Neely Kate tried to look horrified, but it was easy to see she was amused. “Well, as long as you don’t take six hours to get to the courthouse, we should be good.”
“I do know a long way . . .” he teased.
I pulled Neely Kate to the side. “Are you sure? I don’t know how long Mason’s gonna be getting his CT scan. I’ll have plenty of time to take you back.” I shifted my eyes toward Carter Hale who stood three feet away with his arms crossed, looking like he’d caught the world by its tail. “He looks too cocky.”
“I know all about Carter Hale’s exploits,” she said with a grin. “Even if I were single, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to get caught up in his web of lies. He’s a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy, and god love ’im, he’s soon to run out of women in Fenton County.” She laughed. “I’m safe, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll text you when he drops me off.”
“Good. But don’t be thinking about going to find Billy Jack without me, okay? He’s bound to still be ticked off at us. We should go together.”
She gave me a hug. “If you need me for anything, call me. And keep me updated on Mason.”
“Okay.”
She walked out the door, with Carter following behind her. He tried to put his hand on the small of her back, and she shoved it off as though it were a white-hot poker. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty
I went back to Mason’s room to wait for him, the receptionist shooting me a hateful glare as I passed. A short while later, Neely Kate texted me to say she’d made it to her car, safe and undefiled. I wasn’t used to sitting around, so I started thinking about Dolly Parton again, trying to piece together the clues we’d found about her disappearance and Nikko’s, but we were still missing too much information.
After a half hour Mason still hadn’t returned, and I started to worry, but the door opened several seconds later, and the orderly pushed Mason back into the room. He’d changed clothes and was now wearing a blue hospital gown. And he didn’t look happy about it.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“They refused to tell me anything,” Mason complained. “But I feel fine. It’s a waste of time.”
The orderly tried to help Mason out of the chair and onto the bed. Mason grabbed the opening in the back of his gown and shot the orderly a frown. “I have a cut on my forehead and a pounding headache. I’m not a damned invalid.”
I laughed and gave the poor hospital worker a sympathetic look as I said to Mason, “You do seem to be feeling fine.”
The orderly hurried for the door, and Mason called after him, “Would you please send a doctor in here to stitch up my head so I can get the hell out of here?”
The poor guy mumbled something unintelligible and left the room.
“You really should be nicer to them, Mr. Cranky Pants,” I said, moving next to him.
His face broke into an ornery grin. “You mean like shouting something about Ebola in a crowded waiting room?”
“For the record, Neely Kate regrets that. Especially after hospital security threatened to call in the cops.”
He sat up. “Does she need help?”
“No, an attorney was sitting in the waiting room, and he got her out of it.”
His back stiffened. “Which attorney?”
“Carter Hale. Do you know him?”
His mouth pursed. “Oh, I know him all right. What was he doing here?”
I paused. “You know, he never told us. He heard Neely Kate talking to a security guard and cited some court case to get her off the hook. Neely Kate knew of Carter and accused him of sitting in the waiting room to chase ambulances.”
He laughed. “I wish I could have seen that.”
“Is he that bad? He took Neely Kate back to her car by my office. Maybe I should have taken her instead.”
“No, he’ll be harmless to her. If anything, she’s liable to chew him up and spit him out.”
The door opened, and a doctor entered the room.
“It’s about time,” Mason muttered.
“You need to be patient, Mason,” I said in a low voice. “What happened to your usual patience?”
“It’s nonexistent when it comes to hospitals.”
The doctor introduced himself and said, “You’re not the first man to be eager to escape this place, and you won’t be the last. Let’s see what we can do to get you on your way.” He put on a pair of gloves before he poked and prodded.
Mason grimaced a few times but kept silent.
“You have two choices,” the doctor said. “I can stitch it, and there will be a slight scar, or we can get a plastic surgeon in here to work on it. There’s no guarantee it won’t scar with him, but it will probably scar less.” The doctor grabbed a mirror and handed it to him. “Why don’t you have a look at the position of the gash before you decide?”
Mason examined the wound, which was diagonal across the left side of his forehead.
“I’m fine with a slight scar. You can stitch it.”
“It will give you roguish look,” I teased.