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Contrary to what Eilish has told me, the nurses, the doctors, and her own family, this wasn’t an attempted mugging.
At all.
Maybe her story about “fighting them off” would hold more water if theyhadn’tknocked her unconscious. But they did. And yet, for mysterious reasons, once she was knocked out these would-be muggers neglected to steal her Chanel bag, the four hundred dollars in cash inside that bag, her credit cards, phone, iPad, matching Tiffany’s earrings and necklace, or her Cartier wrist-watch, itself alone worth four thousand dollars.
Either Eilish managed to run into the world’s worst fucking thieves, or my personal theory is right: someone wanted to hurt her—either just tohurt her, or, more likely, to send a message. To her family, or maybe to me.
Anyof those scenarios turns my blood to fire. And when I find whoever did this to her, I’ll turn killing them into a spectator sport.
“Hi.”
My gaze snaps from her hand, which I’ve been holding tightly, to her eyes, which are now open.
“How do you feel?”
“Groggy,” she mumbles, considering. Her face scrunches up. “Achey. And my head still hurts a bit.”
I frown as my other hand raises, gently pushing back her hair. Eilish smiles quietly before she makes a face.
“Guess I should have taken that ride with you, huh?”
My jaw sets. “Yeah. You fucking should have.”
She smiles wryly. “I did have a very nice night before…you know, this.” She points at the swelling on the side of her head. She giggles. “Beside that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”
I frown deeply. “I’m not sure I’m ready to joke about this.”
She shrugs. “Oh. I guess I am.”
My eyes search hers. “Who did this to you? This ismeasking, not Neve or Castle.”
She frowns. “You think that means I have a different answer?”
“I was hoping it might.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Sorry, same answer. Just two guys who wanted to take my bag.” She shrugs. “It’s New York. Muggings happen.”
I nod, smiling as I stroked her hair.
She told the intake nurses it was one mugger.
She told her sister it was three.
Now it’s two.
I know she hit her head, but still. Something isn’t adding up. But I’m not pushing the issue. Not yet.
When she yawns, I smile and squeeze her hand.
“Get some rest, Eilish.”
She nods, her eyes closing.
“Isn’t it past visiting hours?”
“It is.”
She smiles, her eyes still closed. Her hand squeezes mine back.
