“You want to go with me to the hospital later?” I ask Miles.
He nods. “Sure.”
“Good, because I have business to take care of.”
I DON’T like hospitals. All I can think about is catching a cold or disease from someone else nearby, like the air is filled with sickness and each breath gets me closer to infection. And it’s not like you can physically fight or shoot a sickness—which is how I’ve handled everything else trying to kill me in my life.
The Joliet Saint Joseph Medical Center, however, is clean and quiet. The place doesn’t seem to get much traffic, or maybe it’s because the building is huge.
“You worried someone will recognize you?” Miles asks as we walk down the wide corridors of the fourth story. “Is that why the news bothered you?”
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “Some cop already asked me too many questions. If some goon came looking for me, it would only add to my problems.”
“And you think guys will come calling for Shelby?”
“I’m willing to put money on it. If he dies in this hospital it won’t be an accident, no matter what the papers say.”
The nurses and technicians give us quick glowers. It is 7:53 p.m. and visiting hours end at 8:00 p.m. I’m sure none of them want random people mucking up their jobs by getting in the way.
I walk by a mirror and slow for a moment to get a better look at my hair. I don’t have many white hairs, just a few at my temples. That’s normal. Completely reasonable for my age.
“Checkin’ yourself out?” Miles asks with a chuckle.
“I’m not so narcissistic,” I say, turning away from the mirror and continuing along with Miles.
“Worried about your appearance? You shouldn’t. You’re a good-lookin’ man.”
Worried about getting old is what I want to say, but I keep it to myself. Nobody wants to hear a guy talk about regretting how he spent his youth. That bullshit is for daytime dramas or sappy, emotionally manipulative memoirs.
“Hey,” Miles says, tapping me with his elbow. “Look. Rhett is here.”
I glance ahead and freeze. Lieutenant Walker stands in front of Shelby’s room, his gaze on a file filled with paperwork. Miles hustles over before I can stop him.
“Hey, instructor!”
The lieutenant glances up from his work and smiles a perfect white smile. “Miles,” he says, a pleasant surprise to his tone. “How are you?”
“Excellent.” Miles stands next to the man and places his hands in his pockets. “What’re you doing here in the hospital?”
“I came to speak to the private investigator linked to my special assignment.”
“Shelby?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“We’re here to see him as well.”
“We?”
Miles motions me over with jerk of his head. I hesitate—half tempted to leave and come back once this guy is gone—but the lieutenant sees me before I can make a break for it. His sudden tense stance and hard gaze tell me that he remembers who I am.
Fucking perfect.
I walk over to Miles and give the other guy a curt nod.
“This is my boyfriend, Pierce,” Miles announces, patting me on the shoulder.
I cringe at the word boyfriend. That’s not the terminology I’m used to. Nobody in the Vice family mob wanted to hear about men having boyfriends or girlfriends. You had your bitches and your hoes, your fuck toys, your flings—admitting you had an emotional attachment to someone was unacceptable. It was weak. It invited trouble.
Lieutenant Walker glances from Miles to me, and then back to Miles, looking at him like he’s seeing him in a whole new light. “Miles, you never told me about…. Well, I didn’t know this about you.”
Miles lifts an eyebrow. “Is this a problem?”
“No,” Lieutenant Walker says, fast enough that he practically cuts off Miles’s question. “Of course not. You’ve just never mentioned him before.”
“I’m pretty sure I have.”
“Trust me,” the lieutenant replies with a one-sided smile. “I would have remembered if you had.”
The way he says that irritates me. I know what he wants. I can see it in the way he looks over Miles with renewed interest. My dislike for the man only intensifies as he pats Miles’s upper arm.
“You scored a hundred percent on your last test. I mean, not that that’s unusual, but with your new score, you’ve solidified yourself as top in your class.”
Miles rubs at his neck, a slight flush to his face. “Thank you.”
“I expect great things from you in the future.”
“I don’t know what to say. That’s a real honor coming from you.”
I’m not into this.
I throw an arm over Miles’s shoulders and pull him back a few feet. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” I drawl. “We’re pressed for time.”
“Call me Rhett,” he says, narrowing his gaze as he meets mine. “And I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”
I really don’t like the way he says that. Without any further commentary, I guide Miles over to the appropriate hospital door. Before I open it, Miles pulls me close.
“Hey,” he says under his breath. “Do you mind if I stay out here while you talk to Shelby? I want to ask Rhett a few questions about academy stuff.”
“Why?” I ask, my tone curt.
“I don’t usually see him outside of class. Plus, he’s a really important and accomplished police officer. I have a lot of questions that I think he could—”
“Fine,” I snap. “Don’t take long.”
Miles tilts his head like he wants to ask a question, but I slam into Shelby’s room without giving him the opportunity. It’s probably for the best that Miles talks to Rhett without me. Rhett’s distracted by Miles now, but that might not be the case once he’s thinking straight, and then he’ll want to question me.
And what kind of name is Rhett? Everything about the man—every little thing—gets under my skin.
“Pierce!”
I turn to find Shelby sitting in a hospital bed. Despite wearing a bulletproof vest, he still took a considerable amount of damage in the rail
