Читать книгу And Able - Lucy Monroe - Страница 9

It was hard to focus, and she just wanted to go to sleep, not to mention that talking to the authorities always made her tense. She had no good memories connected with the police. A state policeman had come to tell her and her mom that her dad was dead. After that, her encounters with the police had always been full of fear…both hers and her mother’s. Unless Mom had been too drunk to be afraid. Then she’d been belligerent and that had only increased Claire’s fear.

It had been years since Claire had had a negative run-in with a cop, but old habits died hard. No matter how irrational they were. But she tried to answer the officer’s questions the best she could. Finally, when her words were slurring, the doctor shooed the officer out of her cubicle.

“Can I go home now?” she asked the doctor.

“I would still like to do an MRI.”

She shuddered inwardly at what that kind of test would cost. “No.”

“You need it.”

“You said…concussion not so bad.” It was hard to concentrate after answering so many questions for the officer. She was so tired and her head still hurt.

“I would like to confirm that diagnosis with the test.”

“Not good enough reason…” She drew in a shallow breath. “I want to go home now.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t going to like hearing this, but in that case, with your symptoms, I would rather keep you overnight for observation than send you home.”

“No.” She didn’t have medical insurance. No way was she going to stay overnight in the hospital. The bill from the ambulance and her emergency room visit would be high enough.

“You will be taking an unnecessary risk with your health.”

“But not a big risk.” And it was necessary, even if he couldn’t see it.

“That depends on how you look at it,” he said.

“Not staying.”

The doctor nodded his head curtly, as if he could tell it would be useless to argue further.

“You’ll need to call someone. You cannot go home alone, and you’ll have to sign a release form saying you are denying the prescribed medical treatment.”

“I’ll sign the form.” But there was no one she could call.

When she told him that, he would try again to insist she stay overnight.

She opened her mouth, prepared to argue her case despite her aching head and weakened state. The doctor got called to another patient before she could start, and she breathed a sigh of relief. If she could get up and get dressed before he got back, she would have a stronger case for discharging herself.

She gingerly slid her legs over the side of the bed and pulled herself into a sitting position with the hand-bar on the bed. Then she stayed where she was until her head stopped spinning. Slowly, moving her head as little as possible, she stood up and then shuffled, one slow step at a time, to the cupboard where she figured they had stored her clothes.

She searched it gingerly, careful not to jar her head with her movements. She hit pay dirt on the third drawer. She couldn’t stifle a groan of frustration when she realized what she was looking at. She’d been brought in to the hospital in her pajamas.

A spaghetti strap tank top and white cotton bikini panties were hardly appropriate for her trip home. Especially on public transport. Maybe she could wear a hospital gown over them and splurge on a taxi. It would cost less than staying the night in the hospital.

It took forever to get her clothes on. She was sliding the gown back on like a robe when the curtain swept back with a series of metallic clicks.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

She looked up and stared, not able to comprehend the vision before her. It was Hotwire, and his eyes were blazing blue fire at her.

“I’m getting dressed.” She paused and took a deep breath, then let it out. “So I can go home.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It feels like it got knocked out of my head,” she admitted.

“Claire, damn it to hell.”

She’d never heard Hotwire swear. It sounded strange and gave the impression he was really rattled. He didn’t stop with one word, either, but let out a string of obscenities that would have made any dockworker proud.

He bit off a final four-letter utterance and glared at her. “You were going to go back to the house where you were attacked…by yourself…in this condition?”

“I can’t afford a night in the hospital.”

“Can you afford to die?”

She didn’t answer. There was nothing to say to that. He wouldn’t understand the mentality that came from going where you had to when you knew you had no options. Most people took their personal safety for granted, assuming it was theirs by right. She knew it was a luxury a person could not always afford.

For no reason she could understand, her eyes filled with tears. And it made her mad. She never cried, darn it. Tears were for the weak and she was not weak. Not like her parents. She’d proven that time and again. And she’d keep proving it until she believed it.

He said something under his breath and then strong hands gently helped her pull the gown on. He tugged it close and tied the dangling strings to keep it that way.

