A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(61)

Xander’s words dripped with ice. “Find out. I want to know if she’s the one who did this to me.”

Twenty-three

ON THE DRIVE to the hospital, Jordan caught a news report on a local radio station that informed her, in matter-of-fact terms, that Kyle Rhodes, son of billionaire computer software magnate Grey Rhodes and infamous cyber-terrorist—“It was Twitter, people!”—had been stabbed by another inmate and transferred to Northwestern Memorial Hospital. According to the report, “unnamed sources” at Metropolitan Correctional Center had released a statement confirming only that the prison had taken certain measures deemed necessary to ensure the safety of one of its inmates who had been the target of violence on multiple occasions.

Hearing that, Jordan curled her fingers around the steering wheel. She reminded herself of Nick’s promise that her brother was fine.

When she arrived at the hospital, she stopped in front of the valet stand, not wasting time with the parking garage. The valet in his early twenties eyed the Maserati in awe as she stepped out of the driver’s seat.

“Nice,” he told her.

She quickly handed him the keys. “Just keep it under eighty.” She hurried through the sliding doors of the emergency room, trying not to think of the last time she’d rushed there after getting a frantic call from her father. That call had been about her mother’s car accident, and by the time she had arrived at the hospital, it had been too late.

Jordan pushed the memory from her mind. Not this time. She walked to the front desk, where a young receptionist greeted her with a polite smile.

“I’m here to see my brother, Kyle Rhodes. He was brought in about a half hour ago.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes—he passed right by here. He was kind of hard to miss, with the orange jumpsuit and the two prison guards following the stretcher.”

“Stretcher?” Jordan inhaled unsteadily. “Did he seem, you know, okay?”

The receptionist’s face brightened as she got That Look women often got around Kyle. “He seemed angry about the stretcher, but other than that, he looked fine. Although he did have the top part of his jumpsuit pushed down, with a bandage on his left arm. He was wearing only a T-shirt, but I didn’t see any blood on it or anything. Just that tight, white T-shirt. Very tight. Muscle-hugging, I’d say . . .”

Her voice trailed away as she stared off dreamily.

Jordan rolled her eyes. “He used to stick Skittles up his nose and shoot them into our mother’s flower pots. He called it ‘target practice.’” She snapped her fingers, trying to bring the woman back to reality. “So come on—where is he?”

The receptionist came out of her daze. “Right. Sorry.” She punched something into the computer. “They moved him up to room 360-A.” She pointed. “Elevators are down the hall and to the left.”

IT WOULD BE hard to miss Kyle’s room, considering it was the one with two armed prison guards standing out front. Jordan recognized one of them as her buddy from her visits to MCC, Mr. Cranky with all the rules.

He raised an eyebrow as she approached. “Girl-Sawyer . . . we were wondering when you were going to show up.”

Jordan stopped before him. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

He gestured to their surroundings. “Different setting, different rules.”

“How’s my brother?”

“A little riled up. Mostly pissed about the stretcher.” He pointed to the door behind him. “The doctor is checking him out now. You can go in if you want,” he said with a kinder tone than usual.

“Thank you.” Jordan paused, thinking she saw a spark of knowing in Mr. Cranky’s eyes. She wondered how much the prison guard knew about her deal with the FBI, and if that had anything to do with his sudden change in attitude. She tabled that issue and pushed open the door to Kyle’s room.

Her brother was sitting upright on an examination bed, with the orange jumpsuit pushed down around his waist and a bandage on his forearm. His other hand was handcuffed to the side of the bed. He argued with the doctor who hovered over him with a needle.

“A tetanus shot? You guys carried me in here like an invalid for a tetanus shot?” He scowled.

“Ignore him. He’s always been a baby about shots,” Jordan said from the doorway.

Kyle looked over and grinned. “Jordo.”

The doctor seized on the distraction and promptly stuck him in the shoulder with the needle.

“Son of a—” Kyle half shouted in surprise. “That hurt more than the damn fork.”

“You’ll probably have some soreness at the injection site for a couple days,” the doctor said, not looking sorry at all. He stuck a Band-Aid on Kyle’s shoulder. Jordan smiled when she saw that it had Elmo faces on it. Such a tough guy, her brother.

She walked over to the table, thinking she must’ve heard him wrong. “Did you just say that you were stabbed with a fork?”

“Yes, I was stabbed with a fork,” Kyle grumbled.

The corners of Jordan’s mouth twitched. “I see.”

Kyle beckoned with his hand. “All right. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Salad or regular?”

“You know, I didn’t stop to measure it as it was going into my arm,” Kyle said sarcastically. “Fucking Puchalski.”