She's probably right.
I've graduated from the bed to crutches, which sounds like progress until you actually try to use them. Arms shake. Good leg aches from compensating. Every step sends a jolt through my ribs that makes me want to throw the damn things through the window.
The nurses are relentlessly cheerful. The food is beige and tasteless. The television offers nothing but talk shows andreruns. I've counted the ceiling tiles fourteen times. There are two hundred and thirty-seven.
I asked Logan for my laptop yesterday.
“No.”
“I just need to check a few things.”
“Kai, you're supposed to be resting.”
“I've been resting for five days. I'm rested. I'm so rested I could stay awake for a year and still be rested.”
“No laptop.”
Ethan was worse. He didn't even pretend to consider it. Just looked at me with that calm, immovable expression and said, “You'll get it back when the doctor clears you for work.”
“I'm not asking to run a marathon. I want to read emails.”
“No.”
Traitors. Both of them.
Maddox, at least, understands.
He shows up mid-afternoon with a leather bag over his shoulder. No greeting. No small talk. He just walks in, pulls out my laptop, sets it on the bedside table.
“Two hours,” he says. “Then I'm shutting it off.”
“You're a good man, Hex.”
“You're more annoying disconnected than informed.” He pulls up a chair, settles into it with the coiled stillness that's always unnerved lesser men. “Besides, we need to talk.”
I push myself up against the pillows, ignoring the protest from my ribs. “The bike.”
He nods. “Brake line was cut. Clean work. Someone who knew what they were doing.”
I'd suspected as much. Jaw tightens. “Where?”
“Your bike was parked on the street outside Hammond Industries while you were meeting with Victor.” His eyes hold mine. “Security cameras in that area malfunctioned during the window. Convenient timing.”
“Paid off?”
“Working on confirming, but yes. That's my assessment.”
I think about the street. Busy during the day, but not impossible for someone to slip in unnoticed if they knew what they were doing.
“How did they know I'd be there?”
Maddox reaches into his bag, pulls out a small device, sets it on the bed. It's no bigger than a coin. Black plastic, innocuous.
“GPS tracker. Found it under your seat.”
I stare at it. Someone's been tracking my movements. Watching where I go. Waiting for the right moment.
“Not my phone?”
