He said don't and doesn’t, instead of dinnae.God, I miss his Scottish accent.
“Don’t all the competing crime organizations just rush in and shoot the place up when there’s an enemy there?”
“There’s an ironclad treaty,” he says, “if we want world-class care, we have to share nicely.”
“That’s very well-behaved of everyone,” I say. He gives me a distracted smile before starting thenext call.
I stare out the window as the ubiquitous black bulletproof SUV takes us through London, my husband’s low, urgent tones as my soundtrack.
“Wallace!”
Sorcha hurries across the room to wrap her arms around him, and he dips his head, hugging her tightly.
“I’m so sorry, Mum. What’s his condition now?” They get lost in complicated medical jargon with a scrubs-clad surgeon who looks like he’s ready to fall asleep standing up.
Folding my sweaty hands, I look awkwardly around the room until a very tall man approaches me. “Scarlett? I’m Alec Davies, Alastair’s best friend, MacTavish-adjacent and Wallace’s godfather.” As he introduces himself, I instantly recognize the trademark MacTavish Green eyes and the height.
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you. Do I call you Alec, or Mr. Davies, or Don of the Davies-”
He cuts me off, laughing, but kindly. “As it happens, I am your uncle by marriage, so Uncle Alec is fine, if you’re up to it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m an American orphan with no family except for my best friend Morganand Murder Mittens here.” He eyes MM, who’s wrapped around my shoulders like a furry parrot. “Now, though, I’ve been gifted with an avalanche of family.”
Don’t cry, you idiot! When did I get so weepy and emotional? Morgan would be disgusted with me.
“Yeah, so that’s a bunch of unnecessary information,” I babble on. “How is Wallace’s dad? What can you tell me?”
Now that I have a good look at him, Alec is clearly beat to crap. His suit has what looks like coffee stains on his white shirt and his tie’s been ripped off and left somewhere. He may have dark circles under his eyes, but they’re still glowing a poisonous green. This man ispissed off.
“Alastair’s in stable condition. There were two bullets, one entered his chest a fraction above his heart,” he runs his hand through his hair in a tired, practiced motion. “The other bounced off a rib and exited out his back. He was in surgery for three hours to extract the bullet wedged in his chest.”
“Scarlett, come meet my mother,” Wallace’s hand is on my back briefly before he leans into a fierce hug with Alec. Their sorrow is so palpable that I have to turn away.
Sorcha is waiting with a tired smile. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to be meeting you this way,” I ask. “Can Iget you something to eat? Coffee?”
I’m enveloped in her warm embrace and for a moment, it almost feels like my mother’s here. The same softness and comfort, even a little, soothing hum like Mom always did.
You’re here forthem,Scarlett. Pull it together.
“No, I’ve been fed and watered, almost against my will.” She smiles tiredly.
“Understood.” I squeeze her hands before letting go. “There’s always that desire to dosomethingbut it doesn’t change how you’re feeling, does it?”
“Exactly.” Her eyes are glinting with a sheen of tears.
Wallace and his uncle are talking in hushed tones, it’s clear they’re barely holding on to their rage. There’s a lot of short, clipped sentences and gritting of teeth. He’s taken out his lighter, flicking it on and off. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it.
“I wouldn’t presume to overstep,” I say hesitantly. “But could you get some sleep, now that Wallace is here? I could see if there’s a room here where you could rest?”
Sorcha sleeps for a few hours while Wallace and Alec go over all their reports together. There’sroom servicehere in this expensive gangsterhospital and a chef on duty, so I can’t even go down to the vending machine to bring them a cup of terrible coffee.
The room is more like a suite, with a main area for family, where there’s couches with lots of pillows in soothing colors and a long table covered in computer equipment and printouts. Wallace’s father is lying in an attached room, his bed surrounded by medical equipment. Sorcha refused to sleep unless she could be there with him, so they set up a big recliner for her next to Alastair’s bed.
“I hear that you came up with the theory that the drill on the construction site was actually a rifle,” Alec says approvingly. He’s being very nice, but when he narrows those eyes, I’ll bet grown men wet themselves.
“Did you get the enlarged image back?” I ask.
“Xenia’s working on it by adding multiple layers of the same image,” Wallace says. “She seems confident that we’ll get a clear shot.”