When he was done, he carefully lifted her into his arms. “It’ll be okay, sugar.”

The doctor came back in. He took in the sight of Hotwire standing there, holding her in his arms like a small child, though even in her awful condition she felt one hundred percent female, being held like this.

He smiled wryly. “I take it she’ll be going home with you.”

“Why isn’t she staying for overnight observation?”

“She refused. She also refused the MRI I recommended.” Evidently, the doctor believed he’d found an ally in Hotwire.

Hotwire looked down at her. “Why not?”

“I don’t have medical insurance.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t blast her like she expected. “I’ll take her home with me.”

She smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

“After the MRI,” he said grimly.

Now it was the doctor’s turn to smile.

Claire was almost asleep when they got to Hotwire’s hotel, and she let him pick her up out of the car and carry her to the elevator without so much as a murmur.

Once inside, she stirred in his arms. “Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for having an extra person in your room?”

“It’s not a problem.”

She sighed. “I’m surprised no one said anything when you carried me through the lobby. The desk clerk sure looked hard.”

“I’m positive he’s seen stranger.”

“Than a guest dressed like a hospital patient reject?”

“Sure. This is downtown Portland, not Mayberry. I’ve been here less than a week and I’ve seen no less than a dozen heavily pierced punk rockers, a group of Goth vampire wannabes, and a woman who was at least sixty wearing a pair of pink satin hot pants and a studded black leather jacket.”

Claire’s head snuggled trustingly against his shoulder. “If you say so.”

He let them into his room and carried her through to the bedroom. It was hard to force himself to lay her down on the bed when they got there, but he did it.

He pulled back the covers and then moved her under them. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

When he came back with a glass of juice from the minibar, she was fighting to keep her eyes open. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“I’ll go to the house and get some for you.”

“Thanks…” She sighed. “Need my backpack, too,” she slurred.

If she thought he was going to let her study in this condition, she was nuts, but he could get the backpack and even her laptop if having them with her made her feel better.

“I’ll get it.”

She picked fretfully at the hospital gown. “Don’t like this.”

Neither did he, not nearly as much as what was underneath, but he didn’t relish helping her take it off, either. Seeing her practically naked wasn’t going to do much for his self-control. The only thing saving them both was her obvious physical frailty. Stifling a sigh and making it a point not to look at her body, he helped her untie the gown and pull it off.

She rolled onto her side facing him, her pretty mouth turned down at the edges. “It hurts, Hotwire.”

“I’m sorry.” She’d already had pain meds in the hospital and couldn’t have another dose for a couple of hours.

“Try to sleep.”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid shut, but the tension of pain was stamped on her features.

He sat down at the end of the bed and turned the covers back so he could take her foot in his hand. He massaged it and put pressure on the points he’d learned to from a Chinese doctor on a mission a few years back.

“Feels nice,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Good.” He kept it up and eventually her body relaxed into sleep.

He made himself let go of her so he could leave to get her things before she woke up again.

When he got back into the room, she was still sleeping. Her red hair was a wild mass of curls on the pillow, surrounding a pale face marred by the exhaustion of pain. He’d had injuries like that and knew how much they hurt. Claire wasn’t a merc—she wasn’t even a soldier. She should never have to know that kind of pain. And feeling as weak as she was, she had still planned to go back to the house and take care of herself.

He shook his head.

She’d even admitted in the car that she had no intention of going to Belmont Manor so someone there could look over her. It was her place of employment, not her personal nursing staff, she’d said acerbically.

His mouth twisted. She was too stubborn for her own good. Too independent. Though she hadn’t demurred even once when he said he was going to help her. Did that mean she didn’t mind depending on him, or that she knew arguing would do her no good? She was far from stupid, after all.

The next twenty-four hours were hell on them both. She just wanted to sleep and hide from the pain in her head. However, he had to keep waking her up to check her responses, make her eat, and keep her hydrated with juice and water. Neither of them enjoyed the process.

