CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I swear, Ice, if you don’t help me get out of this bed and out of this hospital, I will blow up your damn truck.”
Russel chuckled as he eyed Rigs from the end of the bed, casually flipping through the man’s chart. The jackass had come dangerously close to dying, a fact he seemed more than willing to ignore.
Russel placed the clipboard back on the foot rail. “Do you know how much blood you lost? Three liters. Most people are dead by that time.”
Rigs shrugged. “We both know I’m not most people.”
Russel continued. “And then, there’s the tissue damage from those bullets ricocheting around inside you. Not to mention a couple of broken ribs. Bitch all you want, but you won’t be blowing up anything for a while longer.”
Rigs glared at him. “You willing to put that Tacoma of yours at risk? I know how much you love that truck.”
“But he loves you more.” Quinn ambled up beside Russel, planting a kiss on his cheek, a brown bag in her hand. “You guys think you’re all so tough. But it’s a regular bromance in here.”
Rigs grunted. “If that’s chick-speak for wanting to kill one of your best buddies, then, hell yeah.”
She merely shook her head then held up the bag. “I brought you a burger. And fries.”
Rigs arched a brow. “Pickles?”
“Extra. Told them to load up on the ketchup, too. It’s practically drowning the meat.”
He motioned with his fingers, rustling the paper as he opened the sandwich. “Fine. I won’t blow up the new bike jackass got you. But his truck is still on the line if I don’t see some pants by the time I finish this burger.”
“Is he still bitching about his damn pants? You’d think he’d be kicking back, enjoying all those free sponge baths.”
Russel grinned as Hank walked through the door, stopping next to him.
Rigs gave the man a death stare. “You might not want to get too cocky. You’ve got even more fun things I could wire up.”
Hank laughed. “You wouldn’t want to cripple your own company, would ya, Rigs?”
Russel looked from Montana over to Rigs then back. “You got Rigs to sign up? Was the devil involved? Someone have to hand over a golden fiddle?”
“That’s right, Ice. Keep joking, and I might forget to tell you where I put your tracker.”
Quinn giggled beside him, pursing her lips when he looked at her. She smiled then turned back to Rigs, giggling, again. She hadn’t been overly amused when she’d discovered her tracker, even if it had saved her life. She’d had Russel check every square inch of her skin for more—he’d enjoyed that part. Had been tempted to pretend to find one just so he could do it all over, again.
Hank crossed his arms over his chest. “So, Harlequin. How’s your dad?”
Quinn had decided to go back to her full name. Had said that, with the threat over, she could honor her mother without worrying about being pegged as a crime heiress. Not that she cared, anymore. She also said it went well with Foster.
Russel’s chest squeezed tight. He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. It had been insanely quick. He knew it. He just didn’t care because the proof of her love was in every smile. Every touch. Plan for the worst. Hope for the best, and this was definitely the best.
Her smile faded for a moment before she sighed. “He left with a contingency of US Marshals last night. From what I heard, he’s being extremely cooperative. Bridgette says they’ll have him in a variety of safe houses until the trial, which won’t be for several months at the earliest. I guess there’s a lot of files to go through. Connections to make. And, with Thomas gone, my family’s empire pretty much imploded.”
“You okay with all of that?”
“Still a little shell-shocked but…” She looked up at Russel, and the world dimmed as her face glowed. “I’ve got all I need right here.”
“So, I heard. Congratulations on the engagement. Still baffled how a thug like Ice landed such a beautiful lady, but we’ll chalk it up to intervention by a higher power.”
“As long as that higher power sees that she gets to the chapel without being kidnaped or shot at or run off the road, I’m good.” Russel arched a brow at Rigs. “You think you’ll be able to stand up long enough with Midnight to be a witness? Or will we have to get married in this room?”
“Watch it, or I might just steal the bride.” Rigs winked at Harlequin. “The girl’s got a soft spot for me.”
“Probably has something to do with you taking a bullet for her. Which reminds me… Did Henry’s files uncover any other moles inside the Bureau?”
