“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna give you a hug,” I tell Alex. “I don’t want to get you sick. Just wanted to come say hello. I’m so glad you’re on the mend.” Could be that I wouldn’t get him sick—unlike the flu, pregnancy isn’t catching, after all—but it’s not worth the risk.
Alex waves me off, like his life wasn’t in any real danger to begin with. “Can’t wait to get back to work,” he says. “These four walls are starting to drive me nuts already. And these assholes won’t quit calling me lazy, either. I need to get back on the rig, show them how it’s done.”
“If getting crushed and almost dying is how you do it, we don’t wanna know,” a young guy with a buzzed head says, laughing.
“Whatever, man. You’re just jealous that I get to hang out with hot doctors all day long.”
The kid with the buzz cut rolls his eyes. “You think I struggle getting tail? Do you? Really? I bet if I asked this lovely young thing out on a date, she’d say yes, wouldn’t you, doc?” He sends a heavily suggestive wink my way.
“Don’t you be hassling that young woman,” Cynthia calls. “She’s got a beau at home already. Why don’t you come and lay some of that charm on this single old woman, huh? I wouldn’t mind the attention none.” The cheeky old girl has a goddamn beer bottle in her hand. I grab it from her just before she can raise it to her lips and take a swig.
“Whoa, now. You aren’t allowed that, Miss Cynthia. You just had heart surgery.”
“What about intercourse?” she asks. “You know…nookie. Might that be possible?” She cuts her eyes at the fire fighter standing next to her, her eyes glinting brightly. He pretends like he didn’t hear her, but the tips of his ears are turning redder and redder by the second, and I can’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy; she’s incorrigible.
“I’m afraid you need to lay off any strenuous physical activity for the next little while as well. Your doctor will give you the go-ahead when he thinks you’re fit enough to cope with the…excitement.”
Cynthia beams at the fire fighter. “Think you could come back and visit in a few weeks, hot stuff?”
Chapter Twelve
ZETH
The thing about promises is that they’re often really inconvenient and difficult to keep. I swore I wouldn’t put Mason in the ground for what he’s done, but I wonder just how pissed Sloane will be if I just gave him a gentle beating? A light ass kicking? Just one little black eye? Seems unfair to me that I should be expected to leave him entirely in one piece. Really, if there was any justice in the world, I’d be allowed to give him a good hiding just once.
Now all I’m allowed to do is use him to feed information to Lowell, and that’s nowhere near as satisfying. Could come in handy, though. It’s been five days and I haven’t come up with something appropriate to have him relay yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I have to make sure everything appears normal. The gym has to be opened. Sloane has to go to work. Mason still has to come train after he’s done at the auto mechanics—which I personally fucking hate, I don’t even want to lay eyes on the fucker—and Michael has to keep doing his thing, too.
So there it is. Business as usual.
I’m driving across the city toward the gym when I notice the Denali with tinted windows behind me, following two cars back. That certainly isn’t business as usual. I drive this route every day, twice a day, sometimes more, and I’m always hyper aware of my surroundings. No way a Denali would be tailing me for so long, indicating, changing lanes, taking exits exactly as I take exits, without there being some reason. That reason is obvious: Lowell’s gotten bored of waiting for me to slip up and do something wrong, so she’s following me, waiting for the right moment to pounce. It’s a surprise she hasn’t arrested me already, given her propensity to act first and figure shit out later, but maybe her higher ups have slapped her wrists a couple of times. Her partner was killed months back at a shoot out in the fucking hospital, for crying out loud. It’s a miracle she’s allowed anywhere near this case.