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This…arrogance…this attitude of law-unto-himself was why ten months ago Sam’s career in the FBI had been hanging by a thread.
Jason wasn’t even sure how to answer—maybe an investigator not personally involved with the victim?—but in any case, a nurse—older and about four sizes larger than the morning’s model—bustled in on her nightly rounds. She checked Jason’s vitals, assured him he was doing great, and commiserated over his once again having missed Dr. Taggert.
“He hasn’t had anything to eat today,” Sam interjected.
The nurse assured them that was impossible, Sam assured her that he’d been sitting next to Jason’s bed all afternoon. The nurse assured them Jason’s meals had been delivered, Sam assured her Jason had slept through his meal times. She seemed skeptical but finally departed, promising to see if she could hunt up a stray sandwich.
The debate over his meals defused a lot of Jason’s frustration. Now that Sam had mentioned it, he was kind of hungry. In fact, maybe some of his physical discomfort was partly due to hunger.
Like it or not, Sam operated by a different set of rules. It didn’t mean he didn’t care. Jason was disarmed by Sam’s casual mention of sitting beside his bed all day. He remembered how comforting it had been to wake up and find Sam there—and how nice it had felt to have Sam holding his hand.
It was kind of like dealing with someone on the high-functioning end of autism. Though more likely Sam was just an arrogant bastard—but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a lot of good qualities too.
Sam had followed the nurse to the door, which he closed after her.
“Does my family know I’m in here?” Jason asked as Sam reseated himself in the uncomfortable-looking chair beside his bed.
“Yes. I spoke to your father. I let them know you were recovering quickly and would likely be released before they could make the trip.” Sam looked braced for Jason’s ire, but Jason sighed wearily.
“Thanks.”
His parents were elderly. He did not want them—or either of his sisters—flying across country if they didn’t have to. In fact, thank God Sophie was back in California right now and not in Washington, or nothing on earth would have kept her from showing up to tell the hospital everything they were doing wrong.
Sam studied him for a moment. Nodded.
They were silent for a few seconds. Even at night, even with the door shut, a hospital was always humming with activity. Through the closed door he could hear a Dr. Harmon being paged. And from down the hall, someone was crying.
“Listen.” Sam’s voice sounded slightly strained.
Jason turned his head to meet Sam’s glinting look.
“I don’t know any other way to say this. You’re important to me. Too important to take chances with.” Sam seemed about to add more, but instead simply shrugged. “That’s all.”
That was all—and it was kind of everything.
Jason reached for Sam’s hand, and Sam’s fingers instantly wrapped around his in a hard, reassuring grip. “It’s okay. I’m just…rattled. Sorry.”
He understood. Sam had not been able to protect Ethan. That perceived failure drove him in his professional life. Naturally, it would be a driver in his personal life too.
Sam said in a flat, impersonal tone, reminding Jason of their earlier interview, “There were no witnesses to the attack on you. A couple of people saw a black sports car racing out of the parking lot after you were hit. Nobody got a license plate. All attention was on you—and the driver of the car that hit you.”
“The car that…”
“Our best guess is the unsub followed you to the restaurant, waited for you to come out, and injected you with Thiopental. Somehow you got away and tried to make your way across the parking lot. You were hit by a vehicle entering the fire lane. Fortunately, the car was only traveling about ten miles per hour, and it was a glancing blow. Even so, it knocked you into the trees and shrubs of the street frontage. That attracted immediate and considerable attention. We believe the unsub was forced to abandon his plan and flee.”
Well, he’d asked. That accounting seemed to line up with the little he did remember.
Sam said, “You’re trained to memorize details even under the most stressful conditions. I think your recall of those missing minutes will return. Part of the problem now is the Thiopental still floating around in your system. It can affect memory.”
“I hope you’re right.”
That was the good news. The bad news was only now really sinking in. Someone had planned to abduct and perhaps—probably?—kill him. He had been too groggy earlier—and there had been so much to think about—that he had not had time to really consider what this meant. He had not had time to be afraid.
He was afraid now.
Chapter Four
“No way.”
