“How is she?” I asked for what must've been a dozen times. If someone didn't answer me soon, I was going to rip this fucking IV out of my arm and go find her myself.

“The girl is fine, Miss Lang.” The doctor sounded exasperated, but I didn't really care. “Her parents are here, and that's all I can share with you. Will you please let me give you some pain killers so I can set your fingers?”

I nodded. That was all I needed to know.

I'd found the girl easily enough. Aside from the fact that I'd been able to hear her crying, there'd been only one room in the trashed house that'd had a closed door. She'd screamed when I'd managed to break the door, and I couldn't blame her. I'd been in my underwear, covered with blood and nursing a hand with a finger and thumb sticking out at a weird angles.

Once I'd shown her that I wasn't going to keep her there, she followed me outside. The house we'd been in had been outside the city far enough that I'd been worried someone would come after us before we found someone with a phone. Fortunately, a car had come by and the driver had been exceedingly kind, more than happy to call the police for us.

“Miss Lang?”

I wondered how long the doctor had been saying my name. “Sorry.”

“Are you cold?” he asked.

I shook my head. I wasn't cold. Not really. I did, however, seem to be shivering uncontrollably. I almost laughed. Why was I shivering? My head felt funny.

“Why don't you lie back?” The doctor asked. “Rest.”

I shook my head. “I want to go.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Howard,” a woman's voice came from the doorway. “Are we able to speak with Miss Lang yet?”

Dr. Howard looked at me. “Are you feeling up to talking to the police?”

I wanted to say no. I'd never felt less like talking to the cops. But I knew I had to. I nodded.

“I gave her something for her hand,” Dr. Howard said. “So she might be a little groggy.”

“I'm fine.” The words were thick in my mouth. Everything felt a little blunted and blurred around the edges, but I could think. Well enough to answer questions. I wouldn't be doing any complex hacking anytime soon. I frowned as I looked down at my hand.

It was a mass of deep, throbbing pain. The cut along my palm had been deep enough to need stitches. My index finger had been broken and my thumb had indeed been dislocated as well as broken. Both were splinted and my entire hand was wrapped up. Any typing I'd be doing would be one-handed for a while.

“Miss Lang, I'm Detective McPhee.” The woman standing next to the hospital bed was tall and slender, with dark hair pulled back from her face. “Can you answer some questions for me?”

I looked up at her. “I can, but I think the FBI might try to take jurisdiction on this one.”

She didn't look too happy with that, but she kept it professional. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I took her through everything, starting with feeling like someone was watching me in the park. When I got to the part where I killed Christophe, my voice faltered, but I kept going. I didn't care if they arrested me for murder. Aside from the fact that I was pretty sure no jury would convict me, I'd done the right thing. I finished by telling her about escaping with the girl and calling the police. Then I waited for the multitude of questions I knew would follow.

Before Detective McPhee could say anything, however, I heard a familiar voice.

“Thank you for getting the preliminaries, Detective. I'll take it from here.”

“Agent Matthews.” I blinked. “I was wondering if you'd show up.”

“I've got this, Agent,” Detective McPhee said tightly. “The FBI doesn't have any reason to take this case.”

“Actually,” he said. “We do. Christophe Constantine was one of ours and, until recently, Miss Lang was employed by the FBI.” He walked around to the other side of my bed. “I've already spoken with FCPD. If I need your help, I'll ask.”

As the detective stalked out, I looked up at Agent Matthews. “Do I have to say that all over again?”

“No. I caught most of it,” he said. “I'll get a copy of her notes after she types them up.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “It's going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork, but I don't think the DA's going to press charges against you for Christophe's death.”

“My mom.” My good hand clenched and my injured one twitched as if it wanted to move too. “Did I...is she...?”

“She's alive,” Agent Matthews said. “She'll need surgery on her ankle and she has a nasty concussion, but she'll survive.”

“Good,” I said. When I saw the look of surprise on the agent's face, I explained. “Death would be too easy.” I gave Agent Matthews a hard look. “No deals this time. If she's not put away for good, I'll go to the press with everything.”

He opened his mouth and I thought, for a moment, he was going to say something about me releasing that information online, but he didn't.

“I'm following this through,” he said. “Don't worry. She's never getting out.”

“Thank you.” I shifted, grimacing as the hospital gown stuck to me. The nurses had wiped me off a bit, but there was still plenty of Christophe's blood on me. I wanted a shower.

Agent Matthews started towards the door but then stopped. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No.” A man's voice answered before I could. “She doesn't.”

I was pretty sure my heart had stopped and I knew I wasn't breathing. It had to be the drugs, right? The painkillers that were making my head a little fuzzy. And then he was there, at my side, and Agent Matthews was gone.

“Rylan.” His name came out in a breath of air.

“Jenna.”

A thrill went through me at the sound of my name. I'd never thought I'd hear him say it again. I forced it down. He was here because someone had told him what had happened. He was just looking out for me.

And then I let my eyes meet his and everything I'd tried to get rid of and suppress came bubbling back up, leaving me momentarily speechless. Rylan reached down and took my good hand, holding it tightly between both of his. After what felt like forever, I managed to look down.

“You don't have to be here.” I tried pulling my hand away, but he didn't let me go.

“Yes, I do.” His voice was firm. “Look at me, Jenna.”

Shit. He was using that tone. I swallowed hard and looked up.

“Zeke told me that the two of you slept together.”

Oh, fuck. I'd completely forgotten about that in light of everything else that had happened.

“And I know you told him to tell me about your tattoo to make it sound real.”

I kept my face carefully blank. “And how do you know we didn't?” There was no way he could know that. Unless, of course, he knew Zeke was gay, but I didn't think that was the case.

“Two reasons,” he said and held up a finger. “One, I know you, and there was no way you'd have sex with my best friend.” A twisted sort of smile crossed his face. “You would never hurt me like that.”

“And two?” The words were rough, strangled.

The twisted smile became a wry one. “And the idiot decided to elaborate about the various positions you'd used.” His fingers squeezed mine. “I know you, and it was obvious he didn't.” His voice softened. “Why did you have him lie?”

I decided it wasn't the best time to talk about the complicated mess that was Zeke's issues with me. I kept it simple. “Because I wanted you to think I'd moved on so you wouldn't feel guilty for doing the same thing.”

I had a moment to see something burn in his eyes and then his hands were cupping my face. His lips brushed across mine, gentle.

“I could never move on from you.”