Rock Bottom (27 page)

Chapter Sixty

~Present~

“Is there anything else you need to know?”

I watch as a woman in pale blue gloves slips Damien’s hand beneath the sheet covering his body and begins wheeling him toward a van marked ‘Coroner’.

“I think . . .” Detective Tanner flicks his eyes to detective Fawn and back again, “that’s all we need for now.”

“Okay.” I scratch at the coarse material of the sling looped around my neck. “Am I under arrest?”

I’m not scared, merely curious. I
did
kill a man, after all.

“No, Rylie.” Tanner shakes his head. “You’re not under arrest.”

“Oh.”
What happens now?
I really don’t know. “Can I go to the hospital?”

“There’s a paramedic on scene if you’ve rethought accepting those pain meds. I can—”

“No.” Fawn misunderstands. I don’t need medication for the pain. I feel so numb the throbbing in my shoulder barely even registers. “I want to be with Elijah.”

“Oh.” She’s looking at me differently now. Almost embarrassed. As though she’s seeing me as a person—with a life, and hopes and dreams—for the first time. Tanner, too. I almost don’t recognize them without their better-than-you smirks. “Of course. We can give you a lift as soon as we finish up here.”

***

My thoughts hop, skip, and jump from one to the next with no real connection. There’s a moment when it occurs to me that I’m probably in shock, but it’s gone the next. I find myself sitting in a small waiting room with sketchy memories at best as to how I got here.

Scenery blurring by outside the car. Tanner standing at a desk, arguing with a nurse. The stark contrast of Fawn’s polished black boots against the bright white tiles in the elevator. A sign labeled ‘Operating Room’ in bold black lettering felt ominous.

Quiet settles over me like a thick blanket, comforting and somewhat suffocating. I’m alone. I don’t know where the detectives went or when they left or if they’ll be coming back. I don’t even know where
I
am. Where
Elijah
is.

My thoughts, like those leaves outside of Damien’s window, slowly settle into place and I realize I’m sitting here with no clue what’s going on. At the end of the hall stands a large L-shaped counter. I wander in that direction and wait for a man in green scrubs to acknowledge my presence.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Elijah Prince.”

His eyes narrow on me. “Are you family?”

When my grandma was in the hospital, they would only let family in to see her. I need to see Elijah, so I cast around for a response that will gain me access and the first thing my muddled brain comes up with is, “I’m his fiancée.”

“Fiancée?” His doubtful gaze drops to my ringless left hand, but I refuse to back down. I must look a mess because he takes pity on me without further comment. “Alright, then.”

Rooting through several files on the desk, he pulls out a clipboard and scans the pages attached. “Mr. Prince has come through surgery. They were able to remove the bullet. No permanent damage. It looks like he’ll make a full recovery.” The nurse has a kind smile. For some reason, it makes me want to cry. “He’s recovering in post-op now, but if you’ll go find a seat in the waiting area, I’ll come and get you myself when he’s moved to a private room.”

I thank him—or at least I mean to—and shuffle back down the hall.

Elijah’s okay. No permanent damage. Full recovery.
It’s everything I hoped to hear and yet I can’t bring myself to believe it until I see him for myself.

Measuring time is almost impossible. Minutes? Hours? I’m not sure how much has passed, but the sun is coming up through the tinted windows when the nurse steps into the room and ushers me down a long door-lined corridor. He pauses outside the last door on the right and pushes it open.

I think he’s telling me something as I brush past, but my thoughts are too consumed by the sight in front of me to hear a word of it.
Elijah
. Sound asleep, lying in a narrow bed surrounded by railings and machinery.

A white plastic bag with a drawstring and the hospital logo printed on the front is dropped into my hands. I look to the nurse for an explanation and his brows go up. “His belongings?”

I suppose I should have already known that. “Thanks.”

