Chapter 34

 

 

SOMETHING ANNOYING beeped by my ear. Lots of talking and chattering somewhere nearby. My nose twitched. The smell of disinfectant was strong and unpleasant. God. Heaven sucked already. I wondered if Saint Peter had the complaint forms or what.

I opened one bleary eye and surveyed the room to piece things together. The last thing I remembered was snapping “I’m fine” at a paramedic before I passed out in the ambulance. My injury wasn’t that bad, but blood loss was a motherfucker. I sighed. Danny would never let me hear the end of that.

When my roving eye landed on Ethan, I groaned and shut it again. “Aw, man. I knew it. I fucked it up, didn’t I? I’m dead.”

“No,” Ethan said cheerfully. “I guess this is one of those good news/bad news situations. You’re not dead, but you still see ghosts.”

My eyes fluttered open again as I took in my surroundings. Well, I was alive. Even though every muscle in my body ached, things could be worse. My gaze softened as they landed on Danny, who sat beside me in an uncomfortable-looking chair, arms folded on the edge of my bed, face buried in his arms. Things could definitely be worse.

Ethan brushed chilly fingers across my forehead, and I shivered and sent him a quick glare. “What are you still doing here? Didn’t I flush my career down the toilet to get you some peace?”

“Thought I’d see if you and Mr. Muscles would put on another show. Something freaky in the hospital this time.”

“Go toward the light, Eth,” I growled.

“For the last time, there is no light,” he grumbled. And then, “Oh. Oh. Wow. Would you look at that? I guess there is a….”

When I looked over, he was gone. I smiled and ran a hand through Danny’s head of silky, dark hair. His skull was warm, solid, and reassuring under my fingertips. He woke with a start and stared groggily at me. We didn’t speak, and for a moment, I was afraid I couldn’t speak. There were just too many things I wanted to say. But there was only one thing I needed to say.

“You’re a shit negotiator,” I finally croaked.

He cracked up laughing and rubbed blearily at his eyes. “Since you’re injured, I’m going to let that slide. How do you feel, baby?”

“Like I’ve been shot.”

“Well, you were.”

“In the face.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Well, I should probably give you the heads-up, then. Your sister is coming back this afternoon, and she has a few things to say to you.”

“I bet.” I’d also bet most of those things had four letters and were in reference to me playing cowboy all by my lonesome. “What time is it?”

“Barely noon.” Those big blue eyes were soft as he gazed at me. “You should rest.”

I could say the same to him. His hair was rumpled, and his eyes were tired. His five-o’clock shadow had a five-o’clock shadow, and the overall effect was disreputable. Sexy. Rakish. Pirate-esque.

After a moment I became aware that we were surveying one another quite frankly. He didn’t look angry, which was a bit of a relief. I didn’t look forward to explaining my hare-iest of hare-brained ideas.

“So you’re not mad about me seeing Margaret without telling you?”

“No.” His smile was more of a grimace. “Maybe if I’d been more supportive in the first place, you wouldn’t have felt the need to go there by yourself.”

We both knew that was a fairly generous statement, given the circumstances. My impetuosity was the kind of behavior that got you a bullet in the brain. Or the arm.

“Still I should’ve called,” I insisted guiltily. “Before I went.”

“Yeah, well.” Danny looked down at his hands, but I caught his expression before he did. His eyes were dark with unspoken emotion. “I could’ve done without the message ending with you being taken hostage by a homicidal maniac.”

I hated the strange awkwardness between us. Hated the unspoken words that hovered over us. I didn’t want to talk about the case. From the looks of Danny biting his lip, neither did he.

I was far too tired to hedge. “Just say it,” I finally said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you look like you want to say.”

I braced myself. I could handle whatever Danny had decided while he watched me drool in my sleep. Or maybe when I woke up and immediately bitched about being winged by a bullet. That I was too impulsive. Too reckless. Too much trouble—

“Were you just coming to interview Margaret?”

That wasn’t anywhere near what I thought he was going to say. I blinked. “What?”

“Were you just coming there for that or were you planning to stay?”

I looked at him for a moment, and a smile crept onto my face. I love you. I’m not going anywhere. Just being around you makes me happy. In the end I settled for a husky “Stay.”

He stared at me hard for a moment, and then his mouth relaxed into a rueful little smile. “I had plans, you know.”

“Yeah? What kind?” I beckoned him forward with my hand, and he shook his head.

“I’m not coming over there.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re going to… do things, and you’re still recovering.”

God, he was cute when he blushed. I beckoned again. “I was shot, Irish. I don’t have Ebola. Get over here.”

He sighed, presumably at my flippancy, and eased forward to put his face just barely in my reach. Good enough. I stretched for him and growled when the IV pulled at my left arm. “Closer.”

He rolled his eyes and obliged, shifting even closer. I was finally able to card my fingers through his dark hair, and I sighed with pleasure. “Now. Tell me about your little plan.”

“I was going to meet you at the airport.”

“Mmhmm.”

