I felt ten times better the next morning. My strength was still not quite what it had been before, but it was definitely coming back. I showered on my own and slipped out of the room while she lay sleeping the sleep of the dead, then found a heartier meal than the soup she’d forced down my throat the night before.

Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Pancakes.

This was a real man’s feast.

I took it back to the room and ate too quickly as I watched her sleep. It had always been my intention to get to Yuma and then check in with Stone Security. When Jack hired me, he had explained the safety protocols, the code word I was to use when I called a specific number that would connect me with an operator in Memphis at any time of the day or night. If I was in danger and couldn’t come in, that was the number to call. Then someone would tell me what I should do next.

I’d always intended to do that. But I wanted to see my mom first.

The hospital was less than a mile away. Getting in and out should be simple. My only concern was the possibility that the Guardians would have guessed we’d come here, and they’d have someone standing guard on my mom’s room. If that was the case, we could run into trouble. They might follow us back to the motel, or they could potentially confront us in the hospital itself. It really depended on how badly they wanted those ledgers she’d found in Truesdale’s drawer.

I wondered how Truesdale was doing with his broken arm. I hoped he was having an easier time of it than I was.

Or maybe I hoped it was worse for him.

Malaika rolled over and looked at me. “You shouldn’t be eating bacon. Too much fat and sodium.”

“It tastes a hell of a lot better than watery tomato soup.”

“I’m sure it does.”

She got up, doing this thing where she stretched all her limbs, kind of like a cat might stretch after a long nap. Her legs were long and slender, shapely. The legs of a runner. But then she had those curves that began at her thighs and didn’t stop until the long, slender, graceful arc of her neck.

She was a masterpiece, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from her.

“Stop,” she said, slapping my shoulder at the same time she snatched a piece of bacon from my Styrofoam plate.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like a man who hasn’t seen beauty in all his life.”

“I’m not. I’m looking at you like a man who has just discovered perfection.”

She slapped my shoulder. “Mr. Charmer.”

She folded herself into the chair across from me, tugging the containers of food toward her and fixing her own plate. We ate in silence for a long few moments, both of us devouring everything I’d bought, staring at the last piece of bacon with equal amounts of lust. I finally tore it in half and gave her the larger piece.

“What’s the plan for today?”

I tilted my head to one side. “I want to go see my mother.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

I nodded. “I feel like a million bucks.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well, eight hundred thousand, then.”

She smiled. But the smile only lasted a second. She came close to me, lifted up my shirt. “How’s it looking today?”

We both looked, her fingers brushing against the red, inflamed line of damaged flesh.

“The stitches are causing a little irritation. We’ll have to take them out soon.”

“Is it healed enough?”

“Probably not. But we can hold the edges together with tape. That should allow it to heal unless you decide to get into a fist fight or something.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“We can do that tonight.”

I pushed my shirt back into place and pulled her close to me, kissing her gently. “Go get dressed, and we’ll get out of here.”

“You sure you want me to get dressed?”

“You sure you want me to heal?”

She laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she walked off. I groaned as I watched her, physically aching to get up and follow. It was only the pain that shot through my chest when I shifted in my seat that kept me from going after her.

I wanted to make sure I was up to full capacity before I jumped into bed with her again. She deserved that much. I deserved that much.

It was less than an hour until she was ready. I straightened up the room and changed my shirt, combing my hair. I wanted to look decent for my mom. I didn’t want her to know about the gunshot wound or about the trouble back home. I wanted her to be optimistic, not to worry about me or anything else that was out of her control.

Malaika came out of the bathroom, the gorgeous executive back in full force. Her hair was smoothed back into a bun, her body hugged by a snug black dress that made her skin absolutely glow. She was damn beautiful! I couldn’t have been prouder to take her to the hospital and introduce her to my family.

We held hands as we walked down the long corridor to the room where my mother was recovering from her seizure. Five days she’d been there, suggesting it was worse than Quaid had suggested. I was nervous as we approached.

“You should know that my parents have been struggling a lot lately,” I said to Malaika. “They might not be overly friendly when we go in there.”

“It’s okay.”

