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A moment later, the door opened, and Randall hurried through. He kept his head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Judging by the extreme submissiveness of his posture, Fiona wondered how it could be possible for him to beat anyone. But then again, some of the most horrible crimes had been committed by the least likely individuals.
“You two.” Micheline pointed. “Get Jake up to the medical area right now. See that he gets treatment. And Randall, don’t you ever beat one of my guests without checking with me first, understood?”
Randall mumbled something that sounded like agreement and nodded. Then Bart unlocked Jake’s cell, and he and Randall hefted Jake up between them, half carrying, half dragging him along.
“No way is he going to make it up those stairs,” Fiona called out, worried out of her mind. Even her own pain faded into the background as she tried not to imagine the damage to Jake’s already broken body if the two men tried to drag him up metal stairs. Even worse if they failed or dropped him.
Bart shot her a poisonous look, but when Micheline agreed with Fiona, his expression changed.
“Get a stretcher and a couple more men to help you,” Micheline directed. “He’s already in bad shape. The last thing I need you to do is kill him. He’s important to one of my plans.”
Of course, Fiona thought grimly. Micheline didn’t care about Jake, despite having raised him since birth. She only wanted him whole so she could still use him to try and bilk the Coltons for money. And Fiona had to put a stop to that, somehow. No matter what.
Chapter 12
Previously in his life, Jake had been kicked by a horse, gored by a bull, and crashed a motorcycle, but he’d never hurt like this. Since he’d lost consciousness after the first blow, his assailant must have simply kept on beating him, just for the hell of it.
Judging by the way he felt, the weapon of choice had been either a crowbar or a baseball bat or along those lines. He had a pretty good idea that more than one bone had been broken, and judging by how much it hurt to breathe, two or three ribs. Or more. He couldn’t tell. His entire body felt like one giant throbbing mess of pain.
He jolted awake when someone—two men—lifted him under his arms and tried to drag him out of his cell. Silently screaming, he mercifully blacked out and knew nothing else until he woke up in some kind of hospital bed.
Which meant at least they’d let him out of the cell. But taking him to a hospital? Risky on Micheline’s part. One of his eyes was too swollen to open, but he used the other one to try and figure out his location.
Not a hospital, he realized. He wasn’t hooked up to any machines, for one thing. And the room didn’t have that sterile feel of most hospitals.
Then where? Dimly, he thought he remembered Fiona saying something about a medical area at the AAG center. Of course—Micheline wouldn’t take a chance on him telling anyone what had happened to him.
But did they have the resources to patch him up? He knew he needed an ER, a skilled physician and some medicine. At least the pain seemed to have subsided, which meant most likely he’d been given some sort of drugs. He felt...good, actually. Yep, definitely drugs.
Lifting one arm, he realized someone had bandaged his chest. Which would definitely help with his ribs.
He wanted Fiona. Would they tell her where to find him? And if they did, would she even visit? The thought made him frown. He could swear he’d heard her voice, down there in the basement. Had he hallucinated it, driven crazy by pain and wishing for the one person who might be able to make him feel better?
Once again, he must have drifted off. When he opened his eyes again, his mouth felt dry and his stomach empty. Moving his head slowly, he looked for a nurse or an attendant, hating the way the entire world seemed to move drunkenly along with him. Vertigo, which meant strong medicine.
An older woman with a bright smile appeared in his line of vision. She adjusted his bed, raising him into a half sitting, half reclining position, and handed him a paper cup with ice water in it.
“Drink slowly,” she advised. “Give your body a chance to get used to fluids.”
Accepting the cup, he took a sip, resisting the urge to down the entire thing. Since his mouth was so dry, he took a few ice chips and let them melt on his tongue.
For one absurd moment, he caught himself wishing he had a living mother. But since he didn’t, he figured it must be whatever drugs they’d given him that made him entertain such crazy thoughts.
Carefully, he set the cup back down on the metal tray and closed his eyes.
He must have drifted off to sleep. The next thing he knew, someone brought in a plastic food tray and placed it near his cup. “Soft foods only,” the smiling attendant told him. After she’d left, he glanced around the room, only to see he was alone.
“Fiona,” he croaked, as if by saying her name he could somehow summon her.
When she didn’t appear, he shook his head at his own foolishness, then winced as the room spun and dipped alarmingly.
Once he felt steady again, he opened his eyes and gingerly reached for the covered plate. Inside he found a bowl of lukewarm chicken soup and a container of green Jell-O. Slightly nauseated, he went ahead and tried a spoonful of soup.
It tasted delicious. Surprised, he tried another. Before he knew it, he’d finished the entire bowl.
After he ate, he dozed. He knew there was something important he needed to do, but he couldn’t seem to muster up the knowledge of what it might be. Instead, he let himself sleep. He figured he’d probably remember once he’d gotten some rest.
Fiona. Jake came awake with a start. His entire body hurt. Even breathing made him shiver with pain. Which meant the drugs had worn off. But at least his mind wasn’t befuddled.
