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Three hours later,he sat in a hospital room listening to the beeping monitors and watching the rise and fall of Amelia’s chest under a faded ivory blanket. She had yet to wake up, and the doctor on call had ordered a series of tests, including an MRI and CT scan of her brain.
So far, the only thing he’d been told was that she had a concussion and a hairline fracture in her ankle. The medical staff were obviously worried about brain damage, but nobody would come out and say it. He was so angry, so beside himself because he couldn’t do anything to help her, he wanted to punch someone.
Beatrice had brought him his laptop and a fresh set of clothes. Dr. Montgomery had shown up with his largest travel mug filled with his favorite brand of coffee.
“Moe traced her movements prior to the alley,” Beatrice told him. Moe was an average hacker, and better at things like interrogation. Tonight, however, he was proving to be more useful than Rory expected. “She completed a physical therapy appointment with Hannah Clemson, cleaned up at her apartment, then used a ride service to get to the restaurant. There was a fender bender a few blocks away, and Jose, the driver, claims she insisted on walking the rest of the way when they were caught in the resulting traffic jam. He tried to dissuade her but she insisted she’d be fine. Since her handbag is missing, the police are ruling it a mugging.”
“Is it her Binni Nali?” Vivi asked.
Beatrice shrugged. “I hope not. That’s her favorite.”
“She has a duplicate, I think.” Vivi said. “She does that sometimes—buys two so she can use one for daily wear and tear and keep the other for special occasions.”
Like that mattered. Although… He ran a search of the designer’s line of purses and there.That one. He’d seen her lugging it around headquarters. He’d check for anyone carrying the trendy, and downright ugly—in his opinion—bag.
Which might be half of D.C.
He’d refused medical treatment for his knee, and was running his programs, searching for cameras in the area that might have caught the attacker. He didn’t bother looking up. “Any leads on the assailant?”
“None so far.” Beatrice leaned against the window ledge next to Vivi. “What’s your gut say?”
He glanced at the bed and Amelia’s still form. If only she would wake up so he could question her. “None of her jewelry was taken. She still had her cell. Hell, even those ridiculous shoes she was wearing are worth a lot on the street. Why did the fucker only steal her purse? Why knock her unconscious in order to do so? She’s not exactly hard to overpower. Easy enough to simply yank the thing from her shoulder and run. Maybe knock her to the ground in the process, but why clobber her in the back of the head?” Molten lava burned in his stomach. “Feels like overkill. Or something more personal.”
“Itwasoverkill. A vicious blow, almost as if the assailant was angry.” Vivi walked to the side of the bed and stared at Amelia. She touched her hair. “But whoever it was might’ve gotten scared, especially if it was someone young—a kid. They saw an opportunity, knocked her in the head, took the bag and ran.”
We’re damn lucky she’s still alive.“Or she fought back and that’s why they hit her,” he countered.
“There are no defensive wounds,” Beatrice pointed out, joining Vivi at the bedside. “Knowing Amelia, she would’ve tried to talk to them, not fight them, but I can’t help thinking if she resisted, they would have hit her face-on, not come from behind.”
He agreed. The current traffic camera Rory had hacked into showed Amelia leaving the Mitsubishi and jetting down the sidewalk out of sight. He hadn’t found one closer to the alley, but he would. “True enough. It still seems…off.”
“Do you want me to keep Moe and Parker on this with you?” Beatrice asked.
Before he could respond, the on-duty nurse hustled through the door. Exasperated, she pinned each of them with a condemning scowl. “This is the Intensive Care Unit. As I told you previously, visitors are limited to one at a time, and”—she made a show of checking the watch on her wrist—“what do you know? Visiting hours were overtwo hours ago.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Rory stared at the screen in front of him, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“We’ll see about that. I’ll call security.”
The squeak of her shoes grated on his nerves as she turned and marched to the door. The boiling lava wanted—needed—an escape valve. He started to yell at her to leave them the fuck alone, but Beatrice shot him astand downglare and intercepted the nurse before she got to the exit. “You’ve been very lenient and I apologize for breaching the rules, but our coworker’s family won’t be here until tomorrow.” She’d contacted Amelia’s parents in South Carolina, and they were taking the first flight out in the morning. “We’re all she’s got at the moment, and one of us needs to be here when she wakes up. She’s been through a terrible experience and may be scared to find herself in the hospital.” She brushed the nurse’s elbow with a hand and gently guided her toward the hall. “Perhaps we can discuss this further with Dr. Houston. He’s already given us permission to keep somebody with her at all times due to the sensitive nature of her work.”
The way Beatrice emphasized the last few words, something clicked for the nurse. She paused, scrutinizing first B and then the rest of them, ending with Amelia. Her voice lowered. “Is she a spy? We don’t usually get them in here. Occasionally, we might get an important patient, or those whose identity iscovert.”
She sounded entirely too excited about that idea as Beatrice led her outside. The door closed with a quiet but firm click.
For a brief moment—too brief, in Rory’s opinion—silence reigned. Only the steady beat of the heart monitor broke it, and the shadowy room enveloped him. Taking a deep breath, he almost relaxed, knowing he wouldn’t be forced to leave Amelia’s side.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
He couldn’t help it, he glanced up at the psychologist.How does she always know what I’m thinking? Stress and adrenaline once more churned through his system, and he wanted to tell her to go to hell, but dammit, she gave himthatgrin that told him she knew exactly how he was cursing her out mentally, and she wasn’t scared of him and his damning glare. “I don’t need you to analyze me. Go home.”
“Sounds like you’re giving me orders.”
He sighed, continuing to search footage from security cameras. There were plenty that had picked up the crowd around the accident, but he couldn’t pinpoint any closer to the alley, not even when he searched for someone carrying a purse like Amelia’s. “As if you would take them.”
“I need to drive this home, as your friend as well as your therapist—it’s not your fault she was mugged.”
“If I hadn’t invited her to dinner…”
