Читать книгу Big Shot - Joanna Wayne - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Durk followed Jane to a small conference room that held a metal table and a few hard folding chairs. Dr. Levy sat in one of the chairs, a mug of coffee at his elbow while he made notes on a patient chart.

He motioned for Durk to take a seat.

Durk remained standing. He thought best on his feet. “Did the scan show any skull fractures?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer.

“No, the scan was negative for any type of brain injury.”

Durk took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he slid into the chair. “Can I see her?”

“You can.”

Durk’s hands grew clammy as anticipation and anxiety waged a choking battle inside him. Two long years of fighting the memories and trying to convince himself that he and Meghan had made the only decision that made sense and now he was about to insinuate himself right back in her life. Had he totally lost his mind?

He forced himself to focus on the doctor’s words. Meghan had been moved to a private room in a telemetry unit so that her vital signs could be closely monitored. She was still in a state of confusion. She couldn’t name the president of the United States or even state her own address or her phone number.

The doctor assured him the altered mental status was temporary and not unusual following a concussion. What she needed most from Durk was a calm, assuring, familiar voice.

Problem was that by the time he left the doctor and took the elevator to the telemetry unit, the memories were playing so much havoc with his emotions that he was anything but calm. Losing Meghan had been a hundred times more difficult than he’d imagined. She’d stalked his mind at times when he’d have least expected, haunted his dreams, made every woman he’d dated since seem sensually lame by comparison.

A nurse stopped at his elbow, interrupting his reverie. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to visit Meghan Sinclair.”

“You must be Durk Lambert. One of the nurses from the trauma unit just called. She said you were a close friend of the patient and that you were on your way up.”

She opened the door to Meghan’s room. Ready or not, he thought as he stepped inside. A chilling lump settled in his chest as he stopped next to the hospital bed and stared down at Meghan.

Her eyes were closed. One side of her face was swollen. The hematoma Dr. Levy had mentioned was the size of a walnut. Her head was bandaged where she’d had the sutures.

She looked incredibly frail and much younger than her thirty-one years. He covered her left hand with his. It was cool to the touch and unresponsive.

A flare of dark fury rushed through his veins. If he could just get his hands on the man who did this to her....

He muttered a curse and dropped to a chair next to the bed.

Meghan jerked and groaned without opening her eyes. Durk leaned in close. “You’re safe, Meghan,” he whispered softly. “You’re going to be all right.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. His mind drifted back to the night they’d first met. At the last minute he’d let his mother, who had been ill with a stomach virus, talk him into attending a fundraiser in her place. It was one of her pet charities, an organization dedicated to helping pay medical expenses for physically handicapped children needing surgery.

He’d been in stressful meetings all day and had gone to the gala with plans to deliver her speech thanking all the donors for their contributions and then immediately cut out.

But then he’d spotted Meghan Sinclair across the room and become totally intrigued. She was stunning in an emerald-green ball gown and a crown of the most gorgeous red silky hair he’d ever seen.

But the real fascination came from the impact of watching her flip her wrist and empty a crystal flute of champagne in the face of his least favorite Texas politician. Durk had no doubt that the jerk deserved it.

Durk had made a point of meeting her after that incident and ended up driving her home and staying for breakfast—two days in a row. He’d never fallen so hard, so fast—not since Ellie Jenkins had kissed him in the sixth grade.

His thoughts shifted from the past to the here and now. Meghan was in the hospital, confused and battered. Ben Conroe was lying in a morgue. And somewhere a killer was going on with his life.

Eventually Durk must have dozed off because the next time he looked at his watch, it was an hour later. He stood, stretched and went to the bathroom. He relieved himself, washed his face in cold water and went in search of coffee.

After he finished the cup of strong brew, he slipped quietly back into Meghan’s room. Only this time, Meghan’s eyes were open wide and she was staring at the ceiling. She moaned as he approached the bed.

“Are you in pain?” he asked. “Should I get the nurse?”

She turned and looked at him, then closed her eyes again.

“Can I get you anything?” he repeated.

Still no response, but he was almost certain she was awake.

He sat and stayed quiet until she squirmed and began to rub her left hand. Then he stood and moved close to the bed.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked, sure that if she were fully conscious, she’d have questions about the attack.

She shuddered and finally met his gaze, staring at him as if he’d interrupted something important.

“Who are you and why are you in my bedroom?”