Page 56 of Illusive
“Have you seen her?” Gideon asked.
“Briefly.” She gave Victor a private smile as he moved to stand beside her. “She’s mostly been under care since I arrived. But I was able to exchange a few words with her when they were wheeling her out for an MRI. She’s holding together really well.”
“Why does she need an MRI?” Elizabeth asked sharply, her voice rising.
“They’re evaluating her for a concussion because she’s got a nasty bump on the back of her head. She also has some gnarly bruises and needed stitches for a deep bite on her ear.” Shelley paused at the collective sound of horror from everyone.
His mother went very pale.
The detective continued, “But there are no broken bones or other non-superficial wounds. Beyond that, I’d rather stay in my lane and leave the medical updates to the doctors.”
“We understand,” Eva said quietly.
Gideon noted the haunted look in his wife’s eyes and sidestepped closer, sliding his arm around Eva’s waist. He needed the comfort of her nearness, perhaps more than she needed his. To hear what Ireland had suffered staggered him, rocking the already shaky foundation he’d been standing on.
Had his choices and actions made the situation exponentially worse for Ireland? Would she ever be able to forgive him?
He knew he’d never forgive himself.
Boudreaux stepped forward and extended his hand to Shelley, introducing himself as simply Ronan.
Her brow arched as she returned his greeting with a brisk, strong shake. “Detectives have been looking for you, Ronan. They have some questions.”
“I’m sure,” Boudreaux replied. “I’m not going anywhere, so I expect they’ll find me eventually.”
“You could make it easy on them. They’re working hard trying to solve this.”
“As they should be,” he drawled, “and I wish I could help. Since I can’t, whatever they’re focused on instead is more likely to be fruitful than talking with me.”
“It’s best that you don’t leave town—for everyone, especially yourself,” Shelley warned. “In the meantime, I know Irelandwants to see you, too. She asked me to add both of your surnames to her visitors’ list.”
Gideon watched their exchange with interest. Did the taciturn detective know Boudreaux was a murderer, too? The man hadn’t gotten away with the crime as he himself had. If Shelley was aware, she gave no indication of it.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” the Cajun said smoothly, without showing any sign that he’d actually been concerned about his welcome or the police’s interest.
It set Gideon’s teeth on edge that the man’s composure seemed inviolable, despite being surrounded by people who had damn good reason to distrust and dislike him. And Boudreaux was engaging and pleasant, which chafed, because his charm seemed to have an outsized effect on the women in the family. Thankfully, Eva was immune to it.
Ireland had been rescued, was safe within hospital walls and receiving the finest care, but she was no doubt still in shock and subsequently vulnerable. That, along with her inexplicable and invariable attraction to the worst men, was granting Boudreaux a dangerous level of access.
Shelley gestured down the hallway. “We can wait in the sitting room until Ireland comes back.”
The detective led the way with Victor directly beside her. She gave a brief nod to the woman behind the concierge desk, who tried to appear pleasantly detached but eyed them all avidly. The private wing of the lauded hospital was small and intimate, with fewer than twenty patient suites monitored from a marble-topped, wood-wrapped nurses’ station.
The sitting room was a shared space that was presently unoccupied. Books and decorative objects sat on open shelving opposite a sofa, a coffee table, and two side chairs. A television hung on the wall above a credenza, while a blooming orchid framed a tasteful sign that reminded patients and their visitorsof the afternoon tea service. Another table and two chairs were tucked off to the side. Outside the large window, nightfall obscured what would be impressive views of Central Park’s northern end in daylight.
Gideon was prepared to tell Boudreaux to fuck off for a while, but when he turned to do just that, he saw that the Cajun had picked up someone’s discarded newspaper and was settling into a chair on the far side of the room.
As if he felt Gideon’s gaze, Boudreaux looked over the top of the front page. “Can’t recall the last time I read an actual printed newspaper.”
“Read slowly,” Gideon replied, allowing his gaze to do the work of warning the man to keep his distance.
How Boudreaux had wrangled an invite to be present at all still mystified him. But learning that Ireland was so eager to see the Cajun at a time like this was far more concerning than his mother’s questionable judgment. Gideon was damned eager to focus fully on dealing with the man. Because Boudreaux had no business learning anything sensitive about the investigation or their private family matters.
Feeling his wife’s hand slide into his, Gideon turned his attention to her, then to the others. His mother had settled onto the gray sofa, while Shelley sat in an adjacent armchair and Victor stood behind her.
Leading Eva to the other chair, Gideon half-sat on the armrest. He noticed the television had been tuned to a news channel and was thankful it was muted. The hospital exterior served as the backdrop for the reporter explaining that “sources” had said that Ireland Vidal had been safely recovered and was currently a patient at Mount Sinai.
Elizabeth glared at the screen. “How do these people learn everything before we do?”
