I run my eyes over her clothes before shaking my head. “She’s wearing a skirt and…” My reply trails off when it dawns on me it’s the same clothes I saw her in days ago. “She hasn’t changed her clothes. She’s wearing the same items she had on when she dropped me off at the airport.”
Before she can reply, the door to Justine’s room creeps open, and Trey enters. He gives me the same riling look he did days ago before asking, “Has she said anything?”
I shake my head.
He drifts his eyes over Justine’s sun-hardened body and face before asking, “Where’s the blood coming from?”
Carefully, I angle Justine’s head to the side before pulling back a section of her hair to expose the bump I mentioned earlier. While Trey bobs down to better assess her wound, I snatch up a bottle of water Nero left on the table next to the couch.
I almost have the lid undone when Trey says, “Don’t give her any water. You could fuck her over more. Nero is organizing a doctor to come check on her. She’ll be here in a few…” He stops talking when an unexpected giggle parts Justine’s bone-dry lips. “Does she generally laugh in her sleep?”
“I wish.” I pause when it dawns on me how out of the loop I am in all aspects of my family’s lives. Old Justine never laughed, but since I’ve been so focused on tracking India down, I can’t confidently say that is the case now. “I haven’t heard her giggle since she got them.” My stomach gurgles when I move my head to an obvious dog bite scar on her shoulder.
She isn’t the only Walsh member with a dog bite scar. I wear mine with honor. I can only hope Justine does one day as well.
My eyes snap down to Justine when she rolls over with a groan.
“Justine…” Trey says, his tone authoritative but not overly commanding. “Can you open your eyes for me?” I smirk when she answers him with a grunt. It’s early, and dawn awakenings have never been Justine’s strong point.
“Justine…” Trey tries again. My heart pumps out a funky tune when Justine slowly flutters her eyes open. “Hey.”
She’s clearly dazed and confused but lucid enough to shuffle into a half-seated position. “W-W-What happened?” she stammers out, her two words expressed extremely slow.
“How bad is her head injury?” Agent Machini asks in a whisper at the same time I say, “You don’t remember?”
Justine barely shakes her head when her eyes pop out of their sockets. I only just get the bucket Nero dropped off with the bottles of water under her chin before she brings up some funky-smelling chicken.
I inconspicuously nod when Agent Machini warns, “You need to keep a close eye on her, Maddox. Vomiting after a traumatic brain injury can be a sign that something more sinister is happening beneath the surface.” She must hear the woosh of my head bob because her concern shifts into an interrogation not even two seconds later. “Where was she located?”
Unsure, I repeat her question to Trey. “Where was she located again?”
“By Interstate 95. One of our couriers thought he was seeing things.”
“Hold on,” Justine says between barfs. “I was found along a highway?”
Trey nods. “You were a few miles from the private airstrip you used last week. We figured that was the location Nikolai told you to use in case of an emergency.”
Justine brushes off his claims by screwing up her nose. “Why was I on Interstate 95? Blaire and Rico’s apartment is miles from there.”
“Blaire and Rico?” Trey’s tone echoes the concerning sigh booming through my ears from Agent Machini. She’s as worried by Justine’s confusion as me. “What do they have to do with anything?”
“We had dinner with them last night,” Justine replies while staring at Trey like he’s lost his marbles. “You know this because Nikolai called you on our way.”
I plant my backside on the section of the couch not taken up by Justine’s tiny frame before gathering her hands in mine. “You had dinner with Rico and Blairethreenights ago. You’ve been missing ever since.” She stares at me, but her mouth remains tightly shut, prompting me to say, “You’re also in Vegas. Trey meant Interstate 95 on the California border, not the one in Florida.”
“That can’t be true,” she murmurs, gently shaking her head. “You don’t just lose three days of your life.”
“She needs to see a doctor,” Agent Machini recommends at the same time Justine requests to see Nikolai. “Where’s Nikolai? He’ll prove we were with Rico and Blaire last night.” She drops her eyes to the slops of food in the bottom of the bucket. “That is the rosemary chicken Blaire prepared for us. She used herbs that would help my queasy stomach.”
When she lowers her hands to her midsection to emphasize the reason behind her upset stomach, her pupils widen to the size of saucers. She’s hammered by dizziness when she lifts the hem of her shirt. I’m bombarded with red hot anger. The bruise on her stomach is worse than first thought, and it’s the obvious shape of a man’s fist.
“J,” I mumble under my breath when she leaps to her feet and races for a door I assume leads to a bathroom.
Trey must have been raised in a household without women. He doesn’t grant Justine even five seconds of privacy. He’s up in her business in an instant. “You truly don’t remember, do you?”
She peers at him in the vanity mirror before shaking her head. “All I remember is having dinner. The rest is blank.”
“She needs to be assessed by a doctor, Maddox. Please, I am begging you to get her medical attention now,” Agent Machini says during my short walk to the bathroom.
