My lips felt dry and cracked. I marveled that I could still feel the slight pinch of them where the skin split, considering the resounding ache in my whole body. I’d read once that the lips were one of the most sensitive parts of the body, a high concentration of receptor cells. Maybe that was why Carlos never kissed me. Maybe he’d thought it would tell me too much. A sob escaped me, manic-sounding, helpless.
A warm hand enclosed mine. “Are you in pain?” he asked, a note of concern deepening his voice. “I’ll get a nurse.”
I squeezed his hand to stop him. “No, stay.”
“Don’t try to move. Just rest.”
Slumping back against the thin pillow, I sighed. “How long?”
“Twenty-four hours. You’ve been out of it mostly, on the pain meds.”
“Mostly?”
When he said nothing, I knew I must have done something embarrassing. I glanced over to find his expression hard, jaw tense. His nostrils flared. Anger. No, scratch that.
Rage.
“Hennessey, look. I know I disobeyed—”
“Don’t you dare give me that bullshit. This isn’t your fault.”
“But if I’d only—”
“The van and its location were compromised. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were inside or not.”
I considered that. “How did they find out where the van was?” Silence again. “Hennessey?”
He blew out a breath. “Jesus. I think Brody might have set you up.”
Shock tore through my chest. “What?”
“I’m sorry. He knew you were Laguardia’s type. I think he put you on the team to lure him. And he knew the position of the van… He forced us to move early.”
The silence filled in the rest. He’d put me on the team to lure Carlos in. I was a bit of cheese in the mousetrap. That part wasn’t a surprise, but what came after had been. The spring hadn’t gone off like it should have. Instead of being caught, Carlos had caught me instead. He’d stolen me away, like the thief that he was, the criminal.
“Makes sense.” My voice sounded flat. “You always knew there was something off about it. Me, on a high profile case. The rookie.”
“Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He ran his hand through his hair, and only then did I notice how ruffled it looked, the dark blond with glints of silver. He must have been messing with his hair a lot to get it in that state. I’d never seen him looking less than polished before now. For that matter, dark circles marred his bloodshot eyes. His white T-shirt and jeans looked hastily thrown on and rumpled. Had he sat in that straight-edged plastic chair the whole twenty-four hours?
I swallowed. “Look, I can’t promise I’m going to be normal or happy, but I don’t want you to hide anything from me. I’m still your partner. Right?”
“Right,” he said, but his eyes were veiled, and we both knew it was a lie. I would have been pulled, officially, as soon I’d been taken. I might get reinstated, but that would only be after Brody signed off on it. Considering this case had just gotten personal with me, I doubted that would happen.
“Do you... Do you want to talk about it, what happened to you?” He grimaced, self-deprecating, as if aware of the awkwardness he exuded. I imagined he’d have been far more comfortable taking a witness statement, or even better, interrogating me. Instead he offered me friendship.
A smile ghosted over my lips. “I must be really bad off if you aren’t even pushing for details.”
“Those can wait,” he said. Then paused. “I can put Brody off for a few days at least.”
I raised my eyebrow. “How, exactly?”
“I’ll say you lost your memory. Temporary amnesia.”
Reluctantly, I laughed. There was no way in hell Brody would buy that.
“Or we just won’t tell him you’ve woken up. You’re in a coma.”
I rolled my eyes, shocked and pleased that we could joke about this. About anything. The awkwardness slipped away, leaving only raw friendship. As if I’d never even left.
“I’m sure he has a direct line to the doctor.”
“Then I’ll barricade the door and keep him out.”
“Held captive again? Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
“Only this time you’d want to stay captive.”
My smile slipped. Had I wanted to stay kidnapped before too? I wasn’t sure. Any sane person wouldn’t, but then I’d figured out a long time ago I wasn’t sane.
As a kid, I hadn’t wanted my father to hurt me. But I’d resented him that he hadn’t. So which was it? Which did I want? Both had pain, one physical, one emotional. Both were sick in their own dark way. It was the only life I knew, one drilled into me as a child. Every moment was defined in terms of pain or its lack. At least pain meant attention.
It meant love.
“What happened at the warehouse? Over the comm, we heard you… It sounded like…”
I couldn’t say it. That was how head over heels I was for him—even laid out in a hospital bed, beaten and bruised, I couldn’t fathom the idea of him hurt.
His eyes were a million miles deep, just then. He took down the walls and let me see how much it meant to him.
“Laguardia broke free,” he said simply.