Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(88)

“Two days ago.”

“I’m so happy for you. Let me see the rock.” I held out my good hand and motioned her closer with my fingers. She hesitated for a long second before placing her hand in mine. I inspected the ring closely. “It’s beautiful. He did a great job picking it out.”

“He did.” She took her hand back and set it in her lap, keeping her eyes glued to it.

“So, how did he propose?”

“We can talk about that later.”

Her reluctance to share the details of something she’d been not-so-secretly hoping for, for the past few months, confused me. It wasn’t like her at all. “Did we talk about this already?”

“What?”

“How many times did I ask you that when I was all doped up? I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“You haven’t asked me before.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“We should just talk about something else. I can tell you all about it when you get out of the hospital. How much longer are they planning to keep you here anyway?”

Her attitude puzzled and slightly hurt me, but I didn’t want to push her. If she didn’t want to talk about it, that was her business. I pushed my distress aside and tried to go with her chosen topic of conversation. “Uh, I’m not sure. Rory won’t tell me.”

“It must be killing you to sit still for this long.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

She didn’t know the half of it. The forced inactivity had made it impossible for me to escape the tangled labyrinth of my own thoughts, and I was driving myself crazy with all this thinking. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out and go home. I’d likely do my fair share of introspection there, too, but I’d have access to a few more distractions. I’d be more comfortable at any rate. That was something.

“Have you started plotting your great escape yet?”

“Not yet, but it’s coming. Although it hasn’t been all bad. Half the people in this hospital dote on me because they know my sister, and the other half do it because they seem to think I am my sister.” With my free left hand, I plucked at the collar of the snazzy, navy-blue scrubs Rory had given me. “I’ve got some cool duds, a steady supply of amazing drugs, and all the Jell-O I could ever hope to eat in a lifetime. It’s as good as it could possibly be, considering the circumstances.”

“So, I don’t suppose you need this, then?” a new voice said from the doorway.

Ben Flannigan, the SAIC of the New York Field Office, stood there holding a nice-sized plastic container of what was obviously more Jell-O. “Black cherry.”

“Ooh! My favorite. Thanks.”

“You sure you want it? I hear they’re giving you all the Jell-O you can eat in here. I’d hate for you to get overloaded.”

“Of course I want it. They don’t have black cherry here. And if I’m forced to eat one more bowl of lime, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

He smiled and set the container on the nearby bed as his eyes shifted to my companion. “Hello, Meaghan. How are you doing?” He unbuttoned his suit jacket, and I took the opportunity his diverted attention afforded me to study him.

His dark hair, which had started gathering gray strands at the temples in recent years, was immaculately coifed, and his suit was meticulously creased and pressed. He looked every bit the part of the always-in-control Secret Service agent. But a tension to his posture and a tightness around his eyes and mouth betrayed his outward calm. I sighed inwardly at the sudden realization of how much this whole mess must be wearing on him. Another pang of guilt roiled inside my already knotted guts.

“I’m fine, sir,” Meaghan said. “Thank you. How are you?”

“As well as can be expected, considering. Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Agent O’Connor?”

“Of course not, sir.” Meaghan hastily collected all her belongings and gave me a sympathetic look. “I’ll see you later, Ryan.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” I wanted to say more to her before she left, but she was gone before I had a chance.

The SAIC waited a beat after Meaghan’s departure and then walked purposefully over to the door. He made sure it was securely closed before turning back to face me. Then he merely remained quiet for a long moment, studying me intently.

“How’re you doing, kiddo? I mean, really?” he asked finally, his voice soft.

I smiled at him and struggled to sit up slightly to meet his offered kiss with my cheek. “I’m fine, Dad.”

Yes, I’m the boss’s daughter. Well, technically, his adopted daughter. But he’s known me since before I was born, so we have a long history together. And no, nobody in the office knows. We’ve taken great pains to keep it a secret because I wanted to make my own name—good or bad—on my own merit.

Dad frowned at me then. “That’s not what Rory says. She says you’re in pain.”

Rory had told me that both Mom and Dad had been in and out of my hospital room with all the regularity you’d expect from dutiful parents, but I’d always been either asleep or too doped up to notice. The one or two times I’d actually been lucid enough to make a stab at conversation, some nurses had been poking and prodding me, so I hadn’t had a chance to really talk to either of them. I was grateful to finally have these few moments alone with him.