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Drake
IT’S STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE.
Istalk back into the hospital I sped away from earlier today, but without Rory beside me I move with ease. Without fear. Without the crippling worry that a bullet is gonna zing by and snuff the life right out of her stunning kaleidoscope eyes.
I exit the elevator and head along the hall. Pulling up to a nurse with a flash of my badge, I ask for directions to the room of the man who was shot in the parking garage today.
Not Clay. The brave,age-appropriateofficer who turned his back on danger to smile at sweet Aurora. But the other fucker. The one who was shooting at her.
I killed his buddy, and now I’m taking a minute with him. But while I stalk the halls, making my way in his direction, I stop by a supply cart and hit pay dirt, finding two little white boxes with labeling that works just fine for what I want.
Slipping them into my pocket and showing a smile to the orderly who wanders by, I head toward the police-guarded door and flash my badge a second time. “Officer. Is Detective Fletcher here?”
“Yes, sir.” He straightens his spine and stiffens his arms. “Detective Fletcher is inside this room.”
“Anyone else in there?”
“Apart from the patient?” he asks. “No, Detective.”
“Excellent. Stay here and don’t let anyone in until I come back out again.”
The cop loses a little bit of his composure, his brows pinching tighter. “Sir?”
“Not the nurses,” I press. “Not the doctors. Not other cops. I’ll only be a few minutes.” I step past him and wrap my palm around the door handle, but pausing again, I lean back and smile at the curious, barely-out-of-the-academy uniformed officer. “No matter what you hear…” I raise a brow to make sure he’s listening, “No you didn’t.”
“Y-yes, sir.” He clears his throat and looks anywhere but in my eyes.
“Great.” Opening the door, I stride in under Detective Fletcher’s careful study. He lounges back in the visitor’s chair and simply watches our perp, but as I slam the door shut so the walls rattle, he sits a little straighter and keeps a close eye on me. “Mr. Enders?” I come up to the bed opposite of Fletch and smack my palm to the asshole’s chest right over where my bullet entered some eight hours ago.
Enders wakes with a gasp, attempts to shoot up in bed, and frantically searches his new reality for whatever the fuck is going on.
“Oh good.” I flash a wicked grin and spy the IV pole at the head of his bed. “You’re awake.” I take my hand from his body, but I allow my slow gaze to track along every inch not hidden by blankets. His puffy face, and swollen eyes. His blood-stained hands, and the bandages that cover his surgeon’s work. “You pulled through surgery, huh? I’m happy for you.”
“Wh-who are you?” His eyes flicker from me to Fletch. Back to me. Then down to the weapons holstered to my chest. “I don’t know—”
“You don’t remember me, Tommy?” Faux-offended, I set my hands on my hips and scowl. “We met a while back. Inside a dark club owned by a man named Gregory Vallejo.”
“You…” He searches my eyes. Which is how I know the very moment he recognizes me. His cheeks turn a ghostly white and his hands clench in search of… well, a gun, probably. “No.”
“Yes. You were there that night my best friend was murdered. Didn’t think I’d recognize you?” Dipping my hands into my pockets and taking out one of the two boxes, I tear it open and reveal a little glass vial of promethazine—AKA: Phenergan. Tossing the cardboard down and giving the bottle a little shake, I reach up for the bag hanging from the IV pole, dripping fluids into this asshole’s veins. I don’t know if the doctors are giving him pain meds. Could be antibiotics. Hell, could just be water. But I tear the tubing from his arm and put a stop to that anyway. Instead, I flick the cap from the bottle, pick a needle from the pile of supplies on the far wall, and keep an eye on Fletch as he slowly rises from his chair.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you some questions, Tommy.” I draw the contents of the vial into the syringe, then I attach the syringe to the tubing and meet the man’s eyes with a smirk. “It’s gonna be best for us all that you answer me.”
He attempts to rip his arm away, but the cuffs attached to the bed rail keep him exactly where I need him to be. “This isn’t legal,” he bellows, his eyes watering already. His heart pounding in panic. “Nurse!” he shouts. “Help me!”
“You can step out if you want, Detective Fletcher. Or you can stay.”
He slowly straightens his back and eyes me closely. “You gonna kill him?”
“No. I’m merely going to convince him to talk to me.” Bringing my gaze back to Tommy’s, I start pushing the new liquid into the tubing. “Where is Gregory Vallejo?”
He screams in pain, much like I knew he would. Phenergan, when given intravenously too quickly, will sting like the dickens and burn his veins like the fucking STD he is.
“Where is Vallejo? Answer me, asshole.”
“I don’t know! Stop.” He kicks and bounces in the bed so it sways on its legs and threatens to topple over. “I don’t know!”
“Who sent you down here today to shoot at that girl?” I push more liquid through the tubing and slam my palm to his chest to keep him down. “Who sent you?”
