, he stepped into slides and headed for the door.

For a little while, Dennis had lost his way, his mind, his hope.

How he loved her, loved her, loved her.

Chapter Twelve

Mid-November 2017

Dennis busted his ass for five days to pull himself and his house together. He had to have his studio gutted, rebuilt, and filled with new instruments before Nia returned.

He was haggard physically and ashamed emotionally for giving up on her, but he was determined to never doubt her again. After hearing her story, he wanted to take care of her while she took care of everyone else.

Making a call to his father, he asked him to take over running his bar for a couple of months. “I messed some shit up, Dad. I need to take care of it and I need your help.”

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