I strive for patience, which is usually a quality I possess in multitudes, but seems to have evaporated from my arsenal completely. “She was brought in with a shooting victim. Where is the waiting room? I’ll look for her myself.”
“You can stop causing a scene. I’m right here.”
The sound of her voice is enough to transform my ire to relief. Turning, I find her standing in a doorway several meters away, next to a tall Black woman in scrubs, who is studying me with shrewd brown eyes behind gold-framed glasses. She looks familiar, but I’m so focused on Catriona, I can’t place her.
Before I can say anything, Catriona continues, “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
I certainly can’t tell her the truth—that I’d followed her from school and watched outside the cottage. That I’d waited, debated with myself for precious moments about giving up my cover to break into the house and demand the truth. But if I’d gone to her, she would have been even more defensive than she is now. I’d known she was stubborn, but living with her these past few weeks has shown me she has an iron core that bends for no one. Especially not me.
“I got ahold of him,” Detective Baptiste says from behind me.
“Reggie?” the doctor by Catriona says, giving me the impression they’re familiar. Now that I see him next to her, they favor each other. Cousins? Siblings? “Why would you do that?”
“How would you even know him?” Catriona says at the same time.
Baptiste and I share a glance. I clear my throat to answer. “He was involved in the investigation of the disappearance of a police officer last year.” I meet Catriona’s accusatory gaze. “Officer Dupont.”
“Dufresne,” Baptiste corrects, flicking an unimpressed glance my way. He’d put up an admirable fight trying to fit the pieces of that particular puzzle together, but I wouldn’t be where I am if I were stupid enough to get caught.
“Care to tell me what’s going on, pet?”
Yasmine wrinkles her nose and scoffs, “Pet? Is he for real?”
My focus is only on my wife despite the two looking on with twin expressions of interest. She’s not hurt, but she’s covered inblood. Hands and face are clean, but it’s soaked into her jeans and her pretty pink top. I can’t help but think it’s a physical manifestation of being married to me. This is what life will be like for her when she’s linked to me, always.
Yasmine turns until she’s standing between us and puts her hands on Catriona’s shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay? Redmond would understand if I needed some time.”
But Catriona is already shaking her head. “I’m fine. Not a scratch. Besides, you don’t want to get behind.”
Yasmine pulls Catriona into a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“No promises.”
“Don’t think this means you’re going to get out of movie night tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Detective Baptiste’s gaze drills into my back as I collect Catriona under an arm and guide her to the elevator. The moment the doors close behind us, she shoves me away.
“You can quit the concerned act now. No one’s watching.” Her words are sharp, but she can’t meet my eye.
“You’ve been keeping something from me.”
She huffs out a laugh and crosses her arms over her chest. All I can see is the blood speckling her chest, her throat. The places where she’d missed cleaning, probably during a hasty trip to a bathroom with bad lighting. “Like you don’t keep things from me. Please. This isn’t a real relationship, unless you’ve forgotten. I’m not obligated to tell you everything about my life.”
“You are if it puts your life in danger. You’re forgetting I need you.” Her eyes fly to mine. “That’s right. Did you need me to admit it to believe me? If you get yourself killed, my whole plan falls apart. So unfortunately, we’re stuck with each other. I hope you can remember that next time you try to lie to me.”
Her smile is cold. “I didn’t get myself killed. I’m fine. And what I’m doing isn’t any of your business.”
“The man you were with, youradvisor,” I sneer the last word. “I bet he knows what you’re keeping from me. Maybe I’ll come back and ask him. If he survives his surgery. Two bullet wounds to the chest are going to mean a bitch of a recovery.”
The elevator opens with a cheerfulding, and several people wait for us to disembark. Witnesses promptly put an end to our conversation. We’re lucky there aren’t more photo-happy journalists, but considering how fast the media jumped on the last story about us, I don’t think it’ll be long before this one makes its rounds.
I guide her with a claiming hand on her lower back through the labyrinthine hallways from the lobby to the emergency room parking lot, where I parked my SUV to sweat bullets and wait for someone to call me. I’d hoped it would have been her, but of course it wasn’t.
“I can’t believe you know Reggie,” she finally says, breaking the silence as I pull out of the hospital and into traffic.
“Yasmine’s brother?” I guess out loud.
