Page 3 of Rough Patch

“This isn’t going to work.” But she lined her hips up with his.

“Feels like it’s working.” He lowered his hand and dragged it along her clit, seeking out her warm wet pussy. Just a tease would do for now, something to take her mind off the issue he couldn’t yet address. He slid a finger inside her, and she closed her eyes. “Oh yeah. Definitely working.” As his fingers pumped in and out of her, she bent her knees, riding his hand and moaning until his dick throbbed with need. He pulled away. “You want some more?”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and her knees buckled. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything before in his life. He swept her up, waited for her to hang on. But her arms went limp at her sides and her head lolled. He moved her to the couch, laid her down. “Fiona?” She didn’t answer. Didn’t even move. His heart stopped as he tangled his fingers through her hair and forced her face toward his. Her eyes were closed but her breath puffed out in short gasps. She’d passed out and Grier didn’t know much, but he knew that wasn’t normal. He reached for his phone.

Fear made his hands shake as he dialed. Before the voice asked him his emergency, “My wife collapsed.” He rattled off the address. “You have to hurry.” If something happened to Fiona because of him…

For hell’s sake. This was ridiculous. She was dehydrated, not dying, and the number of nurses and random people in and out of her room who weren’t Grier did nothing to help her disposition. A bag of clear liquid connected by a tube to her arm dripped soundlessly, but the heart monitor attached to her chest more than made up for it. A tight set of bands wrapped around her stomach and another machine at her side spit paper with two sets of wiggling lines. And she was hungry. Starving, actually.

And there were a thousand reasons she needed to get out of this bed and back to work. She pushed the button to call the nurse.

A woman in scrubs the color of Pepto Bismol breezed in. “What can I do for you?” Her attitude matched her clothes—too bright.

“Where’s my husband?”

“I believe he’s down in registration. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” She checked the I.V. bag then pulled the paper from the other machine and stared at it. “Baby’s heartbeat is strong.”

Of course it was. Half-Fiona, half-Grier. This kid would probably be invincible. “When can I go home?” She just wanted to sink into her own bed and sleep the rest of the night—correction: day—away.

“In a couple of hours. We want to get this bag of fluid in and the doctor wants an ultrasound before you go.” She scribbled something on the paper then dropped it back into the slot where it automatically folded into neat little rectangles. “And we need to get someone in to talk nutrition and rest with you.”

Fiona glared. A couple of hours were probably two more than she could spare to lie in a bed and do nothing. And the last thing she needed was someone telling her how to live. She had secrets to uncover, a mystery to solve. And she couldn’t very go full Nancy Drew when the only clothes she had on were a gown that tied in the back and a pair of fuzzy socks with those little no-slip lines on the bottom.

But an ultrasound. A picture of her baby. It wouldn’t take a lot of convincing to get her to stick around for that. She laid back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. By the time she’d counted the ceiling tiles—seventy-two—Grier returned, his face haggard and his eyes rimmed in red.

“Hey.” He stood at the side of the bed, hands gripping the rail so hard his knuckles were white.

“Hey.” Maybe one day they’d get better at small talk. Today wasn’t that day. “Did you get the papers all filled out?”

He nodded. “I forgot your middle name. So I put down Henrietta. I hope you don’t mind.” His half-smile and the way he ducked his head and looked at her from beneath those damned long lashes made her heart skitter and since she was still hooked to the monitor, he knew it.

“Henrietta’s fine. Thank you.” The silence stretched between them. “The nurse said they want to do an ultrasound.” He nodded, and she watched his face. Either he felt guilty, or he was as scared as she was. Maybe a little of both. “Grier…”

“I’m so sorry, Fiona.”

Guilt. “It’s not your fault.”

He brought his hand up to scrub over his face and flip his hair to one side. His chest heaved. “I knew Dave was FBI.” He fumbled with the rail, she guessed trying to lower it, but instead he ended up jerking it and pulling the wheeled bed a few inches to her left. “Goddammit.”

His hand was warm when she rested hers on top. “There’s a release.” The nurse had lowered the rail to adjust the bands around her belly, and she’d reached below the mattress. Fiona waited while he found it. This was one of the single most important conversations in her life. Damned if she’d ruin it by rushing him. He breathed out slowly, and sat beside her, took her hand in his, and closed his eyes.

“I’m not a spy or a traitor. I was paying Dave for information.”

Fiona didn’t draw away or speak or do more than let him hold her hand and remain silent because she didn’t know what to say yet.

“I met him in a bar one night a long time ago.” He sighed. “I didn’t know then, but after a while, he tried to get me to turn on your dad. I went to Max, and I told him the FBI was sniffing around him. This was before all the Kye and Eliana stuff.”

Fiona couldn’t tell if he was lying. Grier didn’t have a single tell and he kept his eyes pointed right at hers. If she had to guess, she would have said he was probably telling the truth, but if Max had known about the FBI investigating him, she couldn’t imagine him letting it happen. Still, she remained silent.

“At the time, we were ass deep in drugs and guns and stolen cars and merchandise. Max couldn’t afford jail. So, he met with Dave, paid him a shitload of money to back off. And Max started going legit, a little bit at a time. And all the while, Dave was milking the club for more money.”

The story made no sense. Max would never have submitted to an extortionist. “Grier…”

“I know. I thought Max would have him killed. I did. But I paid Dave every month for Max.” He chuckled a little. “And then Max turned those tables. He had videos of Dave taking payments every month. Recordings of Dave feeding me information. All of a sudden, we had a man on the inside of the FBI.” He looked down. “The picture of me and Dave is me paying him for information. He wired the truck with video which would feed to a computer somewhere, and we’d know who was stealing our shipments.”

Fiona watched him. If it was a lie, it was a damned good one. Nothing she could verify either. “But he died before we got the information.”

“Yeah. And Dave wasn’t stupid. He’s been your dad’s truck driver for ten years.” He shook his head and the lines in his beautiful face deepened. “And I don’t know who has that computer or what’s on it. So when I’m gone, I’m either out looking for that bastard Sedotal or I’m trying to get information on Dave and that fucking computer.”