He leaves without another word and I inch closer to the bed. The sun hasn’t reached this side of the building yet, so he’s cast almost entirely in shadows. It doesn’t diminish his beauty though. Dark locks frame his angular face. Sooty lashes fan across his high cheekbones. Toned muscles stretch the pale skin of his stomach.

It doesn’t diminish the sight of his injuries, either. Butterfly bandages hold a long gash on his temple together and thick white bandages are wrapped around his shoulder and across his chest. I assume he’s shirtless to allow easier access to them, but there’s a chill in the room. Closing the remaining space between us, I tug the thin white blankets up to his neck.

“Elijah?” My fingers trail up his chin and across his full lips, eventually finding their way into his hair. “I’m here. I’m right here. And you were right. Everything’s going to be alright now. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Chapter Sixty-one

My back aches, my head throbs, my shoulder is burning. For a hospital, they don’t go out of their way to make you feel very good. The chair I’ve been sitting in at Elijah’s bedside for several hours has to be the most uncomfortable thing in creation. I’m beginning to think it’s part of the design idea. Make the seats uncomfortable and guests won’t linger. Diabolically brilliant.

Standing, I stretch my sore muscles and make another circuit around the room. The bag of Elijah’s belongings is sitting on the window sill and I root through it simply to give myself something to do. Jeans, leather jacket, wallet, keys, cellphone.
Cellphone.

I pull it out and power it up, wondering if there’s someone I should call. That’s what you do in situations like these, isn’t it? Call people? But who does Elijah have?

No family.

I’m already here.

Scrolling through the short list of contacts, I come to a name and hit send.

“Hey, man. Where the hell have you been?” is Declan’s greeting.

“Um . . . it’s Rylie.” I chew my lip, wondering if I’ve done the right thing calling him. He’s close to Elijah—probably the closest thing he has to family—and I’d want him to do the same for me if the situation were reversed.

“Oh. Hey. What’s up?”

I take a deep breath and dive in. “Elijah’s in the hospital. I’m here with him. He . . . got shot.” There’s really no easy way to say it, so I just spit it out and then rush to ease the shock. “But the nurse says he’s going to be fine. No lasting damage.”

Declan blows out a long breath and I give him a minute to recover.

“Okay.” His voice sounds thicker than before. “I assume there’s more to this story that you’re going to share at a later date. Does he need anything?”

“Well, he’s unconscious so . . .” I wrack my brain for anything that might make him more comfortable.

“What about clothes? For when he wakes up?”

When,
he said
when
he wakes up, not
if
. The jeans in his bag are stained and his shirt is MIA, I assume unsalvageable with there being a bullet hole in it and all.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’ll need those.”
When
he wakes up.

“Okay. I’ll pack a few things.” A long pause and I wonder if he’s hung up, but I’m too exhausted to move the phone to check. “What about you?”

“What?”

“What do
you
need?”

“Me?” His words do not compute. I’m not the one lying in a hospital bed.
What do I need? I need Elijah to wake up.

“Yeah, Ry. You need some fresh clothes? I don’t know . . . a brush? Other girlie shit?”

A brush?
I run my fingers through my hair and they catch on some nasty snarls. “Oh . . . yeah.” Dried blood is still crusted to the knees of my pants and sleeves of my shirt. “Sure.”

“Alright. Give me a half hour. I’ll be right there.”

I nod at the phone, uncaring of the fact that he can’t see me and hang up.

***

“I’m the brother.”

Declan pushes his way into the room with bags dangling from his arm.

“Huh?” I stand, more startled by his sudden appearance than for any other reason.

“If the nurses ask, I’m Elijah’s brother.”

“Oh.” The ‘family only’ thing. Too bad the law doesn’t take into account that there are all different types of families. “I’m his fiancée.”

Declan pauses and looks my way. His gaze catches on the sling around my neck before moving on. A smile eliminates the hard edges in his face and he shakes his head on a quiet laugh.  “Well, I’m sure Eli will be thrilled to hear that when he wakes up.”

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic and decide not to ask. “What’s in the bags?”

