Page 18 of Rogue Survivor
Chapter Seven
Connor
Outside room 1131,I pause, two huge bags of takeout clutched in my hand. I had to flash my credentials at the nurse’s station—the credentials that probably ain’t worth spit anymore—but at least they got me in here. I stare through the narrow pane of glass in the door to Veronica’s room. A privacy screen hides the bed from view, but Isabel slumps back in one of the unforgiving visitor chairs, her hand over her eyes.
Memories hit me, and I brace my arm on the wall when my bad knee threatens to buckle. Being unable tothink, stumbling over my words, almost collapsing from dizziness the first time I tried to get from my hospital bed to the bathroom.
When I was discharged, I vowed I’d never set foot in another hospital. But Isabel’s alone, and that’s worth reliving my memories a thousand times.
Rapping my knuckles softly on the glass, I curse when she jerks up and cranes her neck in my direction. I didn’t mean to startle her. But that smile she gives me? The relief in her eyes? I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“I can’t believe you came,” she says as she steps out into the hall.
Setting the bags on a bench, I wrap my arms around her. “Nowhere else I’d rather be right now. Plus, I owe you dinner.”
Her weak chuckle does nothing to reassure me. “I’m still dressed for it. Mostly. Afraid my makeup didn’t survive, though.”
Drawing back to cup her cheek, I skate my thumb just under her left eye. Over the smudge of mascara and the puffy skin from crying. “I don’t care. You’re gorgeous, with or without makeup.”
“And you’re a good liar.” She leans into my touch with a sigh. “I’m one step up from a zombie. I think I caught an hour between crying and pacing and calling the police so many times they threatened to arrest me for harassment.”
Before I can ask who was that rude to her, she clutches the front of my flannel shirt and buries her face against my chest. I don’t understand what’s happening until her whole body starts to shake.
I’ve comforted more than a few women—both on the job and in my personal life—but this feels different. Isabel clings to me like I’m all that’s holding her together. Her tears soak into my collar, and though I’ll pay for this move later, I scoop her up and limp over to the bench so I can sit with her in my lap.
“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “This isn’t…me…”
“Darlin’, I wouldn’t trust anyone who didn’t lose their shit in this situation. One of these days, I’ll tell you what happened with my brother. When I found out someone was hurtin’ him. Not proud of what I did back then, but wouldn’t change a thing.”
She sniffles, then swipes at her cheek. “I refuse to believe you did anything to be ashamed of.”
Chuckling, I pull out a handkerchief and press it into her hand. “I broke the sombitch’s door and punched him in the face. And Imighthave sent his boss—at the time—a copy of the protective order against him.”
“Sounds like he deserved it.” Isabel wipes away her tears and peers up at me. “And I want to hear the whole story. When…” With a quick glance at the door, all the tension returns to her body.
“I didn’t mean to keep you,” I say, helping her to her feet. “Will you call me when you can? After Veronica’s home.”
“Tomorrow. They’re discharging her tomorrow.” Isabel takes another look through the narrow window, then turns back to me and rests her palm over my heart. “Will you wait here for a minute? Please?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She could ask me for the world, and I’d get it for her. Or die trying. I don’t know why. We’re so new, but I haven’t felt this comfortable with a woman in years—if ever—or wanted more so quickly.
Isabel pokes her head out the door sixty seconds later and offers me a weary smile. “Come on in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Veronica wants to meet you.” She steps into the hall again and lowers her voice. “Mitzi’s still missing, Connor. Her best friend. The police are finally looking for her, but V feels so guilty she can’t think about anything else. You’ll be a good distraction. Come in and say hi.”
“She should rest—”
“Try telling a seventeen-year-old to take a nap. She slept on and off until four. Now she just wants a hamburger. And her own bed.” Isabel gestures to the bags of food. “If there’s a Whataburger® in there, you’ll be her new favorite person.”
Straightening my shoulders, I grin. “There might be. Along with some fried chicken and grits, two personal pizzas, and an order of queso with chips.”
“Shit, Connor. Well, now you have to eat with us.” Isabel wraps her hand around my right wrist—her fingers skating over a patch of skin where my nerves were damaged after two separate surgeries on my broken arm. I stifle my hiss. A little pain isn’t going to stop me from enjoying her touch.
“All right, Mr. FBI Special Agent,” Nurse Sheila says before we make it to the door. “I didn’t kick you out of the ward, but that girl in there needs her rest.”
“Veronica needs a distraction.” Isabel pulls me closer, clinging to me like she’s about to fall over. “Connor won’t stay long. She can have a hamburger, right?”
