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I’m out the door before half her threat leaves her mouth.
When I encroach a bed in the middle of an intensive care unit, I’m confident the officers standing guard outside the unit told me the wrong bed number. The woman in the bed looks nothing like Henley. Her hair is dark and stormy, sitting just above the bandage hiding a horrific knife wound on her neck. A mottling of bruises and cuts obscures her freckles, and her hospital gown and the bedding keeping her warm from the AC hide her sweltering curves.
She looks so different. Even if the man who killed her mother stood across from her, he wouldn’t recognize her.
The man who startles me should be grateful I removed my gun before entering the hospital. “We had to change her look to hide her identity.” Marshal Levalley steps closer to the machines keeping Henley alive. He looks as tired as me, his eyes just as wet. “It is all reversible, but from what I’m hearing, we won’t be able to do that for a little while.”
My eyes shoot to him in silent questioning.
Mercifully, he can read me better than I can Macy.
“She is the only person who can identify her mother’s killer.”
“By a tattoo potentially thousands of people have.”
I’m knocked back two spaces when he confesses, “She saw his eyes too.” He licks his lips that appear as if they won’t stop quivering for days. “I left it out of the report. I didn’t know why at the time. I just knew I had to.”
“Then why did you write her up? If you had kept her name out of all reports, she wouldn’t be here, fighting for her life.”
That’s a lie. Leroy would have still come because he knew what I was too scared to admit.
Henley had crawled under my skin. She had imprinted herself on me. But now I might lose her, and I’m the most scared I’ve ever been.
Shame flares through Levalley’s eyes. It is quick, but it exposes everything.
“What does he have on you?”
“She,” he corrects, too scared to continue lying while reminding me we hardly know anything about the cult running rampant through the bureau. “She knew about my affair with one of the witnesses under my watch. She threatened to tell my wife if I didn’t bring you in for questioning and place her name on official reports.” He looks at Henley when he says “her.”
“Your partner?” I query, certain I’m wrong. Their taunt is to have us walking a tightrope above hell, so why would she punish him for the most godawful act a married man can do?
He shakes his head, a tear in his eye almost falling. “This goes far higher than a handful of law enforcement officers missing a promotion.” We’re interrupted by a blonde in a stiff black suit, an angry snarl on her face as she waves Marshal Levalley over. “I have to go.” He angles his head to hide his lips from the officers in the hallway. “If you want her to stay alive, trust no one.” He backtracks on his warning almost immediately. “Except perhaps her.” He nudges his head to Macy, who’s barging through the procession of IA officers like they’re below her. “She’ll never admit it, but I know she knew all along that Henley was with you. She is a good agent, but she is a shit liar.”
After a final remorseful stare at Henley, he dips his head in farewell, then approaches the agents waiting to handcuff him.
32
HENLEY
An argument wakes me.
“Is it true? Did you know Henley was fronting as my nanny the entire time?”
Oh no.
I fight my eyes to open, to bring me out of the stupor hurting every inch of my body, but no matter how hard I fight, my eyes remain shut.
“Not the entire time.” I recognize the voice of the woman replying to Brodie’s question. We only spoke for a few minutes, but when I freaked out about possibly going undercover with Beau’s crew again, she took me to the courtyard for a breather.
Apart from Brodie, Macy was the only agent who didn’t look down her nose at me. She was nice. Almost too nice. If she hadn’t trusted me, I probably would have been waking up with a thumping head in Beau’s bed for the hundredth time this year.
“I saw her looking at you, but everyone was.” My lips wrangle into a grin when Macy says, “You’re a single dad, for crying out loud, and you look like that. Of course she’d look!”
“Then why did Levalley say you knew she was with me?” Brodie’s voice isn’t as angst-filled as it was only seconds ago. More relieved.
A faint memory trickles into my head when Macy replies, “I pinched a buffer disc when you weren’t looking the morning I visited your home.” Feet scuffling on the ground sounds through my waterlogged ears. “Her father wasn’t just a brilliant agent. He could turn a pile of junk into a showroom piece.” My smile doesn’t hurt as much this time around. “Henley must have learned some skills from him, because your bike was in showroom condition.” I imagine her plonking onto her seat and resting her head in her hands with a flop, which is quickly followed by mumbled words. “I knew Levalley was hiding something, so I thought it would be best to leave Henley with you until I found out what it was. She was safer with you than with him.”
