Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(39)

“Yeah, it feels pretty surreal. But I’m okay. I’ll sleep for about fifteen hours and call you first thing.”

“Okay,” Lilah said, though she sounded wary. “Anything you want me to tell the Posse?”

“Tell them I’ll see them on Monday. As usual.”

“Okay,” Lilah said again, lighter this time. “You get some rest and call me the second you can.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, Alex. I’m really damned glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks, Lilah. I am. I’m okay.”

Only I didn’t feel okay. I felt lost. It was one o’clock on a Thursday afternoon and I had no idea what to do. I felt like I’d been plucked from the bank and dropped back into real life and I wasn’t ready.

I watched a little TV, I tried to read a book, but neither could hold me. Drew came up around four to check on me with the tuna sandwich. I managed to eat half while he sat with me, chatting about his work. To my complete lack of surprise, he’d been in his office at EllisIntel the entire time I was being held hostage. I couldn’t really blame him. There was nothing he could do, and as soon as it was over, they notified him. It’s probably what I would have done had the situation been reversed. Even so, I felt that irritation scratch at me, and when he went back to the office downstairs, I was glad.

I tried the TV again but the local channels were full of the bank robbery details and I shut it off and tried to force myself to sleep.

It would not come. Nagging disquiet hummed along my nerves and my thoughts rattled around in my skull. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, I fell into a fitful doze, only to wake in the middle of the night from a bad dream that was one shade shy of a full-blown nightmare.

Drew lay beside me, on his side of the bed, his back to me, his breathing deep and even. The clock said it was only two a.m. but I knew I was done for the night.

What’s wrong with me?

The obvious answer floated up, but I dismissed it. The ordeal at the bank was a dark shadow over my mind and sooner or later I’d have to confront it. Likely at the police station, as Drew had suggested. But it wasn’t why my nerves felt itchy, or why a vague anxiety twisted my stomach into knots.

“Cory,” I said aloud, and immediately felt the coil loosen.

The hospital’s visiting hours were long over but that didn’t stop me. I threw off the covers and took up the message pad and pen by the bedside. I scribbled a hasty note for Drew and hurried downstairs.

At the grand entry, I threw on a light jacket and tucked my hair into one of Drew’s baseball caps from the coatrack. I doubted the press would be staking out the hospital at this hour, but better safe than sorry. Then I realized I had no car. Mine was either still parked at the bank or at some police impound.

“Shit.”

We owned a Range Rover for road trips we said we’d take and never did, but it was parked in the garage with Drew’s Porsche was parked behind it in the driveway. After a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed Drew’s keys from the entry table, vowing to be back in time for him to go to work.

Driving my fiancé’s car to visit Cory, came the caustic thought as I sat behind the wheel. Nope, nothing wrong with that.

I threw the car into gear and tore out of the driveway, leaving the thought in the dust.





Chapter Fifteen


Alex



Once out on the darkened road, I felt better, more clear-headed. Los Angeles streets were of a different breed at two in the morning; there was little traffic and I actually sped the sports car along the deserted roads. Not the brightest idea given that my ID was still in F.B.I. hands, but I wasn’t about to a let a policeman stop me now. I had to see that Cory was okay if I were to have any peace. He was there. He knows. I don’t have to explain anything. I can just tell him I feel all mixed up inside and he’ll know why.

I realized that he wasn’t likely to be in any shape for talking, but it didn’t matter. It would be enough just to sit with him.

The hospital, even this late, wasn’t quiet or calm. Machines beeped constantly while nurses, doctors, and orderlies moved in and out of the rooms. The two nurses behind the desk on Cory’s floor gave me strange looks as I approached.

“I’m here to see Cory Bishop.”

“Ma’am, evening visiting hours are from six to eight,” said one nurse, a middle-aged woman with short dark hair and small, round eyes. Her nametag said Liz. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to see him. Tonight.”

“Are you family?” asked the other nurse, an older African-American woman who wore a warmer expression. Her nametag said her name was Nicole. “We’ve been trying to track down a wife or parents since he was admitted.”

“I’m not family,” I said. “I was one of the hostages in the bank.”

The nurses exchanged glances.

I had a small speech prepared. An argument that was calm, rational, and convincing. A textbook Alex Gardener jury speech.

Instead I blurted, “I haven’t seen him since the ambulance ride, and then there was so much blood…so much…and he was hardly breathing, so they stabbed him to help him breathe—they stabbed him—and there was more blood, and I just…I don’t want to remember him like that. Please. I…I can’t sleep. I won’t disturb him, I promise. I just want to sit with him for a little bit. Please.”