“There’s no point keeping your eyes shut now, is there?”
She opened them and found Dimitri’s chocolate gaze right in front of her. “I was kind of hoping that if I kept them shut, this would all be a dream.”
“Which part? The part where you traded yourself for Katrina? The part where you were injured? Or the part where you told me you loved me for th
e first time via a message to my sister?”
“Are you annoyed about that?” He looked annoyed, but then he had grumpy resting face so it was sometimes hard to tell. “Guy’s really don’t give a crap about that whole ‘I love you’ stuff. It’s like anniversaries. They only put up with them to humour the women in their lives.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s a strange and mysterious place, your brain.”
Megan took another sip of water when he held the glass back to her lips. The overly bright lights had told her she was in a hospital even before she’d opened her eyes. The smell confirmed it. That antiseptic smell, with undertones of rot, couldn’t be found anywhere else. Neither could that baby poop green colour they insisted on painting the walls.
“I have two questions for you.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of Dimitri’s hand. Warm. He always felt so warm. “Is he dead? And, how bad do I look?”
His eyes turned to stone. “He’s dead.”
“Good.” There was nothing else to say. Reynard Durand had been a predator without a conscience. If he hadn’t decided to hunt and hurt her, it would have been someone else. Men like that didn’t stop and they didn’t change. It was a relief he was gone.
Dimitri brought her out of her heavy thoughts with a kiss to the tip of her nose. “To answer your second question. You’re beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes, then winced. Damn it, her eyeballs were sore too. “What’s the damage?”
“Dislocated shoulder. Gunshot wound to your thigh. Knife wound to your neck. Bruises and scrapes. Including a black eye and severe bruising on your breast.” His voice turned dangerously low. “Finger marks.”
Yeah, she doubted she would ever forget getting those finger marks. “The bald guy with the swastika on his head?”
“Dead.”
She added him to the list of people she would never mourn.
Megan let him fluff the pillows behind her until he was satisfied she was comfortable. The nurse bustled in, far too loudly in Megan’s opinion. She checked Megan’s blood pressure, temperature and IV line. Then she forced some pain meds and antibiotics down her throat.
“I want to go home,” Megan complained when the woman was gone.
Dimitri froze. “To Scotland?”
“No.” Had he taken a hit to the head? “To the flat above the office.” He relaxed, then he looked guilty. “What?” Megan demanded.
“Katrina is going to stay in your flat at the office.”
“There are only two bedrooms.” The rest of the floor was still under construction. Give it a few weeks and there would be more rooms—right now it was just her tatty flat that was liveable.
“Yeah.” He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, while the other one tightened its hold on her hand. “She’s going to take your room.”
And just like that her blood pressure shot up. “Where am I going to stay?” Panic hit her. “Wait, am I still fired? I thought I’d been rehired. Am I being sent back to Scotland?”
The guilt was still there, plain as day in his beautiful brown eyes. The grey sweater rippled when he shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re still hired. You have trainee status.”
“Does that mean I get to learn how to use an automatic weapon?” Because that knowledge would have come in damn handy when she’d had one pointed at Durand.
“I’ll train you myself.”
“Great. So where am I living? I liked that flat. It was close to work.” And it was free.
A pause set off warning bells. “I’ve moved you in with me.”
Megan stilled. “How long have I been in hospital?”