He lifted a hand—hard to do with a tube attached to it—and felt around the bandages. Sutures. He must have gone through a surgery.
And then he remembered everything. The dive of the plane, the whistling wind, and the splash of water. Holy hell. Had he really killed his brother?
A nurse marched in and checked his vitals. “You have a visitor, Mr. Walker. Are you up to it?”
“Who?” he croaked. Not Linda, he hoped. He didn’t have enough strength to face her.
“She says her name is Dee, and she’s really anxious to see you. Flew all the way from Washington.”
His stomach knotted. Not her, of all people.
“Tell her I don’t want to see her.”
“Okay,” she said brightly. “Maybe you’ll feel up to it after you’ve rested.”
“I mean,” he bit out, “I don’t want to see her again. Ever.”
* * *
“I’m going in,” Dee said that morning.
After last night’s flight, she and Rhonda had been waiting at the hospital for Rodney to get out of surgery. Apparently, he’d suffered a dislocated shoulder, a couple of cracked ribs, and multiple lacerations to his face.
Barry was already on the verge of firing her, and she’d committed to running for attorney general. If she couldn’t follow through with it, she didn’t want to take the spot away from someone else. She needed to fly back tonight. And, eventually, get a little sleep.
“Want me to go with you?” Rhonda asked, munching some potato chips from a vending machine.
“No, I need to do this alone.”
“Maybe we should go. He broke up with you, and now he says he never wants to see you again. Take a hint.”
“He’s in shock and probably a lot of pain,” Dee insisted. “He needs me even if he doesn’t realize it.”
Rhonda held up her hands. “Okay, but don’t blame me if he throws your ass out.”
Dee sneaked down the hall toward his room number. If he never wanted to see her again, fine, but she needed to look into his eyes when he told her. Her drawstring pants and tank top, the first things she’d grabbed during her hasty packing, were wrinkled from traveling. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice.
After she slipped inside the room, the sight of the man in bed covered with so many bandages froze her heart. And his face, good Lord, was covered with wall-to-wall gauze. His hair looked scraggly and kind of dark, but she was glad they hadn’t cut it all off.
“Oh, Rodney,” she whispered.
His eyes were closed, but they flew open when she touched his hand. Emotion flooded through her at the feel of his warm flesh. Even if he threw her out, she had all the proof she’d come for—he was alive.
“Last time, I was the one in the hospital,” she said. “I can’t believe this happened to you. I was so scared when I heard.”
“I told you to…stay away,” he said, his voice a rasp.
“How could I with the way we feel about each other?”
He shifted in the bed. From pain? Or did seeing her again make him so damn uncomfortable? She wasn’t feeling too comfy herself. The accident must have really taken a toll on him because he didn’t seem like himself at all. It stirred an uneasy feeling in her gut.
Rodney was usually a gentleman. Why didn’t he thank her for coming such a long way, at least? Then she told herself not to judge him. She hadn’t been through what he had. Maybe pain, painkillers, or both had messed up his mind temporarily.
“When I told you it was…over, I meant it,” he said, his lips pulled back in a grimace.
Okay, okay. I get the message.
So, why was she still standing there? Hadn’t she told Rhonda if he looked into her eyes when he told her to get lost, she’d believe him?
His eyes… The more she gazed into them the more uncomfortable she felt. They glittered with barely suppressed repulsion and hate. A chill snaked down her arms. So familiar. And then it hit her. She remembered the coldness of those eyes.
We don’t need your kind around here.
They’d looked the same way when Jack answered the door to the Georgia estate. Which meant— Oh God Oh God Oh God. Dee doubled over when the impact of it hit her.
Rodney was the one presumed dead.
Chapter Fifteen
Pearl River, Louisiana
Rodney opened his eyes and groaned. Through blurred vision, three dark faces peered down at him. He squinted, trying to figure out who they were. Not Dee. Not her parents. Definitely not the band. The pain made it hard to think. It came from his entire body, but mostly his head and right ankle. His headache topped all his past hangovers combined.
The ankle had some sort of bandage and splint on it. Must be broken. What about his vision? Did he have a serious head injury?
“You’re awake. I’m Bubba Smith,” the man said. He had gray hair, round cheeks, and a big smile—minus a few teeth. “This here’s Karen, my daughter, and Timothy, my grandson.”
All three of them wore tank tops, shorts, and cheap flip-flops. Very practical, considering the weather.
Rodney must really be out of it because the cot he lay on felt like it floated. Had he died? Surely, heaven wouldn’t be so humid or have flies. The smell of water, so thick you could cut it with a knife, reminded him of the swamp behind his house in Georgia. He’d bet money he was somewhere in the South.
He appeared to be wearing nothing but briefs with a towel draped over his loins.
“We’ve been taking care of you,” the petite woman said. She wore her hair natural with a headband and no jewelry whatsoever.
“Thanks. Uh, where are my clothes?”
“Had to take ‘em off,” Bubba explained, “so we could treat your injuries.”
“Your
