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“I heard you were a smart-ass.”
I wince. Both from the pain and the very stupid fucking idea of smarting off to the director of the FBI—a man who could have me disappear very, very easily. “Sorry. So . . . what is it you want to know?”
I still can’t actually see him from his shadowed place in the corner with my highly immobile body, but I’ve got a sneaky feeling that’s the entire point.
“What made you come to Cordone’s party after receiving orders not to? Did you receive private intelligence from an undisclosed source?”
“No, sir,” I say with a groan, trying to sit up enough to look him in the eye and failing once again. “I’m just an idiot.”
“Fun story, but I’m not buying it.”
I sigh. “I overheard that SWAT was going to be there. A lot of SWAT. I got a bad feeling. Felt like I needed to be there for . . . extra eyes. Extra protection.” For Valentina.
“So there was no conversation between you and any foreign intelligence?” he asks. “You just went there on a . . . bad feeling?”
“Yes, sir. Some might call it a gut instinct.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he comments on a sigh. And then he laughs. “You’ve got just enough balls to make a good federal agent one day, talking to the director of the FBI this way. Any interest in learning to follow fucking orders and giving it a try?”
I shake my head. “No, sir. I think I’ll stick with Metro Nashville PD from here on out. I’m less ballsy when I’m not coming off anesthesia.”
“All right, Maddox. No offense, then, but I hope I never see you again.”
“Same, sir. Truly. Same.”
I push my call button as he steps out of the room, intent on getting some fucking water and a bead on where Valentina is before the next government fuck can come in here wanting to know why I got caught with my dick in my hands tonight.
I know Valentina still might have no interest in seeing me whatsoever, but I’ve got to at least try so I can see she’s all right for myself.
The nurse comes in the room in a hurry but goes straight to the machine next to me instead of asking why I needed her. It’s very unorthodox protocol, and as I start to feel suddenly sleepy, I don’t think it’s coincidence.
“Whas goin’ on?” I manage to slur, my mind and my lips unaligned. “Why I feels so . . .”
“Sorry,” she says, her voice kind. “Doctor’s orders to up the sedation again now that they’re done questioning you so you don’t hurt yourself. Just rest and relax.”
Ah, fuck. Here we go again.
46
Valentina
4:45 p.m.
Shane’s eyes are shut, the soft beep of his monitors the only sound in the otherwise quiet, dark room. The agents are no longer guarding his door, and the train of Nashville police officers coming to check on him finally ended an hour ago.
The nurse at the desk told me when I started crying hysterically for information, at the end of my rope six hours ago, that he’s been doing fine but stayed mostly asleep, and I can see now she wasn’t lying just to shut me up.
I’m still dressed in my heels and gown, and the makeup I put on nearly twenty-four hours ago is dried and a little crusty. I can still see the dirt under my fingernails from when Nico dragged me away from Shane’s limp body, and I haven’t slept, save one nap in Nico’s lap about twelve hours ago.
I feel rough, but finally making it in here now, it’s worth it.
Approaching Shane’s bedside, I take him in and fight the small urge to punch him in his wound and kiss him all over at the same time.
My system doesn’t know exactly what to do with all the love and lies mixing together. Fairy tales aren’t supposed to have espionage and gunshots; they’re supposed to have missing shoes and hair that heals and kisses that wake beauties from sleep.
Running a gentle thumb along his cheek and settling my palm at his jaw, I lean forward and touch my lips to his in a gentle kiss. I don’t know why, other than it feeling like I need it to breathe.
He stirs at the touch, his tongue licking out and touching my lips, and I gasp, which opens his eyes on one smooth motion. Seeing his brown eyes—seeing him alive and well and awake—is the crack that breaks the dam.