“These are for him.” He hands me a plastic shopping bag and I root through clothes, a toothbrush and a razor before tucking it away under his bed.

“And these are for you.” He looks almost embarrassed as he passes me two more bags. “I wasn’t sure what you’d need, so I just grabbed a few things . . .”

Inside the first bag is what I can only assume is more of Elijah’s clothing. A navy blue sweatshirt, gray and white tees, sweatpants, and a pair of black track pants with an elastic waist. The second bag sports the name of a chain pharmacy. It holds a hair brush, another toothbrush still in the plastic packaging, a few hair ties, shampoo, and a mini makeup kit.

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be here. If there’s anything else you need—”

“Thank you.” I look up at him and have to crush the urge to cry. If I cry one more time I think my eyes might bleed they’re so raw. “You didn’t . . . you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Eh.” He shrugs and grabs a chair from near the window to slide up next to mine. “Five minutes in a store, no big deal. But I did get a few weird looks from the cashier. She might think I’m a transvestite. Too bad, really, she was cute.”

For a moment, I don’t recognize the sound of my own laughter. Declan smiles to himself and somehow manages to make the hard chair he’s sitting in look comfortable.

***

The bag Declan packed for himself contained more than just the necessities . . . like a pack of playing cards. He’s in the middle of crushing me at five card draw—and I swear he’s cheating because playing one handed is harder than it sounds—when the door opens and Detective Fawn marches in.

My pair of twos hit the floor and I forget how to breathe. All I can think is: this is it. Enough time has passed for them to put the pieces together. The strangest part? I’m not even surprised. I confessed immediately, told the whole truth about everything I did, and they told me I wasn’t going to be arrested. But I guess part of me always knew that had to be a mistake.

One that she’s here to correct.

Chapter Sixty-two

“Who are you?” Declan gets to his feet and it’s hard to miss the way he positions himself between me and the detective. In Elijah’s absence, it seems I’ve acquired a new knight in shining armor.

“I’m Detec . . .  I’m Madeline Fawn, one of the detectives working with Rylie.” The way she says it makes us sound like colleagues.

“What are you doing here?” His defensive tone makes me believe Declan’s having the same thoughts I am. I told him everything, too. In the hours spent sitting around doing nothing, I filled him in on the details that led us all here. His only response was full-bodied, bent over, can’t catch my breath laughter. I’m still trying to figure that one out.

“I came to . . .” Her gaze travels over Declan’s shoulder and collides with mine.

To slap cuffs on me. Haul me off. Lock me up and throw away the key.

“To apologize.”

What?
I blink at her in stunned silence, still not convinced my ears aren’t playing tricks on me.

“Can we talk? Privately.”

“Um . . .” I glance at Declan, but all he has for me is a completely useless shrug
. Some knight
. “Sure.”

***

“I spoke with Elijah’s doctors. They said he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“Mm-hmm.” We’ve wandered down four-and-a-half hallways so far and I’m still wondering what it is we’re doing.

“That’s good news. He’s a lucky man.”

I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is a word I’d use to describe Elijah, but he’s definitely got something going for him. “I guess. Detective, why are—?”

“How’s the arm?”

“Better.” Not having full use of my dominant hand is more annoying than anything else. “Elijah’s doctor told me to wear the sling for a couple of weeks and said something about therapy.” Remembering not to shrug is also a pain in the ass.

She nods and I notice how she doesn’t remark on my ‘luck’.

“Are you here to arrest me?” I hadn’t meant to just spit it out like that in the middle of a crowded hallway, but all of this cloak-and-dagger bullshit is getting under my skin. The paranoid part of my brain keeps insisting she’s taking me somewhere less likely to cause a scene before breaking the news.

Fawn stops, causing a disruption in the flow of traffic that she doesn’t seem to notice. “No, Rylie. Of course not. We’ve already explained that your actions were justified. No one’s going to arrest you. I came here to tell you that John, Detective Tanner, has spoken with your family several times.”

