Alex grinned, her eyes actually twinkling a little. “That’ll be great—when we find your car.”
I sighed. “If you find it. It’s probably just so many parts by now.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But we’re still looking. Now, you get some rest. I’ll send the artist over sometime later this afternoon.”
She left and I dozed. My system might have burned through the drugs quickly, but the nurses kept them coming. The next time I opened my eyes, late afternoon sunlight was shining through the open window and my gran was sitting in the chair beside my bed, working at a book of crossword puzzles.
“Gran,” I said hoarsely.
“Celie, you’re awake.” She gave me a huge smile, setting aside the puzzle book. “How’re you feeling, honey?”
“Better than I was.”
“I should think so.” Her expression darkened. “We were all so worried. Your Bruno’s been practically living here at the hospital. I told him to go home and get some rest, but he doesn’t listen.” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “That man really loves you.”
That was quite an admission coming from Gran. She’d never been much of a Bruno fan, even before we broke up all those years ago and he went back to Jersey. Once John Creede had come along, she made it clear that she liked him better.
“John’s stopped by a couple of times, too.”
I nodded.
“Tomorrow they’re transferring you to a regular room and then you can have all the flowers and plants people have been sending. It looks like a regular jungle out at the nurses’ desk.”
She was trying to sound cheerful, but her clothes were rumpled, as if she’d slept in them, and there was a shadow in her eyes that spoke of worries she didn’t want to burden me with.
“What’s wrong, Gran?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Not a thing now that you’re going to be all right.”
She was lying. I could tell. My gran doesn’t lie often, and not at all well. But before I could pursue it, the police sketch artist came through the door and Gran used that as her excuse to take off like a scalded cat.
Officer Alyssa Rivera was small, stocky, and dark-haired, with large dark eyes that took in everything and a soft voice that had just a hint of a Southern drawl. Off duty, I suspected she was a ball of fire. Working, she was all business, and careful, as if she was afraid to hurt me. She set her briefcase on the floor next to the chair by my bed and sat down, taking time to get her equipment set up just so.
“I know it’s going to be difficult, working with such raw memories, but I need you to think of each of the men in turn, in as much detail as you can.”
I concentrated, thinking first of the man in the hologram, the brains behind it all. I felt Alyssa’s mind brush mine carefully, saw her drawing a chalk outline. I was surprised. I’d expected her to use pencils or even charcoal. But she worked with pastels, in color. She had a quick hand and a surprisingly gentle mental touch. It didn’t take her long at all to come up with all four, pictures so accurate they could be framed and used as portraits.
I gave an involuntary shudder, then gave myself a stern mental shake. They were just pictures. Useful pictures, which we would use to find the bastards who had done this to me. “Can I ask you a favor?”
Alyssa paused in returning her art supplies to their case. “What can I help you with?”
That she didn’t know meant that she’d withdrawn from my mind. It was very ethical of her, and I appreciated it quite a bit. “Could you please send copies of those to me electronically? I’d like to have my business partner do an Internet search, see what she can come up with.”
I expected her to say no, to give me a lecture about staying out of it, letting the police do their job. I could see it in her expression. Then she looked at me, her gaze lingering on my missing eyebrows, on the stubble that was all that was left of most of my hair. I could almost see the memories she’d touched in my mind affect her—her lips set in a hard line, eyes darkened to near black.
“I’ll be happy to.”
As she left, Bruno came in. He kissed me gently and told me how glad he was that I was awake and that I was going to be okay. I really wanted to talk with him, but I was worn out. Just the small effort of dealing with the sketch artist had completely exhausted me, and while Bruno was still saying loving things, I fell asleep.
When I woke again, I was in a regular hospital room with pale yellow walls and an actual window. Every flat surface was covered with lots and lots of flowers and plants. I was no longer restrained, thank God, but a security camera was mounted on the wall so they could keep track of me. Still, no restraints, woot. I could tell it was morning from the angle of the light and the smell of breakfast, which mingled with the floral scents that filled the room. Glancing around, I spotted what had to be the breakfast tray on the rolling cart near my bed. I was wondering how it had gotten there without anyone waking me when I heard the sound of familiar footsteps outside my door.
I could tell it was John Creede from the scent of his favorite cologne, not to mention the warmth of his magic as he tested the wards on the door before opening it.
When he came in he looked … controlled, everything held carefully in check, his handsome face nothing more than a pleasant mask. He wore an expensive business suit that spoke eloquently of Isaac’s custom tailoring. I was willing to bet he was carrying plenty of weapons, hospital regulations be damned.
“John!” I didn’t bother to keep the surprise and delight from my voice. Our breakup a few months ago had been more than a little bit bitter, but I’d missed him. I don’t regret choosing Bruno, but I’ll always care about John.
“Celia, you’re up … and looking quite a lot better.”
Oh, shit. Gran had said he’d been here, but I hadn’t really thought about him having seen me like that. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
He must have sensed how stricken I was, because he sat down and started talking. His first question wasn’t a question at all. It was more an order. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I told him. As I did, I could feel his anger building, filling the room like water fills a cup. Interestingly, while Bruno’s rage is scalding hot, John’s is icy. Still deadly, but different. Then again, they’re very different men.
“John…” I paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry about Mexico.” I wasn’t sorry I’d fired him. He’d undermined me with the clients—which was totally unacceptable—and doubted my capabilities, which was hurtful as hell. But I could have handled it better, and I was damned sorry about some of the hateful things I’d said during our big fight.
He gave me a rueful grin and took my hand in his. “No. I’m sorry. I was out of line.” He sighed. “I’m not used to being second banana. I’m not very good at it.” His eyes met mine, his expression dead serious. “When I learned you’d missed the last flight out…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. He’d been sure they’d killed me.
I wasn’t insulted by that. My trip into the tunnels had been a last-ditch escape plan with maybe a five percent chance of success—success being survival. I’d made it out, with the last of the MagnaChem employees I’d gone down there to rescue. But it hadn’t been easy or pretty, and the two people who’d been escorting us had died.
I was saved an answer by the sound of whispered voices arguing outside my door. My expression must have shown that I was listening to something, because John gave me a questioning look. My vampire hearing had given me advance notice.
“Company’s coming,” I said with a smile. “Dawna and Chris.”