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“A hotel?” I remind Sawyer.
The man nods reluctantly, and I follow him to the door.
“I’ll give you a call if there’s any news,” Stormy says just before we walk out the front door.
I step lightly on the gravel on the way to the SUV Sawyer points at, feeling awkward when he opens the passenger side door for me and waits until I’m settled inside before walking around to the driver’s side.
He doesn’t speak as he cranks the vehicle and pulls out of the parking lot. I try to focus on the trees flashing by under the headlights, but I’m even more anxious than I was in the clubhouse.
“I can’t do this,” I tell him, my voice tainted with more emotion than I can control.
“You don’t have—”
“I don’t have a wallet or my ID. I can’t get a hotel room.”
I feel lost and helpless. I told myself many years ago I’d never put myself in a situation like this.
“I can swing getting you a hotel room,” he says, before adding, “You can pay me back later.”
We may not know each other well, but he knows enough about me that I’d insist on paying him back, and that helps me settle a little. Knowing I’ll never be able to pay him back fully, not only for his kindness but also for suspecting he was involved with the crimes Dixon was framing him for, settles in my bones. Apologies only go so far.
“What was Stormy talking about when he said updates?”
I look over to see his jaw flexed tightly, his eyes locked on the road.
“It’s club business.”
“I should’ve asked if you had something else going on.”
He shakes his head. “It’s… Bishop.”
I turn my head to look at his profile, watching as he seems to be gathering his thoughts.
“The man you thought the medic was helping wasn’t Dixon. It was Bishop.”
My body locks up. I’ve seen Rachel putting that much effort into helping someone, and the outcome is usually never good.
“Is he—?”
He shakes his head violently.
“No.”
The one-word answer sounding more like not yet.
I swallow down a bubble of emotion.
“He was injected with something, and it made him go into cardiac arrest.”
“I told him to leave,” I say absently.
“He didn’t.”
I’m grateful the rest of the drive is spent in silence, and also that Sawyer chooses a hotel different from the one we’ve spent time in together. I stay back, feigning interest in the rack holding all of the tourist pamphlets, while he pays for the room, all the while trying to avoid looking at my reflection in the glass of the artwork hanging above it.
I walk closer when he takes a step back from the counter, thanking the clerk without looking in her direction. I know what people automatically presume when they see a woman with injuries to her face. Even as a cop, having responded to numerous car accidents, my mind is quick to go in the same direction.
Sawyer keeps his distance on the walk to the elevator, only getting close enough to hand over a key card for the room.
Once we arrive at the room, he doesn’t hesitate to step inside after I unlock it. He doesn’t seem mocking as he crouches down, looking under the bed, before moving on to the small closet, even checking the bathtub and behind the curtains covering the massive window.
“Thank you,” I whisper even though there’s a very good chance I’ll retrace his steps and do the same thing again.
He doesn’t say anything as he steps closer, and I swear I’ll lose it if he says a word.
It’s already hard enough to keep my mouth closed rather than begging him to stay with me because the thought of being alone is making my hands tremble.
I lean into the palm of his hand when he cups my cheek, feeling a little disappointed when he simply brushes his lips at my temple before leaving the room.
Chapter 32
Ugly
Lennox doesn’t freeze when she opens the door to her room, finding me standing in the doorway of the room directly across from hers. I know she wanted some distance, some space she could call her own, but leaving her? It was never going to happen.
It took her a couple of minutes to open the door after I saw her shadow under it. I’m not surprised she’d check the peephole before opening it. I imagine she’d do this even if last night had never happened.
“I need to take you to the station,” I tell her, figuring just ripping off the bandage would be better than beating around the bush. I’ve never taken her as the kind to appreciate wasting time.
Her right hand tugs at the back of her neck as she looks from me back down the empty hallway.
I clear my throat, trying to gain strength for the next part of the conversation.
“Unless you need to go back to the hospital. Last night you said that he didn’t—”
