Bailey
TWO DAYS LATER, Brock walked into my room, a duffle bag over his shoulder. I’d been in the hospital for almost four days and was officially being released…finally.
“Hey, Bailey.”
“Hi,” I said carefully.
“Doc fill you in?”
“On?”
Brock frowned. “He didn’t fill you in. You’re coming home with me.”
“Excuse me? Coming home with you, where?”
“Ali’s in some deep trouble, which means, by association you’re in some deep trouble, so, you’re heading to a safe house.”
“A safe house? Deep trouble?” I pushed myself up on the bed. “For how long? When can I go back to my place?”
“Not for a while, Bailey. It was pretty trashed.”
“Trashed? What?” I snapped. “By whom?”
“I’ll explain everything on the way, but we stopped by your apartment and grabbed a few things. Hope it’s the right stuff.”
A shiver ran through me. The thought of him sifting through my panties both excited and terrified me. “Wait. Grabbed a few things? You went through my stuff?”
“Well, no, not me personally. A female agent did.”
In a weird way, this both relieved and disappointed me. “Oh. Okay.”
He laid the duffle on the bed. “Do you need help?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay. I’ll be right outside.”
I nodded and watched him leave before unzipping the duffle. Whoever this female agent was, she knew what to pack. I pressed the call button and waited for the day nurse to come. Macey wasn’t on shift, and that was a bummer in my opinion. Macey had a way of calming me.
The door opened, and Brock stuck his head in. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You called a nurse.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I did. I’d like to take a shower and I have strict instructions not to do it alone.”
He gave me a sexy grin. “I’d be happy to help.”
“Brock Williams, are you encroaching on my job again?” the nurse asked. “Get your skinny butt out of that room.”
He looked as though someone had just killed his cat, but he did as he was told.
Jenna walked in and smiled. “Did you need some help, hon?”
“I want to take a shower, actually.”
“Okay.” Jenna gathered up plastic to cover my cast and then opened cabinets and pulled down soap and shampoo and such. “I won’t come in with you, but I’ll get you in and then hang out in case you need me.”
I smiled in relief. “Thanks.”
I took the quickest shower in the history of the world, a little surprised I didn’t pass out…I was experiencing some serious pain. Drying off with one hand was nearly impossible, but I managed it and also managed to dress with Jenna’s help. What I couldn’t do was dry my hair, and Jenna got called to an emergency situation, so I sat on the bed, a towel wrapped around my head, hoping Jenna wouldn’t be long.
A knock at my door brought Brock, who glanced at me and frowned. “I take it you’re not quite ready.”
“Can’t dry my hair with one hand,” I said, and pointed to my head.
He chuckled and walked up to the bed. “Shift.”
“Huh?”
“Shift,” he repeated, and I did.
Brock pulled the towel from my head and gently dried my hair. “Got a brush?”
I nodded and reached for my brush in the duffle, handing it to him. He made quick and painless work of my less than ideally conditioned hair, braiding it and grabbing a band from the end of the brush to secure my braid.
“Wow. You’ve done this before.”
“Nieces,” he replied. “Ready?”
“I just need to sign out.”
“That’s been taken care of.”
“Oh, okay. Then, yes, I’m ready.”
“Rules say I have to wheel you out.” Brock pulled open the door and guided the waiting wheelchair inside. “I’ll grab your bag.”
I nodded and walked slowly to the chair, a little dizzy, but Brock was right beside me to steady me. I lowered myself into the chair and he helped me with my feet, set my duffle carefully on my lap, and then wheeled me out the door. Dallas nodded at me and followed, and we headed to a large black SUV idling at the hospital entrance.
Dallas took my bag, threw it in the back seat, and then Brock helped me in next to it, buckling my belt like I was a small child. Brock drove, Dallas rode shotgun, and we took off to an unassuming suburban neighborhood in Vancouver, Washington.
Brock maneuvered the car into the garage and then closed the door. Brock, not Dallas who was closer, opened my door, unbuckled me and then virtually lifted me out of the car.
“Who lives here?” I asked as he set me on my feet.
“As far as the neighbors think, Dallas lives here. He’s lived here for six months and I’m his brother, visiting for a few weeks.”
“And who am I?”
“Well, no one’s going to see you, Bailey, so you don’t have a cover.”
“Oh,” I said, and followed him into the house.
I was surprised by the home. It was gorgeous. The large kitchen had a center island long enough to seat four. The great room offered a flat-screen television, a black, leather sectional, and a couple of overstuffed chairs circling a fireplace in the corner.
Dallas set his keys on the counter and moved to the fridge.
“You get the master,” Brock said.
“Why?”
“Because you do.”
“That’s nice.”
“Dallas is a nice guy,” he said, and grinned over his shoulder.
I smiled. “Good to know.”
Brock nodded to a room on the right as we walked down the hall. “Dallas is bunking here. I’m bunking in the room next to you. There’s a bathroom between me and Dal, and another in your room.”
A wave of dizziness hit me, and I leaned against the wall to steady myself. Brock was next to me in a flash, wrapping his arm around my waist, and giving me a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
I settled against him, letting him take the majority of my weight. “I feel sick.”
“Okay, let’s get you to bed.”
He walked me into the master. A large king-sized bed sat against the wall and was surprisingly not overly masculine. It wasn’t feminine either, but at least it didn’t have things like leather sheets or weird stuff like that. It was made, it looked clean, and it looked comfortable.
Brock settled me on the bed.
“I’m okay, Brock.” I took a deep breath. “If I’m going to be here a while, what should I do about my car? It’s at my apartment. Won’t that worry people if it looks like it’s been abandoned?”
“We’ll take care of it. Just give me your keys and all the information and we’ll move it somewhere safe.”
I nodded to the door adjacent to the bed. “Is that the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” Brock said.
“I kind of need to use it.”
“I’ll help you in, okay?”
I nodded and held onto his arm to steady myself.
A large soaker tub, shower, double sinks; everything that made up a nicely appointed bathroom greeted me. I sat on the edge of the tub and Brock pushed a panel on the bathroom wall. A door popped open, causing me to gasp. “What’s that?”
“It’s the panic room,” he said. “I say go to the panic room, you go to the panic room and you don’t come out until me, Dallas, or Jaxon gets you. Got it?”
“Who’s Jaxon?”
“You’ll meet him later.”
“What if you tell me to go to the panic room before I meet Jaxon?”
Brock faced me and chuckled. “You don’t miss much, huh?”
“Not really, no. My mom says it’s annoying.”
“How so?”
“Ladies are supposed to be demure and let the men do the thinking.”
“You’re not serious,” he deadpanned.
“Very.” I shrugged. “She’s old-fashioned.”
Brock dropped it, but I could see he was trying to decide whether or not to pick the subject back up. He didn’t. I was glad.
“I’ll leave you alone to do your thing,” Brock said. “Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks, Brock.”
The rest of the day passed without incident and I crashed before ten in the unbelievably comfortable bed, in the not so comfortable prison disguised as a safe house.