“That’s okay. I’ll stay.”
He shakes his head. “There’s no point in you staying. Come back in the morning. Maybe things will be different then.”
I hate to admit he’s right. I’m no good to her without any sleep. And I know she’s safe with Tyler in the room—the man’s a former police detective. “Are you sure?”
He chuckles. “Get out of here. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Call me if anything changes, no matter the time.”
“We will.”
Reluctantly, I head back to my apartment on Lake Shore Drive in the Gold Coast. I have a two-bedroom unit in my boss’s apartment building. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable, and it has a fantastic view of Lake Michigan. It’s a typical bachelor pad, with a treadmill and a set of free weights stashed in the spare bedroom. In the living room, there’s a sofa and a huge TV on the wall, a coffee table, and a bookcase. There’s a small galley kitchen, a tiny pantry, and a laundry room. It’s enough for me. I often work long hours, so I’m not home that often.
I’m too wired to sleep, so I hit the treadmill and run a few miles to loosen up. Then I do my reps with the free weights. Afterward, I grab a quick shower, then crash on the sofa and turn on Netflix and skim through the offerings until I find a new sci-fi series that catches my eye.
My stomach starts gnawing on itself, so I place a delivery order for sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls.
Finally, after I’ve eaten and watched as much TV as I can stand, I head to bed.
As usual, I put off going to bed as long as I possibly can. Even though my body is ready for rest, my mind can’t shut down. To distract myself, I climb into bed and download an e-book to my phone—it’s a memoir written by a woman who hears voices. I can’t imagine what that’s like, but I’d better find out quickly because I’m about to become responsible for the safety and well-being of someone who does.
* * *
I quickly fall into a pattern over the next few days. My days and evenings are spent on guard duty in the hallway outside Layla’s hospital room door, leaving only on the rare occasion to visit the bathroom or grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria.
Every day, it’s the same routine. Nurses come in periodically to check on her. Therapists stop in to assess how she’s doing. Her parents come sit with her in the evenings from around six to ten. The rest of the time, her brother and Tyler are with her. Sometimes they take turns. Sometimes it’s both of them. Every night, they sleep in her room on the sofa bed.
On the third day, after the parents have left for the night and I’m about to head back to my apartment, Ian opens the door to Layla’s room and peers out at me. “You can come in.” The guy looks ragged. There are distinct shadows beneath his eyes.
I jump to my feet and straighten my shirt before I follow Ian into a dimly-lit room.
Layla’s sitting up in bed, leaning on a pile of pillows propped against the headboard. The mountain of blankets is gone, replaced by just a single one. I’m guessing this is progress.
Tyler’s sitting on the sofa to the right of the bed, reading on a tablet.
Ian nods toward his sister. “Layla asked to see you.”
This is definitely progress. I approach the foot of the bed, slowly so I don’t scare her. After all, she doesn’t know me from Adam.
“Hi, Layla,” I say, keeping my voice low and even.
Her gaze lifts to mine, and the force of those midnight dark eyes hits me square in the chest.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft and hesitant.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s dressed in her own clothes—a T-shirt with some writing on it—not in a hospital gown. I wasn’t expecting that. Her face is shrouded in shadows.
Ian points to the bathroom. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just—”
“Sure, go ahead,” I say.
Ian opens the bathroom door and flips on the light switch inside, casting light into the room. For a moment, just a split second before he closes the bathroom door, the light shines on Layla, illuminating his sister’s oval face. My breath catches as I make out her features.
She’s stunning—hair black as night, eyes dark as coal and framed by thick dark lashes, a perfect blade of a nose, and a beautifully-shaped, lush mouth. My chest tightens.
I try not to openly stare at someone who could pass as a real-life Disney princess. I’m going to have my work cut out for me just trying to keep the guys away from her. I imagine she gets hit on left and right on campus. And that’s before they realize she’s at the top of the list of Forbes’ wealthiest young Americans. She and her brother are heirs to a fortune larger than the coffers of some small nations.
When Ian closes the bathroom door, we’re shrouded in semi-darkness once more. I stand glued to the floor at the foot of her bed, not daring to come closer. The last thing I want to do is scare this girl. “Thanks for letting me come in.”
“I really didn’t have much of a choice.” She sounds resigned as she stares up at me from her bed. “I suppose you already know everything about me.”
“Well, some things. At least the things I need to know so I can do my job. I guess I’ll learn the rest from you.”
She looks away. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and try to act casual so I can put her at ease. “I’m not complaining.”
Her lips flatten. “Give it time. You’ll change your mind.”
Something tells me she’s got it all wrong.
Chapter 5
Layla Alexander
If I ignore him, maybe he’ll go away. That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s going to start asking questions soon—they always do—and I don’t want to answer them. I don’t even want to talk about it. Not any of it. Not Sean, not the kidnappers. Not even my hallucinations.
In the past week, my mind has been ripped apart, and I feel like I’m bleeding out. I’m holding on by my fingertips to what little sanity I have left. I’m afraid if I let go, I’ll be lost.
You’re already lost.
I’m not. I’m holding on.
No, you’re drowning in self pity. Do you really think this new guy will make a difference? Grow up. You’re such an idiot.
Stop it!
When Ian steps out of the bathroom, light infiltrates my dark room once more, giving me another brief glimpse of my new bodyguard. I glimpse a handsome face, short dark hair, and a neat, trim beard. He’s tall with lean, cut muscles. His arms and chest are muscular, and I imagine the rest of him is too. Clearly, he works out.
Jason looks to be about Ian’s age—late twenties. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up almost to his elbows, exposing sinewy forearms that are heavily inked. He’s wearing a chunky silver watch on his left wrist.
When he said hello, his calm, masculine voice sent a shiver down my spine.
He thinks you’re pathetic. A mental case.
“Stop it,” I snap as I look away. “You don’t know that.”
Jason shifts his weight on his feet. “You’re not talking to me, are you?” he asks casually, as if it’s no big deal I’m talking to myself. Or at least that’s how it looks to the outside world. They aren’t privy to the words and the conversation that goes on inside my head.