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“Yes. He’s doing his time and sticking to himself. He pulled the trigger, Drake, but he was nothing more than a hired gun.”
“And Vallejo?”
Henry blows out a frustrated breath and groans. God forbid the bastard answer an underling’s questions. “Autopsied, buried. Bullets are in evidence, and the autopsy reports are stacked up and filed away. He’s in the ground, Drake.”
“Obviously fucking not,” I snarl. “Chances he staged it all and someone else was buried in his box?”
“Staged you shooting him in the belly?” he challenges. “Staged you sinking a knife into his throat?”
“I don’t know! But I know something stinks! Someone is in Copeland, shooting up streets and hunting this girl down. And Vallejo’s name is the only one that keeps popping up.”
“Well, what do the primary detectives say about it? Where are they at?”
“I don’t know!” I bite my lips closed as my raised voice startles Eleanor’s machines to beep more erratically. Scratching a hand through my hair and counting my breath, I calm shit down and focus. Figure it out. “I don’t know,” I repeat for the third time, quieter. “I’m not the primary, Henry, and I’ve essentially dropped my ass on their desks. They’re not likely to tell me what they’ve found.”
“So what exactly are you doing there? What are you doing to be helpful?”
“I’m keeping the girl alive. Even if it fucking kills me.” I scrub my hand over my eyes and take a moment to think. Process. Plan. Then I straighten out again and drop my hand. “I gotta go.”
“What?” Panicked, Henry startles on his end of the line. “No, I’m not done—”
“I have things to do. I’ll call you another day.” Bringing the phone from my ear and killing the call, I push up to stand and hit dial on Malone’s name. But just as I turn to walk away and leave this room, I skid to a stop and find Eleanor’s eyes open and burning the side of my face. “Fuck!” I lower my voice and take my hand from the handle of my gun. Old habits and all that. “Shit, Ms. Swanson. I’m so sorry I woke you.”
“Thank you for keeping her safe.” Her voice is a pained rasp, dry and torturous. “Thank you for putting her wellbeing above your own.” She pauses and swallows, her eyes glistening with emotion. “No one else does.”
“Of course.” I kill my call with Archer and come back to face Eleanor instead. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to her. I promise.”
“No one puts her first,” she repeats stubbornly. “Not even she does.”
I choke out a soft laugh and nod. “Yeah. I know.”
My phone trills, Archer’s name flashing on the screen and demanding I pick up. I study it for a moment, then glance back to the woman lying on her death bead.
“You can go,” she murmurs, allowing her eyes to flicker closed again. “If it means going back to my baby, please go.”
“Are you doing okay?” I decline his call and make him wait just a minute longer. “Want me to get you a nurse? Or water?” I flash a grin, though she’s not looking. “A well-endowed escort?”
She snickers so her entire body bounces and her cheeks burn a healthy, vibrant pink. “I wish I knew the last time I had sex, that it would be the last time.” She flicks her eyes open and pins me with the intensity in them. “I’d have made him work harder.”
“He wasn’t worthy.” I slide my thumb across the top of her hand and know her time is coming soon. She’s so close. And because of this Vallejo bullshit, Rory is missing out on the final moments with her mom. “Don’t tell her I was here, okay? She’s pretty mad at me right now, and she doesn’t need to know I got to visit when she couldn’t.”
“She’s mad at you?” Tired, Eleanor begins drifting toward unconsciousness. “Really? What did you do?”
I hurt her feelings. I didn’t take her in the shower while she was bleeding from a gunshot wound, running from a shooter, and half my fucking age.
Though, I don’t say all that out loud.
“She’s just overwhelmed with things right now, that’s all. I make an easy target for a cranky woman.”
Eleanor sleepily sniggers and cuddles into her pillows. “And you seem all cut up about it.” Yawning, so her mouth opens wide and a soft hiss escapes her throat when a dry crack of her lips splits open, she closes them again and sighs. “Keep her safe, okay?” She rests a hand beneath her cheek but opens her eyes and meets mine. “Even when she says she doesn’t want it. Even when she says she can take care of things herself. I need you to—”
“I’ve got her.” I press my palm to her cheek and stroke the hollowed space beneath her eye. “I promise, for as long as I live, I’ve got her back.”
My phone rings again. But the sickly woman is already most of the way unconscious. So I carefully drag my palm from her cheek and slide my thumb across my screen instead. Then turning on my heels, I stride through the door and past her uniformed guards. “Malone?”
“Jesus!” he explodes with frustration. “I thought you were dead, asshole!”
“I was busy.” I stalk into the elevator and hit the button for the parking garage. “You know a good medical examiner, right?”
