Then, before I could so much as blink, the guy took off running.
He bumped me with his shoulder on the way out, hitting me so hard that I had no choice but to go to the ground.
I hit hard just as the fake cop hit the doorway and took off for real.
There was a loud screech, a crash, and then the sound of water hitting the ground as well as a male scream.
That’s when the other two cops—the nice one from earlier and the suited one—took off after the runaway.
Exaggerated reaction much?
Shaking my head at the whole matter, I got up and took a seat next to the bed and stared at Bruno.
“Do you think that they were trying to kill you?” I asked curiously. “Because I read a lot of murder mystery, and if I was going to kill you, I’d do it now when you’re in the woods and your health is questionable. Doing it later makes it more obvious.”
The sexy man didn’t answer me, and I found myself irrationally angry that he didn’t.
That was one of my problems though. Anger.
I’d had that issue for as long as I knew. It was something that I couldn’t help, yet I got better and better every year at controlling it.
That was why I’d become such a recluse. Or, when I did go out, I went out with family or people very close to me that wouldn’t find my anger annoying.
“So what’s the big deal?” I asked him. “I wonder if they said anything that you could hear? I hear that if you are in a coma, you can still understand everything that is going on around you. I guess we’ll have to wait a few days for your answer, though, since they said they would keep you under so the swelling could go down. They also said that there’s a significant chance that you wouldn’t remember anything. That memory loss was a rather large possibility.” I looked at his arms where the scraping was most prominent. “Probably a good thing you’re in a coma since that road rash probably hurts like a bitch.”
A throat cleared behind me and I turned slightly to see the well-dressed suited guy from earlier.
He cleared his throat again and said, “Ma’am. My name is Jarome Gustier. I’m a special agent with the FBI.”
“Most people introduce themselves as Special Agent Jarome Gustier. Why did you switch it up?” I asked curiously.
He blinked.
He was a beautiful mocha-skinned black man that had the most pillowy lips I’d ever seen. I wanted to touch one with my finger to see if they were as soft as they looked.
His eyes were a warm butterscotch, and he had a black tight beard to the lower half of his face that looked like he’d just visited the barbershop yesterday.
Though, his hair was much the same. Perfectly cropped and cut.
I liked it.
I liked a well-dressed man.
Though, as I allowed my gaze to drift back over to Bruno, his unkempt look from today, and his ‘fuck it’ attitude with his dirty jeans and black tee from the bar last week, was definitely growing on me.
“I would have,” Jarome admitted, “but I try not to look like a pretentious asshole to people that I want to like me.”
My brows rose. “You want me to like you?”
The nurse arrived with some water in a large pink tub and a stack of washcloths inside.
She smiled tightly at Jarome, placed the bucket on the rolling table that was at Bruno’s bedside, and then went about checking things.
His urine output, the blood pressure cuff, and finally the IV lines before she left without a single word.
My eyes went back to Jarome, brows lifting in question.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just get these feelings about people. And my gut is telling me that you need to like me.”