Page 17 of Rogue Survivor
After being stood up last night and having Isabel ghost me, failing—yet again—at the gym leaves me in the foulest mood imaginable. The only thing that can save today? A jalapeño and cheese Whataburger®.
I’m halfway through the meal when my cell phone rings. Brent’s the last person I want to talk to right now, and I send the call to voicemail so I can eat in peace. But he’s persistent as fuck and calls two more times before I finish my fries.
“What do you want?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I wince.
A sigh carries over the line. “Guess I was a fool for thinkin’ time off would soften you. Seems it’s made you even pricklier.”
“Bad day at the gym.”
“You up to twenty points yet?”
“If I were, do you think it would have been abadday at the gym?” Snorting, I trudge into the kitchen for a cold glass of water. Each step feels like my running shoes are made of concrete—or lead. “Why are you calling? I need a shower.”
He sighs again, and I can picture him now. Sitting at his desk staring out over the cubicles, weariness pressing down on his shoulders. “Orders came down an hour ago. I need to bring in your replacement.”
The glass falls from my hand, shattering into a dozen pieces in the sink. “You told me filing for disability wouldn’t put my job at risk. Pretty sure we have laws against this sort of thing.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Brent mutters. “I’d have you back here in an hour if I could. But until your doc clears youandyou can pass the fitness test, you’re on leave, and we’re understaffed. It’s not permanent. Yet.”
“Yet.” Grabbing a fresh glass, I turn on the tap. “Give me a fuckin’ honest answer, Brent. I’m tired and, thanks to you, I have a mess to clean up. Is thereanychance I’ll see field work again?”
He pauses for so long I have my answer.
“Great. Well, this has been a shit twenty-four hours. Reckon I’ll just drop off my ID and gun by the end of the week, then.”
“Don’t. I’m tryin’, Connor. I’d keep your desk empty for a year if I could, but every field office in Texas was stretched too thinbeforeyou were hurt. Once the new agent is selected, he or she is guaranteed a three-month placement. You can still come back, and I won’t stop fighting to get you reinstated unless you tell me to. Deal?”
“I’ll think about it.” Jabbing the screen, I hang up before I say something I’ll regret. Like telling my boss he can go fuck himself.
An hour later,my phone buzzes again, and this time, I’m not holding back. Brent can go to hell if he thinks—shit. It’s Isabel. I left her three messages last night, and when she didn’t reply to any of them, I figured she’d come to her senses and rabbited. Can’t say I blamed her.
“Connor?” She sounds tired. Exhausted, even. Her voice is rough, almost sultry, and my dick twitches against my zipper before worry takes over.
“I’m here, darlin’. What happened last night? I waited at the restaurant for an hour—”
“I know. I got your messages. Um…it’s just…shit.”
“Take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?” I run a hand through my hair, tugging at a few of the strands. If she’s hurt, I’m a goddamn asshole for thinking she purposely stood me up. Hell, I’m probably an asshole even if she’s fine. But the woman on the other end of the phone is definitelynotfine.
She exhales and clears her throat. “My daughter…she went missing last night. All night, I didn’t hear anything until 5:00 a.m. She’s in the hospital. Someone hit my baby girl with their car and…and…”
“Slow down, Isabel. Is Veronica gonna be okay?” How could I have ever been angry with her? Fuck. If I’d known Quinton was missing before those two assholes got the jump on me, I would have moved the fucking world to get to him and ignoredeverythingelse in my life until he was safe.
“Y-yes. She…broken wrist, concussion. And they had to remove her spleen. She’s sleeping right now. I need to get back to her, but I didn’t want you to think…I wanted to call you last night—or answer when you called—but…”
“You had to keep the line open. Don’t apologize, darlin’. Ain’t no need. Just tell me what I can do to help.”
“Nothing. Really,” she says, and from the edge to her voice, she’s barely holding it together.
“Have you eaten? Anything? I know how bad hospital food can be. Can I bring you dinner? I won’t stay. Just drop somethin’ off and let you be.”
She makes a noise that might be a sob, and I wish I could put my arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay. If this city didn’t have at least ten different hospitals, I wouldn’t have asked. Just showed up with as many different types of takeout as I could find on the way.
“Is that a yes?”
“We’re at Austin Mercy Hospital,” she says quietly. “Room 1131.”
“Go back to Veronica, darlin’. I’ll be there in an hour. ” A meal isn’t enough. It doesn’t matter that we’re new. That we’ve only shared a handful of kisses. She’s hurting, and I’ll do anything I can to make it better.