But finally, he allowed her to fall into a deep sleep, knowing the worst of the danger had passed. He took a shower, put on a pair of jockey shorts, and climbed into the bed to go to sleep himself.

He woke up six hours later, instantly alert, but confused all the same. Soft, feminine warmth was draped across his chest, and Claire’s face rested right over his heart.

How had she gotten there? From her boneless, well settled condition he figured she’d been there a while. Why hadn’t he woken up? No one had gotten the drop on him during sleep since his first year in the army when Nitro played a typical nighttime prank on a fellow recruit. It had only taken one time, and Hotwire had learned to sleep with a subconscious awareness of what was going on around him. So, how had he slept through Claire not only invading his personal space, but draping herself over him like a soft, warm, and very pleasant blanket?

One of his arms was wrapped around her back and his other hand rested on the silky smoothness of her thigh. His morning boner tightened to the point of pain. This was bad.

Carefully, with no intention of waking her, he began to extricate himself from her embrace before his libido convinced him to do something that would embarrass them both. However, the second he started to slide out from under her warmth, she woke up, jolting upward with a jerk and bringing her knee into painful contact with his balls.

“Aaagh, Claire!”

“Hotwire?” She stared at him like she’d never seen a man before. “What are you doing under me?”

“Getting my nads decimated,” he ground out.

Her brown eyes widened and she gasped. Then the offending knee moved back.

When she went to sit up all the way, she ended up straddling his thigh and wincing with pain as she grabbed her head. “Oh, gosh…that hurts.”

He couldn’t stand the pain in her eyes. “Lie back down.”

She shook her head and then cried out. “Oh, that was stupid.”

“Claire.”

“I can’t lie back down. I’m on top of you.”

“Apparently you slept there.”

“I did?” she asked, sounding supremely shocked. “That’s not possible.”

“I promise you, it is.”

“But I’ve never slept on top of someone before.” Her eyes looked wild. “It must have been the painkillers. I’m not used to taking drugs of any kind.” She bit her lip. “I have to get off you, but if I move again, it’s going to hurt.”

He reached out and holding her by the waist, lifted her off of him. Then, changing his hold on her, one hand on her waist and the other cradling her head, he lowered her to her back. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied primly and then bit her lip, her face contorting again.

“What is it?”

“I have to go to the bathroom. Badly.”

He didn’t say anything, just picked her up and carried her to the en suite. His stealth movement training came in handy, allowing him to move quickly without jostling her. The way she held her thighs tightly together said it all.

He stood her beside the commode. “Can you handle it from here?”

She blushed, a fiery red. “Yes.”

He left the door open, but absented himself so she would have a measure of privacy. His head was still reeling from the fact she’d managed to ensconce herself on top of him during the night without him noticing.

She came out of the bathroom wearing the hotel robe over her little top and cotton panties, moving about an inch at a time. He swiftly crossed the room and picked her up to carry her back to the bed.

“You’re really strong.” She didn’t say it like a come-on and he didn’t take it as such.

“Comes with the territory.”

Her small hand rested against his chest, sending totally inappropriate messages to his libido despite his brain’s warning that that wasn’t a come-on, either. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“My pleasure.” And as depraved as it made him feel to acknowledge it, because she was weak and wounded, he had to admit it really was pure pleasure to be carrying Claire like this.

When they reached the bed, she clung to his neck instead of letting him lower her to the mattress. “I don’t want to lie down again.”

“You need your rest.”

“I’ve been in bed forever.”

“Only about thirty hours, actually.”

“That is forever. No one should have to stay in bed that long.”

He just smiled, enjoying her crankiness.

She pouted, her lower lip protruding in an expression both endearing and sexy. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll have to fix that, then.” He settled her on the suite’s sofa in the main room. “We can order lunch from room service.”

She leaned against the sofa arm, looking pale but determined to remain upright. “Okay.”

He grabbed the menu and skimmed it for something vegetarian for her. “Any preferences?”

“I’m not a picky eater.”

“Except the no-meat thing,” he said with a teasing smile.

“That’s not being picky.”

