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I manage to get one eyelid cracked. The light is bright, but the light calms.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Warmth covers my hands. He’s here.
Bright light forces me to squint. There’s an IV taped to the back of my hand. Ryan’s arm lies heavily over my thighs, and his head rests beside my hip. He’s asleep. I’m in a hospital bed.
Tenderly, I tousle Ryan’s hair. His eyelids flicker open, and he lurches upward.
“You’re up.”
“Water,” I croak.
He shakily pours water into a small plastic cup and holds it up to my lips. “How do you feel?”
“Groggy,” I manage to say. My throat is scratchy, but other than that, I don’t feel pain anywhere.
“Wayne drugged you with something. Do you know what?”
I remember running. Trying to jump off the boat. Being dragged back. My head slammed against the boat. A fist. The sting. Throbbing pain. A needle in my arm. Struggling. Crying. But then it gets fuzzy.
“No.” I remembered to ask. But if Wayne ever told me, I don’t remember the answer.
“We don’t have bloodwork back yet, but our best guess is Telazol. It’s a tranquilizer used in veterinary medicine. But he could have used something else. You’re lucky. He could have easily injected enough to kill you.” Ryan’s light blue eyes are watery. His thumb strokes my cheek. “The doctor didn’t give you anything. She thought the best course of action was to hydrate and monitor. Since we don’t know. You also suffered a concussion.”
“I hit my head on the boat. And he punched me.”
Ryan’s jaw muscles clench, and he grits his teeth. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, concern overrides any other emotion.
“You’re bruising along here.” His finger lightly touches my cheekbone, and I flinch. “Sore?”
I nod. That side of my face throbs.
“Your dad and I have been in touch. He knows you’re here. I promised I’d call and give him an update.” My thumb combs over his unruly eyebrow. He places his lips in the center of my palm. “I could have lost you.”
“But you didn’t.”
He rests his head on my belly. The gesture is so unlike the force of a soldier that emotion chokes in my throat.
“Timothy. Sabrina. They’ve been in touch too. They’re all waiting to hear from you. But I told them the doctors said you should be fine.”
My fingers drag through his dark hair.
“When I found you on that boat…” His voice cracks. “Unconscious. I’ve never…”
I don’t remember him on the boat.
“Wayne?”
“Police have him.” He presses his lips to my knuckles. “I wanted to kill him.”
“But you didn’t,” I whisper. Ryan is a good man. A truly good man. “And the others?”
“Ricky Morales and Juan Garcia. Both in custody.”
“Wayne had an affair with Cassandra.” Surprise flickers, but he keeps my palm pressed to his cheek.
“Did you know that?” he asks.