“There might’ve been flowers involved.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I kissed him, gently at first, and then got greedy and turned it into something more. Something that involved heat, open mouths, and a small needy sound escaping from my throat. When I pulled back, I whispered, “This is better.”

He left his hand on the side of my neck and stroked the soft skin there with his thumb. It was nice. It was more than nice. It was everything.

My eyes began to feel heavy as they drooped. Every time they drooped too far, I popped them open and began the process again. Yeah, I’ll admit—I was that kid who always needed one more thing before bed. Danny shook his head with quiet amusement and finally stood and kissed each eyelid closed.

“Sleep,” he said, and his voice seemed to come from far, far away. “I’ll be right here.”

I’m gonna hold you to that, I wanted to say, but sleep bullied me again, and I succumbed.

 

 

WHOEVER THOUGHT of putting a Starbucks on the ground floor of the hospital was a fucking genius. When Danny strolled in the next day after work, a grande latte for himself in hand, I sent his ass right back downstairs to get me one.

“Could you lie down?” My sister grumbled. “Please?”

I readjusted my pancake-flat pillow with an exaggerated sigh and lay back again. “I didn’t get shot in my legs,” I grumbled.

“There’s still time,” she promised grimly.

“Well, forgive me for being a little testy. I was injured after all. Protecting and serving.”

“Oh, are we pretending this is a recent development? You’ve been testy since you descended from the birth canal.”

I ignored that and squirmed around a little to get comfortable. “Can you help me with my pillow? It’s just so flat. And can you get me some more ice?”

She growled and snatched my pillow. My head thunked on the thin mattress, and I glared as she fluffed it to her satisfaction. Actually it looked like she was strangling it. She wordlessly lifted my head and stuffed the pillow behind me. I watched her stalk off with my water container. Wow. I’d sent even my gentle, soft-spoken sister into shrew mode. Not to mention the two nurses who refused to come back to my room.

Sky muttered something about me being the worst patient ever, and it was hard to disagree with that assessment. I didn’t like being waited on, and I hated being still. And why did everyone keep telling me to rest? Had anyone ever really tried to rest in a hospital?

There’d been six people in my room before seven o’clock in the morning—starting with a friendly woman who turned on the brightest, retina-scorching light she could find, stabbing me three times, accused me of having rolling veins as though I engineered them that way, and finally drew many tubes of my blood.

Act I was followed by Act II—a dour night nurse briefed the equally dour day nurse. The day nurse introduced herself, snatched open my curtains, and spent ten minutes searching my room for a dry-erase marker to write on my patient board. Her oh-so-important contribution to the board? Her phone number and a smiley face.

I came up with a suggestion about where she could keep that marker so she’d always be able to find it—a suggestion that I thought would finally get me bounced from the hospital. It did not. Act III involved a whistling janitor who clearly thought mopping my floor with the strongest-smelling bleach known to man was conducive to getting a good night’s rest.

I was as close to snapping as I’d ever been. I had no chance to wheedle with Sky, but Danny… well, let’s just say, as soon as my sister took off, I would convince him to get me the hell out of there. By any means necessary. And no, I wasn’t above promising future blowjobs.

The more I sat around and stewed in my own juices, the harder it would be to get moving. I scooted to the edge of the bed and tried to gauge how much movement I could stand. If I could get to my feet, I was all but out of there. I gingerly placed both socked feet on the floor and stood shakily. Not bad. Now pants.

As I pawed through the plastic bag with my belongings, I heard the low murmur of voices in the hall and strained to hear.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since His Majesty opened his irritable little eyes this morning,” Skylar snapped. “Your shift.”

I could hear the amusement in Danny’s voice. “He’s going a little stir-crazy. You gotta give him a break. It’s been two days.”

“He was shot.”

“I know that. I’m just saying.”

A curse came from around the curtain, and Skylar sighed. “I’m going to give you guys some time. Tell little Damien I’ll be back tomorrow.”

His warm, hearty chuckle made me scowl. Also a fair assessment. “I’ll let him know,” he said diplomatically.

When he came in, I was trying my level best to stagger into some jeans, a scant two feet from the bed, still tethered by medical equipment. Startled by the swish of the curtain, I looked up and sent him a mutinous look. It didn’t help that he looked particularly healthy and delicious in his Army-green cargos and a clingy black tank that did nothing to disguise his muscles. He had a ball cap jammed backward over his dark hair and looked all of twenty years old.

I wanted to do him. Ride him. And make him leave the ball cap on. Too bad just the act of standing made my stomach turn. I sent him a warning look. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Then don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not staying in the hospital.”

“You’re staying in the hospital if the doctor says so,” he said mildly. “And I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Yeah? You and what army?”

He put a hand on my chest and pushed me down on the bed with hardly any effort at all. I was embarrassed and closed my eyes. “Am I still standing?”

I felt his hands on my legs as he tugged off my jeans. “No, baby.”

“Damn.” As he resettled me against the pillows, I got a hint of my fighting spirit back. “I’m just going to wait until you’re gone.”

