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But something must be wrong because there’s no other reason he’d reach out.
I connect the call. “What’s wrong?” I ask, assured that bad news is coming.
“It’s your mother,” he says flatly, my hand tightening on the phone. “She’s in the hospital with a brain bleed. They’re doing surgery now.”
“What the hell happened?” I demand.
“No clue.” His voice is without emotion. He never loved my mother. “Dad found her on the patio, unconscious.”
I’m bursting out of my chair and while holding the phone between my shoulder and ear, I start packing up my laptop. “Text me the hospital information as well as the name of the surgeon.”
“You can’t talk to him,” Joshua says, his tone that of a bratty fourteen-year-old despite the fact the man is thirty-eight. “He’s operating on her as we speak.”
“I’ll get one of his partners on the phone,” I snap as I nab my car keys.
“Oh, big important man can command surgeons at a whim,” Joshua drawls.
“Fuck right, I can,” I snarl and disconnect. I whip off a quick text to him. Send me the hospital and surgeon info.
Even though Joshua hates me, and the feeling is mutual, he won’t dare ignore my request. He knows I’ll beat the shit out of him without breaking a sweat and with my immediate boss (who has become a dear friend) being one of the richest women in the world, I could fuck with him in other ways if I so chose.
I’d wouldn’t, preferring to use my fists instead, but he doesn’t know that.
But it is Brienne Norcross I need to call right now. She should be the first to know that I need to head home to Nevada and don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I can do my job remotely but I know she won’t want me to focus on that with my mom in the hospital. Then I’ll call Cannon West and fill him in on Coen. He’ll have to take point to figure out what’s going on there because I’m about to step into a world of complications that will blur my focus.
♦
Returning home to Incline Village would cause me angst no matter if my mom was in the hospital or not. It’s not the place but the people who keep my visits infrequent and short.
Despite the maelstrom of emotions, I’m unwittingly awed by the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains that roll down to the deep blue waters of Lake Tahoe. The town sits on the north side of the lake, just over the border from California. The beauty robs me of my breath and I experience a pang of loss that this was taken away from me.
As I drive toward the hospital in the rental car I picked up at the airport, the towering pines shimmer in the late-afternoon sunlight and throw dappled shadows on the roadway. The village itself exudes affluence.
Tucked discreetly away between trees and perched in elevated spots are custom-built homes, many with expansive views of the lake, that range from five to seventy-plus million dollars. These luxury retreats span the styles of modern architectural masterpieces of glass and metal to rustic lodges. I spent the last half of my pre-adult life in a twenty-thousand-square-foot monstrosity made of rough-hewn logs and stone, compliments of my stepfather’s wealth, but that place was never a true home.
The hospital in Incline Village is small but staffed with an excellent surgical team, including a very competent neurosurgeon who performed a craniotomy this morning on my mom. Thanks to Brienne’s private jet, I made it here in good time and Mom is out of recovery and in her own room. It does indeed pay to be affiliated with the Titans and have the Norcross power behind me. Through her contacts, Brienne also facilitated frequent communication between me and the hospital. I’ve talked to the surgeon once and the floor nurse three times since leaving Pittsburgh.
I’m not familiar with the hospital as it was built after I left for college twenty-two years ago. A nice lady at the front lobby directs me to the third floor and after I exit the elevator, I look at the directional plaques on the wall. Room3228 is to the right, so I head that way.
I come upon a nurses’ station and stop to check in. A pleasant-faced older woman looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Lila Willard’s son, Callum Derringer. I was told she was in room3228.”
The woman’s eyes round with surprise, but I can tell she was expecting me. “Of course. Dr. Figler said you’d be in and wanted me to page him when you arrived. He or one of his partners wants to talk to you.” She points down an intersecting hall. “Your mother’s room is down that way on the left. She’s probably still sleeping off the anesthesia but she’s doing well. Vitals are all strong.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving the nurse a grateful smile as I walk away.
The door of my mom’s room is cracked and I push it open gently so I don’t make any noise. If she’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.
It’s dim inside, the slatted blinds closed against the low-hanging sun. I step in, my eyes taking in my mom’s thin body and the large bandage over the right side of her head. Her eyes are closed and—
I jolt as I realize someone’s sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. She’s leaning forward, her forehead resting on her arms crossed on the edge of the bed rail.
Her head lifts and I freeze in place as I take in Juniper Ryan.
There are no other words to describe the woman other than she’s stunning. Her raven-black hair is wound on top of her head in a loose, messy bun. Those hazel eyes look more olive green in the dim light but I know if she was catching a face full of sun, they’d be the color of forest moss with dark gold flecks around the edges. Juniper has Native American ancestry and you can see it in the high cheekbones and aquiline nose, as well as her light olive complexion.
“Hey,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. She sounds tired and I wonder how long she’s been sitting there.