Being eighteen, he wasn’t required to inform my parents of the events surrounding the case, but I vaguely remember him making an offer to do so that night at the warehouse—
was that only two nights ago?
At the time, it sounded like a good idea, not having to tell them myself. Now I’m rethinking the soundness of that plan, though. I didn’t have to tell them everything. I could have lied, sugarcoated, stalled . . . for a decade or two. But it’s too late.

“We’ve been running . . . interference.” She reconsiders her word choice. “
Stalling
. I got the impression that maybe seeing them right away wouldn’t be a good thing. That . . . maybe you needed time to recover first. Time for Elijah to recover. But your father refuses to be delayed any longer. They’re driving in tomorrow.”
Tomorrow!
I knew they’d come eventually. Sooner rather than later. In my occasional moments of clarity, I’ve been surprised they aren’t already here. Now I guess I know who I can thank for that. But my reprieve is up.

A small alcove leads to a door labeled, ‘Employees Only’ with an impressive key pad on the handle. Fawn steps inside and I follow.

“Listen, Rylie.” Her mouth puckers like she’s tasted something sour. “Elijah accused Detective Tanner and myself of using you. More than once.”

“I—”

She cuts me off. “Maybe he was right. We were so focused on those girls and Damien that we honestly didn’t see
you
. Not as anything more than a means to an end. It was an honorable end, but that doesn’t justify what happened to you in the process.”

“I volunteered—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your arm’s in a sling. I’m sorry that you were forced to kill someone. I’m sorry that your boyfriend is lying in a hospital bed.”

She left out some of the more difficult stuff, but I’ll take what I can get. Honestly it’s more than I ever expected. “Thank you.”

A stiff nod and the matter is closed.

“They picked up Rafe Bellor last night. I figured you had the right to know before anyone else. His name’s been added to the defendant list for the pending trial along with Abdir Hariri. Brian Taurig didn’t make it through surgery.” Her fingers twitch at her side before curling into a tight fist. “We’re still searching for whoever tipped off Damien, but I promise you, if he had a cop in his pocket, we’ll find out who it was.”

“What about Boz?” I have a lot of fuzzy memories surrounding that man and even more questions.

“
Officer Boskerelli
has been working undercover for the past three years, trying to bust Damien Cross.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Indignation colors my voice.

“We can’t just go around giving out the identities of undercover agents, Rylie.”

“But then, why . . . If you already had someone inside, why did you need me?”

“Three years and he was never able to get as close as you did. Cross was a very private man, bordering on paranoia. He played everything extremely close to the vest. We needed . . . Well . . .” Fawn embarrassed, now I really have seen it all. “What we needed was someone he wouldn’t suspect. Someone who could get
inside
that vest.” She draws a deep breath and huffs. ”There’s something I want to show you. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I’m anxious to get back to Elijah.

“We’re not leaving the hospital, don’t worry.”

The clap of her shoes against the tile takes me back to Damien’s penthouse. To sitting in my room, listening to Rosita move about the apartment. I idly wonder what happened to her—if she’s been deported—but I can’t find it in me to care enough to ask. Someday I might.

Fawn comes to a stop outside of a door just like every other door in the entire building and I drag myself back to the present. “Whose room is—?”

“Just look.”

I peek through the small rectangular window in the door. An older woman sits in the corner, holding two wiggly children on her lap. Near the bed, a couple hovers over the patient. There are tear stains on the woman’s face, but smiles all around. The little boy scrambles free and barges between his parents to climb up onto the bed. Laughter filters through the thick wood as the crowd parts and I find myself staring at a familiar face.

“That’s . . .”

“Tori Jackson. The girl you saved.”

She looks different than she did back at the warehouse. Strawberry blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. A spark in her eye gives them life, dulled only by the ghosts there—ghosts I wonder if only someone who’s been through something similar can see. Ghosts she’ll probably carry with her for a lifetime. But her smile . . . her smile lights up the whole room. It lights up everyone around her. There’s so much love and happiness in that room. I have to believe she’ll be alright.