“That would work if I were actually leaving.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Rain,” he said firmly. “I’m your partner, your emergency contact, and potentially your new boss. I can make life very difficult for you if I so choose.”

My mouth opened in protest and then snapped shut as my fuzzy mind homed in on one very important thing. “Wait, did you say new boss?”

“That’s what I was going to tell you before you got all froggy,” he said patiently. “I spoke with Tate earlier today.”

“My condolences,” I muttered.

“She was impressed with your work. She thinks you can do a lot of good in our department.”

“Since when?” I demanded. That’s not the impression I got from that harridan.

He ignored me. “I’ve been setting up a new unit with Tate. We’ve been trying to keep it under wraps while we iron out all the details, but we’re thinking about calling it Special Unit Crime. Solving cold cases using your particular… unique skill set.” His mouth quirked. “Kevin wanted to call it the Paranormal Tactical Unit, but I think that’s a little on the nose.”

I tried to process that. “Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“What does ‘under wraps’ mean to you?” He rolled his eyes. “Kev also wanted us to have T-shirts. I think he’s having trouble with the concept of under wraps too.”

“Kevin is on board with this?”

“Yeah. And so are Tab and Gonzalez. I’m pretty sure they think we’re going to be like Men in Black, despite my assurances that you don’t, in fact, see aliens.” He shrugged. “It makes them happy, so whatever.”

I didn’t know how to react. In fact I didn’t react much at all, other than to blink. I’d fought to keep it a secret for so long that it was just… strange to have it out there. And people actually wanted to work on a team with me? Using my paranormal skills? For the first time in a long while, I was speechless.

I could feel the moment Danny’s enthusiasm turned to unease. “What do you think?” he asked.

“What do I think?” I parroted back.

“If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to,” he said softly. “But this is me, showing up. Supporting you. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“I see that.” I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m just trying to figure out what to say.”

“Damn.” His cheek dimpled. “And here you were supposed to be the brains of our little unit.”

I sent him a look. “I’d hate to get back with the man I love and stab him all in the same day.”

He grew still. “So you do love me, then.”

I shrugged helplessly. “It’s always been you.”

The slow smile that spread across Danny’s face was worth a little soul-searching confession. “I love you too.”

I started to reach for him and winced. He closed the distance between us and found my mouth with amazing accuracy. He kissed me gently and bumped my nose with his. When he pulled away, he groaned. “You stole my Skittles.”

“Yes,” I admitted a little dreamily, still high on our kiss. “Gotta do better than stashing them in your jacket pocket.”

He chuckled and kissed me again. “You taste soft and sleepy and sweet.”

I could do a little better than that. “You taste like home.”

His eyes looked a little shiny for a minute there. And then he cleared his throat. He reached over beside his jacket, pulled out a heavy binder, and tossed it in my lap. “Our latest. Cold case from 1971. A little boy was kidnapped and murdered. Went missing from his bedroom.”

I opened the binder and flipped through the book. “They find his body?”

“Yeah. Found him in a chest freezer in a storage unit.”

“Any suspects?”

“Lead investigator seemed to be a little fixated on the uncle.” He shrugged. “But that could be because of his extensive record.”

I could feel the excitement building as I read, and I had to smile. No matter how much I bitched about my job, I loved to solve a fucking mystery. It was in my blood. One part white blood cells, one part plasma, one part nosy motherfucker.

My fingers practically itched to make notes on my iPad. And donuts. I’d gotten used to eating donuts while I worked. I had a feeling my ass was going to have a little something to say about that.

Danny cleared his throat. “You never really answered my question. What do you think of the squad? Are you in?”

“I think we’re going to have to rename it.” I didn’t look up from the book. “But I’m in.”

“Why?” he protested. “We worked hard on that.”

“Look at the acronym, Irish.”

He peered at the top of the file, where some intrepid soul had printed the unit name in all caps. Then he sighed and folded his arms across his chest. His muscles made his clingy tank cry for mercy. “You do realize that you’re about six years old.”

“But I’m right.”

“Yes, you’re right,” he repeated, clearly aggrieved. “Paranormal Tactical Unit it is.”

“Good.” I sent him a satisfied grin. “I know Tate is okay with us being gay and all, but even she can’t be ready for the SUC squad.”

He sighed. “Jesus, take the wheel.”

“Tell Him to drive me home while He’s at it.” I closed the book and pushed to the edge of the bed, where I unhooked several leads that connected me to medical equipment—medical equipment I was almost 60 percent sure wasn’t mandatory. A particularly shrill beep made me pause. Hey, I did say 60 percent.

“Rain.”

“Come on, Danno. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Rain.”

“Real love is an Against Medical Advice form.”

He tried to avoid looking at my pitiful face, but it was no use. I knew how to hustle him like nobody’s business. There was just no saying no to my “dog at the shelter face.” Cue Sarah McLachlan singing “Angel.” “Fine,” he finally groused. “But we are not having sex until your arm is better.”

He ignored my smile as he strode out of the room. He also pretended not to hear my murmured “We’ll see.”