“Ana, I’ll fill you in on the details later. Mia is fine, all things considered. She was drugged. She’s groggy now and shaken up, but by some miracle she wasn’t harmed.” Christian’s jaw clenches. “What you did”-he runs his hand through his hair-“was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. You could have been killed.” His eyes blaze a bleak, chilling gray, and I know he’s restraining his anger.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
“You could have told me!” he says vehemently, fisting his hands in his lap.
“He said he’d kill her if I told anyone. I couldn’t take that risk.”
Christian closes his eyes, dread etched in his face.
“I have died a thousand deaths since Thursday.”
“What day is it?”
“It’s almost Saturday,” he says, checking his watch. “You’ve been unconscious for over twenty-four hours.”
“And Jack and Elizabeth?”
“In police custody. Although Hyde is here under guard. They had to remove the bullet you left in him,” Christian says bitterly. “I don’t know where in this hospital he is, fortunately, or I’d probably kill him myself.” His face darkens.
“Hey.” Christian scoots forward, his voice filled with concern. Taking the glass from my hand, he tenderly folds me into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice hoarse.
“Christian, I’m so sorry.” My tears start to fall.
“Hush.” He strokes my hair, and I weep into his neck.
“What I said. I was never going to leave you.”
“Hush, baby, I know.”
“You do?” His admission halts my tears.
“I worked it out. Eventually. Honestly, Ana, what were you
“You took me by surprise,” I mutter into his shirt collar. “When we spoke at the bank. Thinking I was leaving you. I thought you knew me better. I’ve said to you over and over I would never leave.”
“But after the appalling way I’ve behaved-” His voice is barely audible, and his arms tighten around me. “I thought for a short time that I’d lost you.”
“No, Christian. Never. I didn’t want you to interfere, and put Mia’s life in danger.”
He sighs, and I don’t know if it’s from anger, exasperation, or hurt.
“How did you work it out?” I ask quickly to distract him from his line of thought.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’d just touched down in Seattle when the bank called. Last I’d heard, you were ill and going home.”
“So you were in Portland when Sawyer called you from the car?”
“We were just about to take off. I was worried about you,” he says softly.
“You were?”
He frowns. “Of course I was.” He skirts his thumb over my bottom lip. “I spend my life worrying about you. You know that.”
“Jack called me at the office,” I murmur. “He gave me two hours to get the money.” I shrug. “I had to leave, and it just seemed the best excuse.”
Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line. “And you gave Sawyer the slip. He’s mad at you, as well.”
“As well?”
“As well as me.”
I tentatively touch his face, running my fingers over his stubble. He closes his eyes, leaning into my fingers.
“Don’t be mad at me. Please,” I whisper.
“I am so mad at you. What you did was monumentally stupid. Bordering on insane.”
“I told you, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You don’t seem to have any regard for your personal safety. And it’s not just you now,” he adds angrily.
My lip trembles. He’s thinking about our Little Blip.
The door opens, startling us both, and a young African-American woman in a white coat over gray scrubs strides in.
“Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I’m Dr. Bartley.”
She starts to examine me thoroughly, shining a light in my eyes, making me touch her fingers, then my nose while closing first one eye and then the other, and checking all my reflexes. But her voice is soft and her touch gentle; she has a warm bedside manner. Nurse Nora joins her, and Christian wanders to the corner of the room and makes some calls while the two of them tend to me. It’s hard to concentrate on Dr. Bartley, Nurse Nora, and Christian at the same time, but I hear him call his father, my mother, and Kate to say I’m awake. Finally, he leaves a message for Ray.
Dr. Bartley checks my ribs, her fingers probing gently but firmly.
I wince.
“These are bruised, not cracked or broken. You were very lucky, Mrs. Grey.”
I scowl.
“I’ll prescribe some painkillers. You’ll need them for this and for the headache you must have. But all’s looking as it should, Mrs. Grey. I suggest you get some sleep. Depending on how you feel in the morning, we may let you go home. My colleague Dr. Singh will be attending you then.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Taylor enters bearing a black cardboard box with
“Food?” Dr. Bartley says surprised.
“Mrs. Grey is hungry,” Christian says. “This is chicken soup.”
Dr. Bartley smiles. “Soup will be fine, just the broth. Nothing heavy.” She looks pointedly at both of us then exits the room with Nurse Nora.
Christian pulls the wheeled tray over to me, and Taylor places the box on it.
“Welcome back, Mrs. Grey.”
“Hello, Taylor. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, ma’am.” I think he wants to say more, but he holds off.
Christian is unpacking the box, producing a thermos, soup bowl, side plate, linen napkin, soupspoon, a small basket of bread rolls, silver salt and pepper shakers… The Olympic has gone all-out.
“This is great, Taylor.” My stomach is rumbling. I am famished.
“Will that be all?” he asks.
“Yes, thanks,” Christian says, dismissing him.
Taylor nods.
“Taylor, thank you.”
“Anything else I can get you, Mrs. Grey?”
I glance at Christian. “Just some clean clothes for Christian.”
Taylor smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”
Christian glances down at his shirt, bemused.