“What is it, then?”

“Self-protection.”

Considering what she’d told him about why she chose not to eat meat, he had to agree.

He called down an order for them both before sitting in the armchair near Claire. “Why don’t we go over what happened Sunday morning?”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief when the room-service waiter knocked on the suite’s door. She was impressed with Hotwire’s interrogation style, but it was exhausting. She’d thought the police officer was thorough, but she and Hotwire had only been talking about thirty minutes and she felt like he already knew more about what had happened than she did.

He rolled the food trolley over to her, having dismissed the waiter at the door. He hadn’t bothered to dress, though he had pulled a pair of jeans on before room service arrived. The top snap was undone, though. He had an incredible body, all sculpted muscle and golden skin.

It was all she could do not to fan herself with her hand.

Luckily, the food grabbed the attention of her senses and she sniffed the air appreciatively. “It smells delicious.”

“The food here is pretty good.”

Her tummy rumbled. “I don’t know if it would matter.”

“You haven’t eaten much in the last thirty hours.”

Some of that time was hazy in her memory, as she had slipped in and out of restorative sleep. “You kept feeding me dry toast.”

“I didn’t want you getting nauseous and puking. The last thing your poor head needed was for your body to start heaving.”

“Well, it worked.” She smiled and pulled the silver warming lid off her plate.

He’d ordered her a tofu and vegetable stir-fry over rice. She could smell the Chinese spices and soy sauce and it made her mouth water.

She looked up when he said, “Excuse me for a minute.”

She nodded and he disappeared into the bedroom. He returned shortly, wearing a t-shirt that hugged the rugged contours of his chest, and the snap on his jeans had been closed. He’d even pulled on socks and shoes.

“You got cold?” she asked, disappointed at the loss of such a fine view.

“My mama would string me up by my toes if I came to the table half-dressed to eat with a lady.”

“Your mother sounds like she ruled with an iron fist.”

“Wrapped in the velvet glove of southern gentility.”

“You love her.” It was in the tone of his voice every time he mentioned the other woman, that and a deep, abiding respect.

“Doesn’t everybody love their mother?”

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure love described the feelings she’d had for Norene when she died.

Pity, anger, confusion, despair…they’d all been there, but love? Claire couldn’t remember feeling much liking for her mom, not since her dad’s death and the subsequent reversal of roles between her and her surviving parent. Norene had done too much to make Claire’s life miserable for her to feel the kind of abiding affection Hotwire obviously had for his mom.

He lowered his tall frame into the armchair again, and then uncovered his plate. With shock, she realized he’d ordered an identical meal to hers for himself.

At her inquiring look, he smiled. “It occurred to me that watching other people eat meat couldn’t be pleasant for you, considering your imagination’s tendency to wander in less than appetizing paths.”

“I didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable for you to eat what you prefer.”

“Right now, I prefer a vegetable stir-fry.”

“You’re a very nice man, Hotwire.” But she couldn’t let him think she needed that kind of consideration. “But don’t worry about me. I mean it. What you eat is not a problem for me.”

He frowned at her. “You’re not used to people showing you consideration, are you?”

He made it sound like she was deprived. “Josette’s very considerate. So are Les and Queenie.”

She had people in her life. Maybe not many, but some.

He just shook his head. The interrogation continued over lunch until Hotwire was finally content that he knew everything. Then, they finished their meal in silence, the expression on his face thoughtful. When they were done, he rolled the trolley out into the hall.

She curled up in the corner of the couch, tucking her feet under her. “Any amazing insights?” she asked as he rejoined her.

He frowned, his blue eyes dark with unnamable emotion. “Nothing amazing at all. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty stumped.”

“You said you thought one of the terrorists might decide to get even with Josette.”

“Yes. We tried to keep her name out of the official investigation, but under the circumstances, it wasn’t easy.”

“We?”

“Me and my friends in the FBI.”

“Oh. It must be nice to have such well-connected contacts.”

“It can be.”

