“Twelve stitches. Turns out industrial glue isn’t hospital protocol.” A faint smile. “But it worked. Kept me alive until I could get proper medical attention.”
Something fierce lit through her. Her superglue hack had kept him alive. He winced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Got a nice tetanus booster in the ass too. You?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” His gaze lingered on her for a beat, then he took hold of the rail at the foot of Caro’s bed. “Are they treating you okay?”
“Like royalty.” Caro gestured at the TV and the jug of water next to her bed. “Fluids, rest, and strict orders not to save any more rigs for at least a month.”
“Sounds about right.” His smile was wide and unguarded—the first real one she’d seen from him. “I checked up on your medevac. He’s in intensive care but stable.”
“Stoller. Thanks.”
A nurse bustled into the room.
“Visiting hours are over. She needs rest.”
Wyatt headed toward the door. “Get some sleep, Caro.”
“I will.”
Jen stood up. “Text me tomorrow when they discharge you.”
“Will do.” Caro’s eyes were already drifting closed. “Thanks for not letting me die in a vent shaft.”
“Thanks for not letting me die everywhere else.”
Caro chuckled, but her eyes didn’t open.
Jen followed Wyatt into the corridor, away from the police guard stationed outside Caro’s door. Two agents with clipped haircuts and neutral smiles hovered outside. One offered a gaunt smile. “Ah, Ms. James?—”
Wyatt immediately blocked their view of her. “She’s not talking to anyone else without a lawyer and some goddamn rest.”
He took a gentle hold of her elbow, steering her away from the men and down the corridor.
The hospital moved around them. Nurses at stations. Doctors conferring in low voices with dark-suited FBI agents. Policeeverywhere. The beep and hum of machines. But it felt distant. Muted.
“Well, I should…” She gestured toward the public phone on the wall.
“Should what?” A frown marred his face.
“Um. Get a ride to a hotel.”
His hand closed over hers, warm and solid. “No.”
“Wyatt—”
“No. You’re not going to a hotel.” His eyes held hers. “Not tonight. You’re coming home with me.”
Her pulse stumbled. “I can’t just?—”
“Yeah. You can. I need to know you’re safe. I’m not doing that from across town while you’re alone in some hotel room after everything that just happened.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and part of her bristled at the certainty in his voice. But a bigger part was bone-deep relieved she didn’t have to decide anything tonight.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles, and a muscle in his temple blipped. “Please.”
She should say no, insist on a hotel, on being fine. But God, she was tired of being brave. And he looked just as wrecked as she was.