“Two.” Hank shook his head. “Half a dozen police officers, too, including the one who was instrumental in Harlequin’s abduction. I think it’s safe to say none of them will be seeing this side of a jail cell for a very long time. I did get a personal thank you from the feds. Said if we ever needed a favor…”
“A favor from the Bureau? Not sure I want to know what that looks like.”
Hank nodded at Harlequin. “I only wish we could use it so you and your father would be able to communicate after the trial. Must be hard having to let him go.”
She snorted. “Please. My father evaded federal prosecution for thirty years. Ran a high-level money laundering scheme. I’m pretty sure he can find a way to give me a call if he wants.”
Hank chuckled. “I suppose he could. Then, it’s a good thing you’ve got Ice around. I have a feeling this isn’t the last time trouble might come knocking on your door.”
“Trouble can knock, but… My kickass PJ won’t let them in.”
Rigs huffed. “Of course not, because I’ll make sure I show him how to rig the damn door. You two really need to start embracing the art of blowing shit up. Now, about those pants…”
* * * *
Russel relaxed against the headboard, watching Quinn—Harlequin—brush her teeth in the adjoining bathroom. They’d been staying at her loft while they waited for Rigs to recover—and for the endless rounds of questioning to stop. Despite all the evidence, the feds and the lawyers seemed to constantly think up new questions that only she could answer. Though, it looked as if it was all finally over.
He’d caved and allowed Rigs to talk him into leaving the hospital. But only on the condition that he hung out with them—was on a twenty-four-hour watch. If Russel thought for a second that the man’s condition was worsening, he told Rigs he’d have his ass back at Harborview quicker than Rigs could blink.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Russel blinked. Quinn had made her way over to the bed and was sitting on the side, those stunning green eyes fixed on him. God, he could stare at her for a hundred years and never get tired of the way she smiled back at him. Eyes bright and full of love.
He rubbed the spot on his chest where it hurt then offered her his hand. She took it, climbing over him until she was straddling his legs. He inhaled as she settled her butt right over his erection—the one that never seemed to go away whenever she was in the room. Or the house. Or on the same planet.
Her eyes widened as her breath released in a raspy hum. She wiggled against his dick, grinning when it swelled beneath her.
“Looks like someone’s happy to see me.”
“Extremely happy. Possibly happier than I’ve ever been. But…”
“Again, with the but.”
“It’s late. Rigs is in your spare room—”
“Rigs has heard us before. We’re not going to shock the man.”
“And,” he continued, “you’re still recovering from your concussion followed by nearly drowning on me.” He shivered at the thought. Christ, as long as he lived, he’d always remember the fear. Her limp body held in Sam’s arms as he dragged her over to the wall. “You’re just lucky I didn’t crack any ribs. I was so focused on getting you to breathe…”
Her eyes softened, and she leaned forward, cupping his face as she nuzzled his nose. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. It was purely selfish. Couldn’t imagine living without you.”
“Not just for that. For driving a drunk girl home. Then giving her back her life.”
She pressed her lips to his, slowly teasing his skin before licking her way inside. She tasted like sweetness and heat—a combination that short-circuited his brain and made him run on pure instinct. He slid his hands down her sides, holding her still as he lifted against her. If it weren’t for his boxers, he’d already be inside her.
She eased back, breath curling around his jaw. “Why don’t I help you out with that?”
“What about your ribs? Your head?”
She arched a brow. “They won’t be involved.”
“Harlequin.”
She shivered at her name, a rash of goosebumps prickling her skin. “God, the way you say that. I have to focus not to come.”
“Then, I’ll say it, again. Harlequin.”
“Call me crazy. But I thought being engaged meant you’d finally stop trying to talk me out of making love to you. Is this an indication of what the next fifty years are going to be like?”
“God, I hope so. And what I was going to say is… looks like you made it to the bed without falling down or puking, so…”
“You’ll pound me into it?”
“All night.”
“That’s one of the things I love most about you. The way you throw yourself into a mission. I suggest you take a deep breath, because I’m not letting you come up for air until the sun does, too.”