“So, whoever saw her there must have told others. Somebody came after her, then mistook me for her because I’m the only woman currently living in her house.” She sighed. “That’s the only thing that makes sense because there would be no reason for anyone to want to kill me.”

“We don’t know your assailant was trying to kill you.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. He had a pillow over my face. He was smothering me. What would you call it?”

“He may have only intended to knock you out, or maybe disorient you…”

“To what purpose?”

Hotwire’s mouth flattened grimly. “He might have wanted to rape you, or kidnap you, or tie you up so he could burglarize your home without the threat of you calling the cops.”

“But the alarm was going off.”

“Okay, so the burglary scenario doesn’t fit, but either of the other two still does.”

“You really think a rapist would stick around to do the deed while a house alarm was going off?”

“Criminals ignore alarms all the time, because in many cases, so does everyone else. Most alarms are not set up to alert local law enforcement and even those that are set up that way are limited by the response time of the local police.”

“Josette’s house alarm is designed to dial 911 with an automated message.” She’d never forget the stress or embarrassment of having to explain to the officers who answered the call how she had forgotten to code her entry into the alarm and hadn’t noticed it was going off for several minutes.

“Yes.”

“But the officer at the emergency room told me my neighbor called it in.”

“He told me the same thing. I looked into that while you were sleeping. Apparently, the automated call went unanswered because of simple human error. The 911 operator put the call on hold and then disconnected it by accident.”

“That’s convenient for the bozo who broke in and tried to smother me.”

“Just as there is no such thing as a totally fail-safe security system, there is no such thing as a perfect person.”

She sighed. “I know, but it’s not exactly reassuring to think that but for the can of mace you insisted I keep in my bedroom, I could be dead.”

“If the assailant had been a professional, that wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“What do you mean?”

“What color were your assailant’s eyes?”

“It was dark, but I think they were a light color, like gray or pale blue.”

“Right. A professional would have worn night goggles, which would have, one, given him better vision; two, protected his identity; and three, prevented the mace from blinding him.”

“So, you think whoever broke in isn’t used to doing things like that?”

“I’d say so, yes.”

“Just because he forgot his goggles?”

“There’s more.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, he broke into the house like an amateur.”

“What does that mean?”

“He broke a window instead of picking the lock.”

“What window? Wouldn’t I have heard something?”

“Probably not. He broke the window on the door from the garage to the backyard. It was a simple matter of reaching in and unlocking the dead bolt with the key dangling from the nail beside the door.”

She felt herself blushing. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

“And you didn’t really believe you were in danger.”

“Well, no, I didn’t. I’ve been attacked and almost smothered to death, and I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around that little bit of reality.”

“There was no sign of forced entry to the door from the garage to the kitchen.”

She bit her lip, feeling foolish. “Josette and I never locked that door.”

“If I’d known that, I would have insisted on replacing the door to the outside with a solid steel one. I wanted to anyway, but Wolf and I ran out of time.”

“I’m sorry. I feel so stupid. I might as well have put a sign in my window inviting him in.”

Hotwire shook his head. “Don’t apologize. A determined criminal will find a way in. You did not invite anything. Do you hear me?”

She swallowed at the vehemence in his voice. “Yes, I hear you. I’m not the bad guy, just an idiotic house renter.”

“You are in no way an idiot. Your only crime, if it is one, is that you were too trusting in the safety of your surroundings.”

No doubt. She’d learned early in life to assess her level of personal safety. Josette’s house had always been at the top of the charts, so incredibly different from the places she’d lived in after her dad died. “I’m also not hot on revenge, so I find it difficult to imagine anyone wanting vengeance against Josette enough to try to kill me thinking I was her.”

“We can’t be sure the assailant was after Josie.”

“But it’s the only thing that makes sense,” she reiterated.

“Nevertheless, when investigating a crime, it’s good to remember that just because a chicken has wings, doesn’t mean it can fly.”

“In other not-so-colorful words, appearances can be deceptive.”

“Yes.”

“Um…Hotwire, you’re a former mercenary, turned security specialist. How do you know so much about investigating a crime?”