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“It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but you,” he says in a normal tone. There’s a slight echo, so he must have stepped into his bathroom.
I breath out heavily. “Can I come back to you after I leave the hospital? Just to sleep. Unless you think—”
“Yeah. Come back. It’s fine. I don’t … I don’t care if someone walks in. I’m ready to leave and they can’t tell me I can’t have visitors.”
A soft smile plays against my lips. This is a different Damon than the one I met weeks ago. This Damon is bold, confident, and knows what he wants. I love it. I lovehim.“I’ll try to be back in a few hours. Try to sleep for me, hmm?”
“Yes, baby. Call when you’re on the way. I’ll have my ringer on.”
“Love you,” I whisper, loving how the words feel on my tongue.
“Love you back.”
With a sigh, I hang up and lean against the headrest. I take a few deep breaths and then get out of the car, hoping to get some information.
“I’m here to talk to Brent Montgomery,” I say with authority to the nurse at the desk, flashing my security badge.
She nods, then types on the computer. “It’s terrible what happened to him. I plan to vote for him if he stays in the race.” That makes my heart happy for a reason I can’t explain. “He’s in room 3631. Third floor. I’ll call up to the desk and let them know the police are here to question him.”
I thank her, happy she’s cooperative without me having to ask.
The elevator is slow, but it gives me time to think of what I want to say to my brother. I thought I would go my whole life without talking to him, even though I kept tabs on him from afar. I figured he would never know I existed and if he looked for me later, he would see that I was dead and there was no reason to continue the search.
Talking to him this once won’t hurt. He won’t even recognize me. If we stood side by side, you would never be able to tell we were related. He looks just like our mother, so I’m guessing I look like my dad, whoever that is. So I’m not worried someone would recognize me as family when I talk to him.
After flashing my badge at the nurse at the desk on this floor, I take the directions she gives me and go to the door at the end of the hall. There’s a security guard standing outside the door. I don’t get nervous, some people sniff that shit out. I approach and reach out a hand, shaking his in that manner that cops do.
Inclining my head, I ask, “Is it okay if I speak to him? Won’t take but a minute.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, and I get a flash of irritation that he doesn’t even try to ask for my credentials, even though I don’t want him to. Anyone can come up here and finish Brent off with this guy at the door. I’m going to get Quin to put some people on him. “We’re waiting for some of his people now to take over for me. Figured you were him.”
No, dumbass, but you should be more careful. I don’t speak the words, just give him a look before I knock lightly on the door and squeeze inside when I hear a voice tell me to come in. Pulling in a deep breath, I step around the curtain and come face to face with my younger brother.
It takes me a moment to collect myself. We just stare at each other. I’m sure he’s wondering why I’m being weird and staring at him. I didn’t think I’d ever be face to face with him like this.
He looks terrible. One eye is swollen shut and his lips are swollen as well. He has a trail of stitches acrosshisforehead and another on his cheek. His arm is in a sling and one leg is raised in the air, a cast encasing it. His one good eye bores into me and he looks on edge, not that I can blame him.
“Umm … officer?” His voice is unsure.
“Detective,” I correct smoothly with a lie. It would explain my street clothes. “Harris.” I give him Quin’s last name because I can’t think of another.
“Detective Harris. I don’t know much. Whoever it was attacked me from behind. I only saw their boots.”
Grabbing the stool in the corner, I roll it over and sit down. “Walk me through it. Where were you when the attack occurred?” I have to remember to thank Abel for making me watch all those true crime shows so I can at least sound like a cop, even though I detest them. Rich for someone that went into security, one step away from being in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Clearing his throat, he winces when he tries to sit up. I forgot he just got out of surgery. “You can relax,” I tell him.
He ignores me and sits up until he’s leaning back on the pillows. He takes a deep breath, then holds his ribs at the movement.
After he’s gotten himself under control, he tells me about his night. “I had just gotten out of a campaign meeting. I usually go straight home since I have a daughter and like helping my wife at the end of the day. But before I could leave, I got a phone call from a possible donor. I was on the phone for about an hour and a half, so by the time I got off the call, it was after dark and I was the last one from my campaign team around. I packed up my things and exited the building. The parking lot was empty except for my car. When I was halfway across the parking lot, I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around to see what was going on, I was knocked down and then I was getting the shit kicked out of me.”
My hands clench as he talks. He’s harmless. A harmless man wanting to do good for the people he represents and wanting to go home every night to his family.
Tamping down my anger, I ask, “How many were there?”
“Two. That much I could tell.” He cocks his head and his eyes rake over me. “Aren’t you going to write this down?”
Shit, I forgot about that. Thinking quickly, I shake my head. “Nah. This interview is a formality. The lead detective assigned to your case will take notes. I’m here to check out your security detail.”
