Chapter Seven
Yanis
A handful of hours of restless sleep in three days isn’t cutting it.
I woke up on a waiting room couch two doors down from Bree’s room. It’s as far as I was willing to go after the nurse booted me out. Bree tried to get me to leave for hours, but her threats to kick my ass didn’t quite hold their usual punch. Not while lying in a hospital bed, but I’m sure once she recovers, she’ll make good on the promise to clean my clock.
She’s still sleeping—I poked my head in a few minutes ago—so I’m on the hunt for some coffee. It’s barely five in the morning and I’m eager to take her back to Grand Junction.
Yesterday afternoon, Bill Evans showed up with his colleague to get Bree’s statement. Good thing Bill was there, otherwise I might’ve taken a swing at that idiot Russel, who was doing most of the questioning and he wasn’t gentle about it either.
The idiot pushed Bree hard with his questions, was skeptical at all her answers, and all but accused her of making shit up. Unfortunately, when he produced a map, pointing out where she’d been found and asked her to retrace her steps to the house she was held at, she couldn’t do it. Never mind that she’d been drugged, injured, and had been trudging through the woods for hours.
Luckily Evans jumped in or I would’ve. The woman had given them more information than any normal person could have. She was detailed with what she did remember. Even recalled part of a license plate she’d only had a brief glimpse of in the dark.
I eventually walked the detectives out, leaving her to rest. She was exhausted, and Bill promised he’d keep me in the loop on the investigation. I got my phone charger out of the Yukon, grabbed a few of the snacks and a water Dimi bought earlier, and by the time I got back to the room she was sleeping.
This morning there are only two other people in the diner I find around the corner from the hospital. The moment I take a seat, a waitress shows up with a pot of coffee and holds it up in lieu of a question.
“Please, and could I have three eggs over hard, bacon, whole wheat toast, and home fries?”
All I’ve had to eat since leaving Grand Junction is a donut, two granola bars, and a bag of chips. I need something substantial in my stomach.
“You bet.”
She snaps her gum between her teeth, as she fills one of the mugs that was upside down on the table before taking off with my order.
I scan through emails and messages, answering what I can and forwarding the rest to Dimi until breakfast arrives. Business is picking up with another three booths filled in the meantime. My guess, hospital staff either coming off shift or about to start.
I’m shoveling down my meal when a message comes in from Lena asking how Bree is. Instead of messaging back, I call her. There are some things I want her to take care of before we get home.
“Jesus. Do you sleep?” she complains, answering on the third ring.
“Only when unavoidable. Bree is okay, sleeping a lot but we’ll be coming back today. How is everything at the office?”
“I called in Shep and spoke with Kai. He won’t be back until Thursday but Shep is coming in this morning. I’ve also adjusted your schedule for the vineyard, Shep will take over your place on the rotation for this week. We can adjust after if needed.”
“Good. Did Bree’s report on—”
“Yup,” she interrupts. “Went to the client yesterday. Also got two inquiries I passed on to Hutch and the order for Finley’s Fields came in yesterday afternoon. Dimi and Radar are going to head out there to do the installation. Everything’s under control, Boss. You just worry about Bree.”
Right, as if I don’t already.
“Okay. See if you can get into her apartment? Pack up some of her shit and get it over to my place.”
Lena is silent for a beat or two.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Fuck, no, I’m not kidding. She has a third-floor apartment in a building without elevators. I have a one-level house with extra bedrooms. It makes sense.
“No. She’s not allowed to put any weight on that foot for at least a week and her other leg has twenty-four fucking stitches holding it together.”
A slight exaggeration but the point is she shouldn’t be hopping around on that leg. She should also be looked after until she’s a bit more mobile.
Lena snorts. Apparently, she finds that funny. I don’t find it funny at all.
“Your funeral, Boss,” she jokes, chuckling. “I’ll see what I can do, but my guess is she’ll balk. She’ll want to be in her own space with her own things. I know I would.”
I take a moment to think that over and have to concede she may have a point.
“Fine. Then go to my place, pack up a bag for me, and get it over to her apartment.”
I don’t wait and hang up before she can launch an objection. One way or another, Bree needs looking after in the short term, and she may not like it, but it’ll be me doing it. I know her likes and dislikes, I know she takes her coffee black and needs half an hour of quiet in the morning so she can wake up.
I also know she prefers cream cheese to butter on her toast and will eat any pizza you put in front of her but her favorite is Hawaiian. She bites her bottom lip when she’s worried, twirls her ponytail when she disagrees, and smiles way too brightly when she’s hurting. She pretends to be tough as nails, but her empathy is one of her best traits. She’ll be gentle with others but hard on herself.
I know her too well.
Which is how I also know Lena is right in her thinking. Bree will hate me invading her space and robbing her of her independence. She’s not going to make it easy, but that won’t stop me from doing what is right.
From what I should’ve done years ago.
Bree
“How are you doing?”
His finger lightly brushes the top of my left hand.
With my thumb back in its intended position—which had been almost as easy as dislocating it—I’m tempted to flip my hand palm up and tangle my fingers with his.
With the bleak prospect of the coming weeks, the comfort of his hand might feel good but wouldn’t be smart. I remember, not so long ago, taking the liberty of touching Yanis in comfort and it left me with an old wound oozing.
“I’m okay.”
I’m actually sore, the seat belt feels restrictive around me, my ankle is throbbing, and we’re only halfway home.
Surprising how you can feel fine in a hospital bed, but something as insignificant as sitting in a car knocks the wind right out of you.
I can feel Yanis’s eyes on me.
“Sure you are,” he comments dryly, patting my hand before putting his back on the wheel. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit, unless you need to make a stop?”
A stop? Hell no. I’d rather deal with a full bladder than have him pick me up again like he did, lifting me in the passenger seat. The lack of personal space makes it hard to stick to the colleagues-only relationship we’ve cultivated all these years. At least it does for me.
“I’m good,” I mumble, demonstratively closing my eyes.
I wake up, two hours later, outside my apartment building with Yanis opening the passenger side door.