The empathy in his voice drew her gaze. His expression was full of compassion. Man, she was lucky to have him helping her, though she felt bad derailing his whole day. “Are you really sure you want to do all this? I don’t want to wreck your schedule.”
His eyes flashed toward her. “I wanna help. Let me. And, anyway, I can set my own work hours, so it’s no problem.”
“Oh. Tattooing?” Amazing to think he had an artistic side. She’d love to see him draw something sometime. Maybe after they found Charlie and all this was over. She refused to believe it would end any other way.
He frowned. “What?”
“You work tattooing?”
Nick gave a rueful laugh. “No. I meant it when I said I’m not really a tattoo artist. Most of the time I’m a process server.”
“Oh.” That job, she totally got for him. “Is it dangerous?” she asked.
“Not most of the time.”
She heard what he hadn’t said. “Hmm. But sometimes it is.” The thought that he put himself in harm’s way even now that he was back in the States made her stomach drop. And now he was putting himself in even more danger for her. “I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doing, Nick. No matter what.” She couldn’t finish the sentence. She wouldn’t.
“Hey.” His warm hand curled around hers. She squeezed back, so grateful for the show of support. “Try not to worry. I’m going to do everything I can.”
When her eyes pricked, she pretended to get real interested in the passing scenery again. “Okay.”
A moment later, she gave him another squeeze and eased her fingers out from under his, then retrieved her smartphone and opened the internet browser. Soon after, she was explaining to a locksmith what had happened at her house. Angling the phone away from her mouth, she whispered, “Two thirty okay?” He nodded, and she made the appointment. “All set,” she said when she hung up. It took a big worry off her mind to know he was doing this for her. “When this is done, do you think it’ll be safe for me to stay there again?”
“Probably. We’ll get you squared away. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Thank you. And I get off at three, so I’ll be able to help you later.” Despite the morning rush, they sailed crosstown on Lombard, arriving at the hospital in what seemed like no time at all. “Drop me off anywhere,” she said.
He pulled to the curb. “Pick you up at three, then?”
She blinked at him. “If you’re gonna be at my house this afternoon already, I’ll just take the bus home. It’s what I usually do anyway.”
Nick frowned, like he disapproved, but then nodded. “You sure?”
She gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll be home by four at the latest.”
“Good. Let me see your phone.” He made quick work of adding his info to her contacts and calling his phone from hers so he had her number, too. “Call me if you need me before then.”
“Okay.” She handed him her keys, opened the door, and got out, then stuck her head back in. “Thanks for everything, Nick.” At least if she had to be at work, she could take comfort knowing he was out there working on Charlie’s behalf until she got off.
“Hey, Becca?” he called right before she closed the door. She leaned back in. “Be careful.”
“I will. Thanks.” She closed the door and threaded through the stream of pedestrians toward the hospital’s tall glass entrance. At the door, she glanced back. Nick sat in his car at the curb, watching her. And the fact that he was still there blew away some of the cobwebs of loneliness that hung here and there inside her. She wasn’t in this alone. She and Nick were in this together. Gratitude made her smile and wave. And then she pushed through the doors into the chaos of the emergency department.
Chapter 9
Rixey knocked softly on the doorjamb and leaned a shoulder against the wood.
Phone braced between his ear and his shoulder, Miguel Olivero looked up with a smile and waved him in, then lifted a finger in a just-a-minute gesture. His salt-and-pepper hair revealed his sixties-ish age, but he was so animated—his expressions, his gestures, his volume—that you never thought of him as an old man.
Dragging the chair to the left so his back wouldn’t be to the door, Rixey dropped his ass onto the pleather and scanned his gaze around the office space that probably hadn’t been fashionable when it was new in the 1980s. The dark wood paneling made it feel like the walls were closing in, bug carcasses collected in the rectangular fluorescent light fixtures above their heads, and the veneer of the particleboard office furniture had peeled off here and there, exposing the pressed yellow wood beneath. But Rixey still liked visiting here because of the man behind the desk.
Miguel slammed the receiver back in its cradle. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he boomed with his usual over-the-top joviality. “How the hell are ya, kid?”
Rixey couldn’t help but smile around the guy. “Same old, same old.”