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“Yeah, you could say that. Mind telling me how you ended up in my hospital room?”
“I was hired to kill you.”
That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “Who hired you?”
“I’m assuming the same people who beat the crap out of you.”
When Kingsley had promised Serena that he’d let Sean get the medical care he needed, and he would be free, he had known that the man had been lying. Serena had no doubt suspected the same, but she’d wanted to give him a fighting chance. His gut twisted at the knowledge that he’d left her there with that animal.
Knowing the guilt would do nothing to help, he refocused on McAlister. “So you’re an assassin?”
“Not anymore.”
Before Sean could ask what that meant, McAlister held up his hand. “Let’s skip those questions for the time being. How are you feeling?”
“Like I should be dead.”
“You came close enough.” He nodded at a folder on the bedside table. “You’ve got some healing and rehab to do.”
Grabbing the file, he zeroed in on the diagnosis for his leg. “They wanted to cut off my leg?”
“Yeah. Looks like surgery and antibiotics worked, though. That’s why I brought you here to the clinic. Doc gave you what you needed.”
“So I can leave?”
McAlister shrugged. “Doc gave me an earful for stealing you from the ICU, but he agreed that as long as you stayed in bed and took your meds, you should be able to recover outside a hospital.”
Sean glanced around the small room. “So where are we?”
“Private clinic about a hundred miles outside of Los Angeles.” He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately, we can’t stay here. Drake and Stryker will be landing at a private airport in Arizona in about three hours. We need to be in a safe house by then.”
“You’ve got one?”
“I’m working on it.” He nodded toward a wheelchair in the corner. “Think you can get yourself into that?”
If it meant leaving here and getting started on rescuing Serena, he’d crawl if he had to. “Yes.”
Standing, McAlister grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it to the bed. Gritting his teeth, Sean pulled himself up and then into the chair. He hated every moment of weakness, but he was grateful he was alive to feel it.
McAlister threw a bag filled with pill bottles onto his lap. “Doc supplied you with some drugs and instructions on how to take care of your wound.”
“I don’t get to meet the man?”
McAlister huffed out a gruff laugh. “Doc’s shy. He prefers his patients unconscious.”
Which likely meant the man was practicing without a license and didn’t want to be seen by those he didn’t trust.
“Tell him thanks for me.”
He gave a nod and a grunt, which Sean was coming to understand was Brody McAlister’s go-to method of communication.
As they moved through the small building, Sean noted it was actually a house. All the doors they passed were closed, making him think they were filled with other people who couldn’t go to a hospital for regular care.
McAlister silently loaded him into a van, putting him in the back seat so he could keep his leg propped up.
As they headed out of the city, Sean could do nothing more but close his eyes and torture himself with thoughts about what Serena was going through.
Brody pulled into the hidden, graveled drive and took a quick survey of the surroundings. Place wasn’t much to look at—yard was weedy and overgrown. The ramshackle house with crooked shutters and peeling paint looked like more than a couple of ghosts and maybe a raccoon family called the place home. Might not look like much, but for his purposes, it was perfect.
