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“Yes, this is Merrick Flynn.”
“This is Special Agent Carson with the FBI. Can you tell me your current location? I’d like to have a chat with you, in person.”
Merrick’s brain raced and his pulse quickened. Why does the FBI want to speak to me? Did I do something wrong? Had Bombshell done something wrong?
“What’s this about?”
“I understand you hired a Private Detective, a Mr. Giovanni Brunetti to look into a certain county sheriff. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about, but not on the phone. Where are you, Mr. Flynn? I’m in Atlantic City—but you weren’t at your hotel.”
“I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. I have a friend in the hospital.”
“Well, tell me where you are, I’ll drive over—we’ll meet for ten minutes —then you can go back to your friend.”
Reluctantly, Merrick gave her his location. He hung up and called Tony. The call went to voicemail. He called Giovanni and got his voicemail. He didn’t bother to leave either a message. He paced the waiting room and checked his watch. He’d need to go downstairs soon.
What if he was going to be arrested? What if they put him in jail and he’d never see Bombshell again.
She’d been placed in a recovery room, but the nursing staff on that floor did not allow any visitors, she he hadn’t been able to see her.
Well, he wasn’t going to let some bossy nurses stop him from at least saying goodbye. Making himself as small as he could considering his almost seven feet of height, he walked decisively past the nurses’ station. No one tried to stop him, so he hurried around the ward, peering quickly into each until her found Bombshell’s.
As soon as he saw her, his stomach fluttered and his heart gave a lurch. It was so good to see her alive. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. A tear ran down his cheek. It had been almost twenty-four hours since he’d last seen her.
There was no one around so he moved into the room. She was still in a coma, her breathing steady, her chest rising and falling in even motions. Her eyelids twitched as if she was having a dream. Her face seemed relaxed, so he hoped it was a sweet dream.
“Bombshell,” he said, whispering as he crouched closer. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She didn’t respond.
His throat closed and his words became thick with emotion. “Please come back to me soon. Please be okay. I-- I love you.”
He kissed her forehead softly. Then he went downstairs to face the music.
Chapter Twenty Two
The girl lying in the hospital bed came out of her coma. First her eyes fluttered open, and she realized she was smiling about something. Why am I happy? Something was itching on her forehead. She brought a hand up to rub it, but something was blocking her from moving it freely. She opened her eyes wider and tried to figure out where she was.
“Good morning. I’m here to take some blood,” she said.
The girl in the bed knew that she was in a hospital. She held out her arm.
The phlebotomist held up the vial. “You’re Mona Lisa Van Dyke? Is that correct?”
The girl in the bed shook her head.
“No, I’m Jana Peters.”
The young Filipina wrinkled her nose. “You are? I don’t think so. Look, here’s your chart—it’s got your picture and everything. You’re Mona Lisa Van Dyke, age twenty-four—see?”
Jana Peters cocked her head; this was interesting. She stared at the chart. There it was in black and white—her name, her birthdate, a copy of her driver’s license with her picture. This was so weird. Even the birthday was incorrect. She wasn’t twenty-four, she was twenty-five. And she wasn’t born June 15th, she was born September 29th.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not right. What happened to me? Why am I here? Is this Linton General?”
“I don’t know what happened to you, miss. I’m just supposed to take your blood samples. But, if you’re not the right patient, then I go.”
