“Dan the Security Man.”
“Oh.” She unlocked it quickly and motioned him to enter. “Come in.”
I tried to sit up in the bed, but Greg placed his hand on my shoulder to ease me back.
“How is your nose?” I asked, anxious and feeling guilty that I might have caused my friend harm.
“Fine. It’s not broken. Thank God for that. It would be the fourth time, and I really like the job the last guy did resetting it.”
I could see it wasn’t broken. He didn’t have black eyes and the swelling was minimal. “I’m so sorry, Dan.”
He waved me off, loitering by the door. “No big deal.” Dan’s eyes flickered to Marie and he pointed at her. “We need you for a minute.”
She turned to me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded once and took a large gulp of my water.
Dan opened the door for Marie and she filed out; just before he left he glanced over his shoulder and gave me a conspiratorial grin. “You were pretty great in there, Archer. Let me know if you’re ever interested in consulting with Cypher Systems, because we could use some of your badass skills.”
I gave him a soft smile in return. “Thanks. You were pretty great yourself.”
Dan lingered, still grinning at me, until Greg snapped his fingers between us and ordered, “Okay, that’s enough. No prolonged stares appreciating my wife for her skills.”
Dan cocked an eyebrow at my husband, his mouth flattening into an unimpressed line. “Someone needs to appreciate Fiona for her badass skills, Greg. Because they are fucking awesome.”
And with that, he turned and marched out the door.
For a long moment I stared at the spot where Dan had disappeared, then slid my gaze to the side as I tried to assess Greg’s reaction. The movement hurt, so I closed my eyes and leaned back into my pillow. After a moment, I felt Greg remove the glass from my grip and heard him set it on a side table.
“Are we going to talk about it?” I asked, not knowing how I wanted him to answer the question. I was so tired. My muscles were sore, and so was my heart.
“The doctors said you passed out due to exhaustion and dehydration, Fe.” His voice was dark, unhappy, but restrained.
I nodded once. “I believe it.”
“I think we should wait to talk about everything until after you’ve rested.”
“I agree,” I replied numbly.
“But we will talk about it.”
I didn’t respond, instead opting to ask, “Did they give me any medicine?”
“Yes. Just acetaminophen and IV fluids. You’ve only been out for three hours.”
I flexed my hand, recognizing for the first time I had a needle stuck in my arm.
We were quiet for a while, and then I thought and said, “Will you lay with me?”
“Yes,” he answered at once, sounding relieved.
Instead of allowing me to scootch over on my own, Greg lifted me with infinite gentleness. He then climbed into the bed next to me and gingerly tucked me against his chest, my head over his heart.
“I miss the sound of your heartbeat,” I said, loving the feel of him, relatively unscathed, warm and real. I decided to be angry with him later, because right now I wanted to enjoy that he was alive.
Greg smiled against my hair. “The last time you said that was a week and three days ago, when we were in Chicago.”
A week and three days ago felt like an eternity.
“But I think it all the time,” I mumbled against his shirt.
He swallowed, and from the feel of it he did so with difficulty.
“I think about you all the time.” I snuggled closer. “You know how much I need you.”
“Do you?” he asked roughly, his hand squeezing my waist.
“Yes. I need you.”
His heart rate increased and I sensed a shift in his breathing; yet all he said was, “Sleep, my darling. You need your rest.”
I nodded, but then a thought occurred to me. “Greg, what happened to the money?”
His chest rose with a large inhale and I knew he was smiling again. “Let’s just say, your idea of using the mobile clinic was genius, and Dr. Evans is a brilliant co-conspirator.”
I frowned my confusion. “But I thought you rigged the money to explode.”
“Yes. Everyone did.”
“So she moved it?”
“I presume so.”
“What will she do with it?”
Greg paused, apparently considering my question, then responded on a sigh, “I don’t know. But I do feel certain our dear Dr. Evans will do more good with the funds than Boko Haram, the present government, or the CIA.”
I couldn’t help but agree with his statement. I decided, in a pinch, giving a hundred million ill-begotten dollars to Doctors Without Borders was a good plan.
“Also,” he continued, “she emailed me a picture of her sitting on a throne of hundred-dollar bills.”
I laughed lightly, tilting my head back so I could see him. “Jealous?”
“Yes.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ve always wanted a throne of money.”
“I know.”
“And yet you never get it for me for Christmas, though it’s on my list every year.”