A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

 

 

“And your point is?” Mom has a way of using condescension as if it were a scent. A weapon. Something tangible that you can taste. If condescension had a flavor, it would be my mother’s pheromones.

 

“My point is that Lindsay is an adult. She can assign power of attorney to whomever she pleases.” The doctor gives me a look that manages to be both compassionate and challenging, yet also remaining firm. “Do you want this room emptied?”

 

“Yes.” Both Drew and I say the word at the same time.

 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” The doctor looks to Daddy and says, “I’m sure you want to avoid media attention.”

 

“Are you threatening to kick me out of my own daughter’s hospital room and then go to the media about it?”

 

“I wouldn’t have to go to the media about anything. They’re five feet away, clogging my hallway and compromising my other patients.”

 

“Sir.” Drew leans over and whispers something to Daddy, who frowns, then nods.

 

“Good point.” He walks across the room, kisses me on the cheek, and leaves without another word.

 

“Sweetie,” Mom says, playing it up for the crowd. “If it’s best to let you rest, then we need to go. I know you wish we could stay, but you need to follow doctor’s orders.”

 

She has this way of turning someone else’s “no” into my problem, as if I were an errant child disobeying the doctor. But if it means she’ll leave, then I’ll play along.

 

She air kisses my cheek and leaves.

 

My shoulders sag with relief.

 

“That bad?” Drew asks.

 

“You know the answer already.” I look at the doctor. “Thank you.”

 

“I’ve dealt with lots of celebrities. Politicians aren’t that different, other than having the power to pass laws.”

 

“Tell that to my dad.”

 

“I think she just did, Lindsay.” Drew walks out of the room, says a few sentences to someone in the hall as the doctor checks my pupils, and returns.

 

“I’ve got Silas outside.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. “And here’s your phone.”

 

I remember that my phone buzzed with a text, right after the crash. I take it from him and check my texts. One from Mom, one from Stacia, and—

 

“Drew.”

 

He’s assuring the doctor that he’ll watch over me. She leaves.

 

“Drew!”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Shaking so badly I drop the phone on my knee, I try to answer.

 

But I can’t.

 

“Just look,” I finally whisper.

 

He picks up the phone, reads, and steel pours into his face.

 

His eyes meet mine.

 

“Everything just changed, Lindsay. I’m not leaving this room. Not for one second until you’re home.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 36

 

 

 

 

 

Welcome back, Lindsay. Ready to play with us again? the text reads.

 

I don’t recognize the number, but then again, how would I? I don’t recognize any numbers. I’ve been gone for four years. I don’t think I know my own mother and father’s cell numbers by heart.

 

“Gentian!” Drew snaps. Silas appears instantly. The two huddle, Silas’s expression hardening, eyes glancing at me. A toughness takes over in him, a visual change that is stunning.

 

“Got it,” Silas says, answering whatever instructions Drew just gave.

 

“I have two more men on their way, Lindsay, and we’re covering your car now.”

 

“Covering?”

 

“In case the evidence is tampered with. We need to protect whatever the investigators need in order to find these guys.”

 

“So you think it’s...” I don’t have to say the words.

 

Drew goes to my window and pulls the curtains shut. I know he’s not doing it to help me sleep. Closing curtains covers the windows and makes me less of a sniper target. Then he grabs a chair and stands on it, checking the sprinkler system, the fire alarm, the duct work, and anything on the ceiling or wall that might conceal a camera.

 

“Clean,” he says into his earpiece.

 

“Considering I came in through the ER, I can’t imagine that someone would—”

 

“You don’t have to imagine. That’s my job.”

 

He is so upset. I’m too tired to be upset. Adrenaline can’t run through me anymore. It’s all gone. If I had any left to give, my body would inject every cell with a flood of emotion and fear. Instead, all I can do is close my eyes and feel everything all at once.

 

“What are we going to do?” My words echo through the room like a machine with an alert or the whoosh of an electronic gadget designed to monitor me. Not the kind my father has used for years as part of his overall strategy, but a medical device. One designed to make sure that I stay as healthy and alive as possible.

 

Whoever sent me that text is determined. They did the opposite. They want me hurt. They want me unhealthy. They want me unstable.

 

I’ve been home for two days.