Miri gave me a sad smile. “Four days.”
I lost four days? Four days Miri was unprotected. Four days someone could have come in here and killed her or taken her.
“George—?”
“They told me George stood watch outside my room the entire time I was admitted for them to check my head wound. It’s just a bump.” Miri squeezed my hand. “There are guards outside yours as well. I’ll call George so he can tell you what happened.”
“No. No George… Just you.” Miri paused, then nodded and leaned over to kiss me again. “We’re leaving.” She tilted her head and gave me a strange look as if I were crazy. I almost laughed when I realized Miri had no clue what I was rambling on about. “Leaving Austin, Miri. I’m retiring… We’re leaving.”
She gave me a small smile and pushed my damp hair back from my forehead.
“Shhhhh. We’ll talk later when you feel better. Sleep.”
That sounded good. I did as she asked and drifted off, pulled under in a fog of morphine.
Miri
Once they weaned down the morphine to a minimal amount and Jag was able to stay awake for longer periods of time, the police came and took his statement, much to Jag’s annoyance. Usually, all the cartel’s injuries were treated by his private physician to keep the authorities from getting involved or giving them any reason to investigate his business.
Unfortunately, a gunshot wound to the chest wasn’t something that could be taken care of without surgery and a real hospital. Jag was put out and somewhat hostile, but he answered the detectives’ questions the best he could without pointing fingers at any of his men. George stopped by earlier and assured Jag the house was cleared of anything incriminating before the police were let on the scene. Still, Jag was embarrassingly uncooperative at times, and by the time the disgruntled detectives left, my brave man was frowning, stewing in a very dark mood.
A quick rap on the door and a too-perky nurse burst into the room. “Good afternoon. I need to check your vitals.” Like all the other nurses and doctors who filtered in and out of Jag’s room, this one hid her fear of Jag behind her overly saccharine happiness. It seemed everyone in the hospital knew who or what Jag was, and no one was comfortable dealing with him. Who could blame them? If I didn’t know him, how good he was at heart, I wouldn’t want to be in the presence of someone with Jag’s reputation—a violent, powerful drug lord. One who could make someone disappear with the snap of his fingers.
Jag scowled, but humored the twitchy woman as she took his blood pressure and checked his monitors.
“When can I leave?” he growled, his bark sending the nervous woman about three feet in the air.
“Ummmm, I-I can get the doctor for y-you.” She shrank back a few steps.
“Do that,” Jag barked. The poor nurse scurried from the room as fast as she could. I glared at Jag. “What?” He gave me a fake innocent look that wouldn’t fool anyone with half a brain and a pair of functioning eyes.
“Could you stop being so, so… mean?”
His eyes widened as he looked at me, incredulous. “Mean?”
“Yes, mean.” I held eye contact with the stubborn man, refusing to be cowed.
Jag made a rude noise, but didn’t bother arguing. I took that as a win and decided to change the subject. Holding one of his hands in mine, I brought up our future. “Are we really leaving?”
“Of course.” He sounded surprised I would ask. When I didn’t say anything, Jag sat up in bed. His skin blanched and his mouth pressed in a tight line as he tried to hide his discomfort. “Come here, doll.” He held his arms out.
I jerked away. “What? I can’t, I’ll hurt you.”
Jag rolled his eyes and waited. “Miri, I’ve been in this bed for God knows how long and I need to feel you. Get up here and sit with me.” It wasn’t a request. Besides, I missed him so much and needed his touch. I scrambled off the uncomfortable chair and carefully climbed onto the bed. “No.” Jag frowned when I tried to sit next to him on the edge of the mattress. He grabbed me under my arms and started hauling me onto his lap. When he winced, I took over, climbing onto him and placing one of my legs on either side of his hips. “Just rest your head on the good side.” He closed his arms around me and I did as he said and laid my cheek against his chest.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in. Beneath the scent of hospital and antiseptic and medicine, I could still smell Jag—that warm, masculine scent that was unique to him. Jag sighed and slouched back against the pillows, taking me with him. I snuggled into the crook of his neck, so grateful to still have him with me, alive if not one hundred percent.
“He’s not going to stop, is he?” My words were muffled against Jag’s throat. I knew he heard me because his body stiffened and his arms tightened around my back.
“No.”
“George said El Cuchillo either wasn’t at your house during the attack, or got away.”
“Yes,” Jag said, his response short and curt.
“Can we hide from him?”