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"Glad to hear it." He grinned, settling himself in the wheelchair. "And you're right. 'No' isn't in my vocabulary when it comes to you. Now, would you help me steer this stupid thing?"
"My pleasure."
CHAPTER 28
6:50 A.M.
ICU
Three nurses were restraining Carson, who was demanding to be allowed out of bed, when Sabrina wheeled Dylan into the room.
"Carson," Sabrina called out in a scratchy voice. "Stop tormenting those poor nurses. Dylan and I are fine. We're here. Abuse us instead." Her insides twisted when she saw the white-faced apprehension on Carson's face—apprehension that transformed to relief when he saw that she and Dylan were all right, then to anxiety when he saw that Dylan was in the wheelchair.
"Just a precaution," Dylan assured him immediately. "The doctor was afraid you'd take a swing at me and make my concussion worse."
"You have a concussion? How bad is it?" Carson barked.
"It's mild. Please, calm down." Sabrina glanced at the three nurses, who were mopping their brows, totally spent and at their wits' end. "Thanks so much," she croaked with a grateful smile. "Please. Go take a break. Put your feet up and have a cup of coffee."
"Spike the coffee," Dylan advised. "You won't be the first to do that after going a few rounds with this guy."
"Sounds good," one of them muttered. "Our shift's over in ten minutes. A seven A.M. cocktail might be a first, but till Eleven West gets him, I doubt it'll be a last." She assessed Sabrina and Dylan, her demeanor softening. "We heard the news. Are you both all right?"
"Good as new," Sabrina assured her. "Now go home and get some rest. We'll take it from here."
The RNs didn't need a second invitation. They blew out the door like three fleeing bandits.
Carson didn't even seem to notice. He was eyeballing, first Sabrina, then Dylan, and back again. "You scared the shit out of me," he accused, clearly shaken. "What happened? Who did this? What did the cops find out?"
Sabrina pushed the wheelchair over to his bedside, then walked over and took his hand. "Carson, listen to me. We'll answer all your questions and stay as long as you like. Just please, settle down. Dr. Radison stopped us on the way in, and warned us that this kind of excitement could raise your blood pressure and cause a setback. So take a few deep breaths and lie back. Dylan and I are both fine, thanks to his quick thinking and amazing reflexes. He saved our lives."
Carson squeezed her fingers, then gave Dylan a look filled with profound emotion and pride. "Doesn't surprise me. He's one in a million—always has been." Swallowing hard, Carson brought himself under control. "On the news they said something about an explosion and a fire. They're speculating it was a Molotov cocktail. Was it?"
"Two Molotov cocktails, actually," Dylan amended. "I heard both bottles break. Whoever threw them must have assumed we were upstairs and wouldn't have a chance of getting to the front door in time. Fortunately, we were down in the sitting room. We made a break for it before the fire got out of hand."
"How'd you get the concussion? How much smoke did Sabrina inhale that she can barely talk? And what other injuries don't I know about?"
"My throat's scratchy," Sabrina replied. "My eyes are still burning. Mostly, my nose is irritated. Not a surprise, given how sensitive it is. Other than that, I've got a couple of burns and some cuts and bruises—nothing worse than you'd get from falling off a bike. Dylan, on the other hand, had to outdo me—as usual. He came away with a big gash across his chest, more impressive burns than mine, and a concussion." Her light tone vanished. "Of course, that could also be because he used his body to protect me when we ran through the fire and when we hit the concrete." She dissolved into a coughing spasm.
"Sabrina," Dylan interjected. "Rest your voice."
She waved away his protest. "He wrapped blankets around us and made a mad dash for the front door. By the time we got outside, the blankets were on fire. He shoved us to the pavement—slamming his head in the process— and rolled us around until the flames were out. Then he passed out. Talk about being scared to death. I crawled over to make sure he was breathing. I could barely find a pulse. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was beyond frantic."
Dylan angled his head toward her, a surprised expression on his face. "I didn't know that."
"How could you? You were unconscious."
"Beyond frantic, huh? Did you call me your hero and beg me to live?"
Sabrina shot him a look. "Very funny. No, as I remember it, I threatened to kill you if you died."
"Wow. That's even worse than firing me." He turned to Carson. "She threatened to do that, too, earlier tonight. It was a different set of circumstances, of course. But she was frantic then, too. I tell you, Carson, she's one demanding president. I'm lucky I'm still employed."
Hot color flooded Sabrina's cheeks. "Can we stick to the subject?"
Carson's lips had begun to twitch. "I'm beginning to think there's more than one of those."
"There are," Dylan assured him.