“And my mom…the diabetes has been hard on her this past year.”

“Okay.”

“Quaid is sixteen, and he’s an angry sixteen. He’s kind of become our mom’s caregiver. So, don’t be surprised if he acts a little aloof and a little protective of her.”

Malaika tugged me back and pushed me against the wall, her expression stern. “Are you trying to talk me out of doing this?”

“No, I just—”

“Then shut up. Let me do this without giving me all these warnings.” She reached up and touched my face, her touch less stern than her expression. “I want to meet your family because they matter to you.”

“You know how incredible you are?”

I leaned close and kissed her, aware of the people walking past us, aware that we weren’t alone. But I didn’t care. I wanted to steal as many kisses as often as I could. And then she backed up and took my hand.

“Let’s go.”

I followed her down the hall, holding tightly onto her hand. I was nervous in a way I didn’t fully understand until we were standing in front of the right door. I’d never brought a woman home for my parents to meet.

Malaika would be the first.

She was proving to be a lot of firsts for me.

I took a deep breath and tapped on the door even as I reached for the handle. Quaid was there, like he’d been waiting for us next to the door. He threw his arms around me, crying my name.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

“Of course I’m here. Sorry it took so long.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

He stepped back, looking so much thinner than I remembered him. His hair, the same dark red as mine, was too long, falling over the side of his face in long, greasy strings. Acne covered his face, from forehead to chin, in big, heavy pustules that looked painful.

I turned and felt as though someone had punched me in the center of the chest. My mother was in the bed, a sheet pulled up to her chin. She was thin—painfully thin—so thin that she almost looked like a cancer patient, her hair grayer than I remembered,. There were wires snaking under the sheet, several IVs and a couple of thinner wires that looked like electric wires.

“She doesn’t look good.”

Quaid glanced at her. “It was bad, Quentin. She took too much insulin, and she went really low. The seizures were bad. She’s been in a coma ever since.”

I went to the bed, touched my mother’s hand. It was cool, but not cold.

I touched her forehead the way she used to touch mine when I was sick as a child. I willed her to move, to open her eyes and smile at me the way she used to. She didn’t move at all.

“I want to talk to her doctor.”

“He’ll be around in an hour or so.”

I leaned down and kissed my mother’s temple. “Where’s Father?”

“Work. He’ll be around tonight. For a few minutes.”

“He should be here now. She needs him.”

“He knows. But we still have to pay rent.”

“I can pay the fucking rent!” I stepped back, a rage I’d never felt before burning through me. “He should have let me pay for her medicine, should have let me pay the rent. Stupid, proud man! He never should have let it get this bad!”

“He’s doing the best he can, Quentin. You haven’t been here! You don’t know what it was like!”

“I sent money.”

“Father doesn’t want your charity. He wanted you here, with the family, the way you should have been!”

His words cut through me. I could see the desperation on his face, could feel the despair in this room. He was right. I should have been here instead of fighting some sort of revenge game that, in the end, did no one any good.

“I know.”

“You should have been here.”

“I know, Quaid.”

I went to him, pulled his head against my chest. He fought me for a second, but then he gave in to the grief and pain that had been building inside him for a year. More than a year. I held my little brother and let him sob against my chest, let his tears soak into my shirt and the bandage hidden underneath. It burned like acid, burned so deep into my skin that it felt like it would soak in all the way to my soul.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t until Quaid began to get control of himself that I realized I hadn’t introduced him to Malaika.

“Hey, brother, I want you to meet someone.”

Quaid pulled away, rubbing at his face with the backs of his hands. “That pretty girl? She left a while ago.”

I frowned. “What do you mean, left?”

He gestured toward the door. “I saw her walk off while you were asking about Mom.”

I went to the door, jerking it open.

She wasn’t there. Not in the hall, not down near the nurse’s station. She wasn’t anywhere visible.

She knew better than to leave my line of sight.

I reached under my jacket and pulled my gun free of the holster. “Lock the door behind me. Stay in this room.”

“Quentin? What’s going on?”

Malaika was gone, and I knew it wasn’t by choice. I had to go find her.