“Her family got in this morning. Had to travel all the way from Washington.” Fawn quiets while I get my fill of the scene before turning away. We continue along the hallway with no particular destination in mind. “She’s been missing for five months. I got to make the call to tell them we found her. That she’s going to be okay.” Her words choke off and I turn to see tears in the woman’s eyes. “All because of you. All of that back there . . . that’s because of you. What
you
did. And she’s not the only one. Dozens of girls have already been reunited with their families. Scenes like that one are playing out in states all over the country, a few in Mexico, because of you. I just thought you should know that.”

I don’t even realize tears are running down my cheeks until Fawn passes me a tissue.

“Look at us, a couple of weepy girls. Pathetic.” She huffs a laugh. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear Elijah’s going to be alright. Please let him know that we’ll need to speak with him when he’s feeling up to it.”

And we’re back to business. “Of course.”

“I’ll be in touch.” Her boots squeal on the floor as she spins toward the exit. “And Rylie?”

“Huh?”

“Good luck tomorrow.”

Luck
. . . I’m going to need it.

***

By the third straight day with no sign of improvement, the wait for Elijah to regain consciousness has gone from taxing to nerve-wracking. The doctors refuse to admit it, but their growing concern becomes obvious as talk of more testing begins to circulate.

“You should eat something.” Declan’s been hanging around Elijah’s room with me for two straight days and we’re both starting to go a little stir-crazy. He hovers near the window, watching the parking lot as though it’s the most thrilling sight in the world. There’s a TV in the room, but daytime drama isn’t really either of our thing. I’ve had enough of that in my life already.

“I’m not really hungry.” I haven’t been hungry in days, unable to overcome the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah, well, if Elijah wakes up to find a half starved
fiancée
sitting next to his bed, he’ll kick my ass. So what do you like? I’ll run out and grab something.”

I doubt I’ll be able to eat anything he brings me, but I understand his need to get out and move. To feel useful. To do . . .
something. So
I give him the excuse he needs. “How about a burger?”

“Mmm. And fries. Sounds good.” He digs the keys out of his pocket and practically lunges for the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

I don’t have to tell him where I’ll be. Where I always am, minus the few quick showers I’ve grabbed in Elijah’s bathroom. The hospital room is nice. Clean, quiet, private.
Expensive
. Added to the list of things I can’t stop worrying about is how in the hell he’s going to be able to pay the bills once he recovers.

A nurse bustles in—a heavy set woman I’ve seen a few times during our stay—and checks Elijah’s vitals, something I swear they do a million times a day. “How’s our patient today?”

Our
patient. As though I have anything to contribute to his recovery. “The same.”

For days, they’ve been promising me that Elijah will wake up. They just can’t give me any idea of when
that might be. ‘When he’s ready’ and ‘In his own time’ are just a few of the standard lines I’d been fed before I gave up asking.

He’s certainly taking his sweet-ass time. And driving me to the brink.

After the nurse clears out, I move to sit on the edge of Elijah’s mattress and run my fingers through his hair. It’s getting long. He’ll need a trim when we get out of here. “Listen to me, Prince. You’ve had more than enough beauty rest. It’s time to get your lazy ass up.”

I scowl at him and try my best to firm my voice. If he can hear me, I want him to know I’m not screwing around anymore. “If you don’t wake up right now, I might lose my ever-loving mind. And I know Declan will. You’re driving us both insane. Enough with the theatrics.
Wake up
.”

I want to shake him, but I’m afraid of aggravating his injuries.

“It’s just your shoulder, for chrissakes. It’s not like you got shot in the head.” I fist my hair and tug at the roots, fighting the urge to rip it all out. “Stop being such a drama-queen and—”

“Who’s a drama-queen?”

My head shoots up to find a pair of hazy silver pools peering back at me.