I dash forward, Miles by my side, and I sidestep the poor woman on the ground, gathering her fallen paperwork.
“Hey!” a nurse at the nursing station shouts. “No running!”
I ignore the scolding and continue. Our suspicious man dives around a corner, and Miles sprints to catch up, passing me in the process. Despite the fact there are fewer people than before, the halls are filled with empty stretchers, chairs, nurses doing their work, and medical equipment.
Miles navigates through the hall like he’s running an obstacle course.
I slam my shin on the corner of a metal chair and curse aloud.
When I round the corner, I see Miles frantically glancing down a four-way intersection of hallways. I jog over and grab his shoulder.
“Where’d he go?” Miles asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say with a huffed breath. “He’s going to try to leave. Take the elevator. I’ll take the stairs.”
Miles nods and hops off, rushing toward his destination without glancing back. After a moment of reflection, I roll my eyes. What was I thinking? I should have taken the elevator. I take a deep breath and head for the stairwell.
The cold shaft of switchback stairs is dim and uninviting. I leap down several steps at a time, passing a handful of people in the process, but my shin throbs with a dull ache by the time I reach the bottom. I take a moment to rub my leg before exiting the stairwell and glancing around.
My unfamiliarity with the hospital hinders me. I search for the exits, but I don’t see any.
“Sir?” a nurse says as she walks up to me. “Visiting hours are over.”
“Have you seen a man wearing a large jacket?” I ask.
“Lots of people are wearing jackets.”
I give her a sideways glower. She returns my look with a sneer.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she says.
Miles jogs down the hall toward me. When he gets close, I take him by the arm. The nurse ushers us to the front of the building. Miles gives me a questioning glance, and I shake my head. “I didn’t see him,” I mutter.
“Neither did I,” Miles replies.
“I told you Shelby might not live through his stay here.”
“What’re we going to do about it?”
I grit my teeth. I want to say call the police, but the fact that a questionable character was already here tells me that Shelby might be right. The police may be in on this operation. The police know where Shelby is. How did that goon? Was he told?
“I can talk to Rhett,” Miles says, “and tell him about the incident.”
I offer a dismissive wave of my hand as we step outside into the fluorescent lighting of the parking lot. “Sure. And I’ll tell Shelby to sleep with one eye open.”
MILES PARKS our clunker in our driveway. The glow of the moon illuminates our otherwise dark neighborhood, and I step from the vehicle with a new appreciation for the surroundings. The dead grass, thin shrubs, and chain-link fences have an odd twilight charm when half-lit and half-buried in shadow. Then again, I’ve always preferred the night.
“What did Shelby want to talk to you about?” Miles asks as he steps out of the car and shuts his door.
“He wants me to continue his case.”
“The one with the kidnappers?”
“Yeah.”
Miles waits as I walk around the back of the car before he asks, in a low voice, “What did you say?”
“I said I would.”
He furrows his brow and crosses his arms over his chest. I stop once I’m next to him—I know he has something to say—and I shake out my bruised leg. The seconds drag. It’s cold out. I glare.
“Out with it,” I demand.
Miles stares at the concrete. “This is a dangerous case. I said I didn’t want you to go throwing yourself into gunfights all the time.”
I don’t respond.
“You couldn’t be bothered to ask me before you said yes?” he asks, returning his gaze to mine. He looks more hurt than angry. I can’t stand the guilt.
“I told you I’m capable of taking care of myself,” I say, terse. I take one step toward the house, but Miles grabs my forearm and pulls me back. I whip around, tense and out of patience, half-cocked for a fight.
“Pierce, listen.” He leans back against the side of the car. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just want you to think about your own safety, ya know? You’ve been a little off since we moved in together. Since you came back to me after Jeremy.”
“I told you I’m not gonna talk about it.”
“That’s fine.”
“Then why bring it up?” I step up even closer to him and glare. “Do you have something else to say? Get it out of your system now, if you do. I don’t want to hear about it later.”
“I do have something to say.”
I’m a little taken aback by his confidence, but I let him speak his piece.
Miles pushes off the car, and we stand inches apart, his conviction as visible as his foggy breath. “I’m going to help you.”
“Help me?” I repeat, confused for half a moment. “No.”
“I’m not asking. I made a decision.”
“This isn’t a game. Those thugs are out for blood.”
“I’m a grown-ass man,” Miles states, mimicking my own words. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
I shake my head. “You have your classes.”
“Only four hours a day. I think I can manage.”
What a smartass. He has an answer like he’s been mulling over this whole thing in his head.
“And,” he continues, “I think this is a noble cause. One worth the risk.”
“I agreed to do it because Shelby will sign off on my experience if I do,” I say, clearing this up before it becomes an issue later. “I didn’t do it to help anyone.”
“But helping people will be incidental.”
“Sure.”
“I know you thought about them. And even if you
