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It wasn’t until I was falling asleep again that I wondered why he hadn’t given me the directions to the nearest urgent care I’d asked him for.
A couple of hours later, his call woke me up. “Huh?” I said.
“Hey. I got the information on the print shop for you.”
“Already?” I sounded like my tonsils had been dancing the tango with a sheet of sandpaper.
“Yup. My assistant, Alice, is in the city this week, so she volunteered to investigate.” JT snorted. “She went down to the apparel place and pretended she was PennCo’s newest, least capable employee. Said her boss wanted her to order some more Elustre gear, but she completely forgot who authorized the last batch, and could they please help her? They looked up the purchase order, and sure enough, Alena Jimenez was the contact. Any guesses who it was billed to?”
“Layla James,” I said hoarsely.
“Layla James,” JT confirmed. “And Alice got the name of the person who helped her at the printer, too. I’ll email you her name and cell number. Rea, what does this mean?”
“It means I work for a snake,” I said so forcefully it set off another round of coughing.
“Oh, man, that does not sound good,” JT said in a gentler tone.
“No kidding. I feel like dog shit.” I laid my arm over my forehead since my brain felt in danger of exploding. “I was going to go to an urgent care place, but my brother forgot to text me a location.”
“I didn’t forget,” he chided. “I did something better. I sent you help.”
“You sent someone? Here?” The sheets felt uncomfortable on my prickly skin, and I couldn’t decide if I was cold or sweaty. “If you love me at all, please tell me Mother’s not coming.”
He chuckled. “Patricia? Voluntarily playing nurse? No. She has people for that, Reagan.”
“Rosalia,” I said, blowing out a relieved breath. “I could do with some Rosalia mothering, to be honest. But I’d hate for her to get sick.”
JT’s familiar laugh was comforting. “Not Rosalia either. Don’t worry. Just get some rest.”
He ended the call before I could ask him anything else, and the ensuing coughing fit was the worst yet, leaving me gasping and sweating despite my chills.
But I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing with all this information I’d acquired. Thatcher needed to know what Layla had done. I grabbed my phone, then hesitated.
Thatcher was probably in no mood to talk to me when I still hadn’t had a chance to explain or apologize for the Brantleigh thing. And last time I’d tried to tell him about Layla, he’d refused to listen, like I’d been trying to jump the chain of command.
So, fine, then. I’d follow the chain of command. As soon as I caught my breath, I began an email to my boss.
I know who sent the shirt to Nova Davidson. I have proof. Tell Thatcher or I will.
Then, without considering the consequences, I hit Send…
And passed out.
Chapter Twenty
Thatcher
I wouldn’t say that having McGee along made flying easy, but it certainly made it better than it would have been. He sat in the seat beside me, big body blocking out the window so I could almost forget there were clouds on the other side of the shade, and made no comment when I clutched the chair arms so hard my fingers went numb. He turned his black-and purple bruised glare at any passengers foolish enough to attempt small talk. He ordered us each a mini bottle of alcohol and got me to take both. Then he secured us a rental car after landing while I tried unsuccessfully to get Reagan on the phone.
He also kept me from murdering the hotel manager, who refused to let me into Reagan’s room and calmly reminded her that the hotel would be liable for anything that happened to Reagan if they refused to enter the room and perform a wellness check immediately.
The second the door was unlocked, I ran inside first and found Reagan on the bed, swaddled under a mountain of bedding, clinging to a half-drunk bottle of Gatorade like it was a security blanket.
“Oh, baby, fuck.” I peeled the sweat-soaked covers down and saw a pale, shivering Reagan underneath. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now. You’re going to be okay. You hear me?”
“Thatcher?” His forehead crinkled as his eyes cracked open, and even though the aquamarine was cloudy with sleep and sickness, just seeing them made me calmer than I’d felt in days.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got you. We’re going to get you to the hospital. But first…” My eyes met McGee’s. “Get me a cold cloth, please. And you—” I glared at the manager, who’d covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve and was trying to back out into the hallway. “Where’s the nearest emergency room?”
