Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(89)

In answer to his statement, I almost shrugged again but caught myself. A small flare of irritation at Rory ignited for ratting me out, but I attempted to keep the annoyance from my face and downplay the entire situation. Sure, I hurt like hell, but I refused to whine about it.

“Yeah, well, that’s to be expected. But it’s not too bad. They’re keeping me pretty well drugged. It helps dull the pain as long as I don’t move around too much. Which reminds me. Where’s my gun?”

Dad favored me with an indulgent smile that somehow made me think he’d been mentally timing me, waiting to see how long it’d take me to ask that question. “I have it. It’s locked up at home.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been pretty sure someone from my agency had taken possession of it—that was standard operating procedure whenever a law-enforcement officer was injured. I just hadn’t been positive where it’d ended up. The knowledge was a small comfort.

“And I wasn’t asking about your physical state. I wanted to know how you’re holding up emotionally.”

“You mean aside from being irritated that of all the people in the world I had to take a bullet for, it had to be that guy?” I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Yes, aside from that.” When I didn’t answer right away, he went on. “I know this must be hard for you, Ryan. You’re probably feeling a lot of different—”

“What are they saying?”

“Who?”

“The FBI. The ones investigating this assassination attempt on the president of Iran. Did the guy say why he did it? Did someone pay him, or was it some kind of vendetta?”

Dad regarded me for a long moment, his face carefully blank. I was familiar with that move. He knew something, but he was considering what to tell me or whether to tell me anything at all. If I hadn’t known him as well as I did, he might’ve played it off well enough that I didn’t realize what he was doing. Maybe.

“As far as I’ve been told, they’re following up on a few things. I’m supposed to meet with their SAIC later today to get a more thorough update on the situation.”

“Wait. What? You mean the gunman isn’t already in custody?”

“No.”

“How is that even possible? The entire block was crawling with cops. Somebody had to have seen something.”

“They’re working on it, Ryan.”

“You don’t know how he got away, do you? You have no idea. Neither do they.” My insides began a spectacular free fall as that realization hit home.

“As I said, I’m scheduled to receive a more thorough briefing later today.”

I studied him for a time, trying to work out exactly what he was keeping from me. In the end, I gave up. He’d worked for the agency long enough to have perfected his poker face. His expression wouldn’t give away anything he didn’t want me to know. Not anything specific, anyway.

“This is more than just an assassination attempt, Dad. This is personal.”

“Not to them.”

“Well, it is to me.”

“I know.”

I frowned as I reminded myself of what he deliberately wasn’t saying. That I needed to take a step back and let the FBI do their jobs. That I needed to let go of any personal stake I might have in this situation. That I needed to try to forget it’d happened at all and get on with my life. Or maybe he wasn’t trying to avoid saying any of those things to me. Maybe that was all in my head.

I didn’t want to bore him with a long diatribe. I didn’t even have the energy or the inclination to sort it all out at the moment. So I went with a summary of the thought that’d been regularly recurring inside my head since the moment I’d opened my eyes in this god-forsaken hospital room.

“I’m going to find out who did this. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to find out who killed Lucia. And, when I do, I intend to make him suffer for it.”

Dad’s phone rang then and interrupted whatever commentary he might’ve had regarding my vow. He winced when he looked at the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” He lifted the phone to his ear and stepped over to the windows. His voice was low, so I couldn’t hear any of what he was saying, which I suspected was deliberate.

A knock on the door distracted me from my eavesdropping, and I scowled. “Come in.”

The door eased open, and my mouth dropped. I blinked several times, then rubbed my eyes with my left hand, trying to determine whether I was hallucinating.

“Do you see her, too?” I asked Dad, afraid the drugs were starting to affect me more than they were supposed to. But he had his back to me.

Allison let out a throaty chuckle and sauntered over to the bed, all confidence and sex appeal. Christ, she looked amazing. Tired and a tad disheveled, but stunning nonetheless. My heart beat out a rapid, machine-gun-fire rhythm, and I was secretly glad they’d taken that infernal heart-rate monitor off me. The frantic beeping that would’ve accompanied her sudden appearance would’ve mortified me.

My immediate grin faded as something finally made it through my painkiller-addled little brain. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Her teasing almost managed to conceal the strain in her voice. Almost.

“Of course. I’m thrilled. But I haven’t—” I physically bit my lip to prevent myself from blurting out that I hadn’t heard word one from her in days.