Page 66 of Fully Loaded

She lay stiff and jerked her head toward the door. “Someone could come in.”

His eyelids pinched together. “So? What did you tell them to get them to let you see me?”

Heat warmed her cheeks. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. It was Brock for god’s sake. But the footing of their relationship—if she could even call it that—was unstable at best. He nudged her, waiting for an answer. She wet her lips.

“I told them I’m your wife.” The words came out small and way too hesitant to sound aloof.

The light caught his eyes, and for the first time since he opened them, they sparked with life. “Well then. That makes it easy.”

She lifted her lip in confusion. “Makes what easy? If you think we’re getting freaky on this hospital bed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He tilted his head back and belted out a laugh. “Honey, I won’t be getting freaky for a while with this damn head injury. Unless you go on top. Actually . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t need to get turned on right now.”

Despite his condition and everything that had happened recently, her blood heated. She rubbed her tongue along the inside of her cheek and tried to focus on what he’d said before that. “So then what did you mean?”

He folded his good arm around her shoulders and pressed her head to his chest with his other hand. The rhythm of his heart beat through the hospital gown and his stubble scraped against her temple. She closed her eyes and the scent of sterile gauze, bleach, and blood hit her face. She turned her face into his neck until his aroma—warm and heady with a faint tint of masculine sweat—surrounded her.

“I just?—”

A nurse bustled into the room. “Ah, Mr. Wyler. I’m so glad to see you’re awake. The doctor’s here to see you.”

Rhett’s number lit the screen and Brock lunged for his phone, which sat on his bathroom counter. His head pounded with the movement. He leaned his back against the sink to slow the vertigo. Too-fast movements had been bringing it on. He swiped to answer, pressed the device to his ear, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“Yeah?” He and Dani had arrived in San Diego two days ago. The Parisian doctors hadn’t been pleased to release him after only four days, but he desperately needed to be home. Alone. With Dani.

“Hey, how you holding up?” Rhett’s familiar voice rang through the speaker and the bathroom slowly stopped spinning, but Brock’s muscles remained shaky. He’d been waiting on pins and needles to hear from Rhett about the details of the investigation.

“Good. I’m still a little weak and wobbly but improving—slowly. How’re things on your end?”

“Happy as a pig in shit to be back home. Don’t get me wrong, the city was beautiful, but I’ve never spent such long days going over the most minute details.”

“And?”

Rhett laughed. “Sorry to keep you in the dark. It’s a delicate case and I probably shouldn’t tell you anything yet, but I know you guys have a right to know.”

“I appreciate it. To be honest, Dani isn’t sleeping well. She could really use some reassurance that the world is safe.” The last part came out more harshly than he’d intended.

“All’s well in that department. Dr. Lafontaine was arrested. Actually, a civilian videotaped her abducting you. That was enough for us to move in quickly, confiscate her surveillance cameras, computers, and hard drives, and place her under arrest.”

“Man, I just don’t understand how she got involved.”

“Turns out she and Giles were together romantically. Or at least they were before she arranged to kill him. We have her on surveillance implying that one of her guards admitted to injecting Giles with a substance that would make it appear as if he’d had a heart attack.”

“She was involved with the Peace Makers?”

“Yup. She and Giles were pretty high up in the group. We’re still pulling that onion apart, and it seems there are a lot of players, including that Interpol agent, Rudolph James. He was hired by Dr. Lafontaine to kill Dani and retrieve the flash drive. With his access to Interpol’s facial recognition technology, he had no issues finding her.”

“And Ubrigg?”

Rhett grunted. “Romy Brissitt sang like a canary while he was drugged up on morphine. He told the Parisian police that Ubrigg hired him and the other security guard, Igor something, to find Dani and the stolen formula. He confessed to the shooting as well and named a couple of other guys on Ubrigg’s payroll, so he’ll be doing time for that.”

Brock whistled. “Jesus. Sounds like a shitshow. Was there any more talk about Dani stealing the drive in the first place?”

Rhett made a noncommittal sound. “Yes and no. The Parisian detective hung on that like a dog with a bone. But she didn’t hand off the formula to the Peace Makers, and after we investigated her messages to and from Sven, we knew for certain she wasn’t directly involved with the group. And we knew that she’d been lied to. And, turns out Ubrigg didn’t have proper clearance to create the formula to begin with, so in a round about way it’s a good thing Dani took it.”

Relief uncoiled in his abdomen. “Thank god.”

“As shitty as it was, it sure as hell helped that Dr. Lafontaine kidnapped you and we could pin this on the real terrorists.”