“This is a surprise,” he said slowly. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Trevor, not sir,” Trevor told him with a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his worried brown eyes. They were nice eyes—bedroom eyes. Brendan wouldn’t mind looking up at them from a couch or bed or his knees, to be honest.
“Trevor,” Brendan echoed.
“Mr. Sanchez here says we’ve got a situation concerning you,” Wilkinson said, sounding worried. “I want you to know we’re going to do everything we can to ensure your safety and security, Brendan.”
Brendan’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. “What’s going on?”
“The patient you brought to the hospital on the night of the attack has ties to the Sons of Adam. The men we apprehended are confirmed members,” Trevor explained. “We’ve caught some chatter concerning the incident that indicates they might go after you and the hospital out of revenge. We’re assigning additional security to the hospital, but you’re a little more mobile.”
“What?” Brendan said in disbelief. “Why?”
Trevor grimaced. “That woman, Lydia Briggs, is the girlfriend to the guy who almost shot you. He’s more than just your regular bottom-feeder tough guy. Elliot Hawthorne is the younger brother to Samuel, a slightly higher-than-average-ranked member of the Sons of Adam. We have reason to believe the cell that Samuel leads will come after you out of revenge.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You saved Lydia and you’re part of the reason they believe Elliot is in custody.”
Brendan ran both hands through his hair in an agitated manner. “Fuck.”
“We’re requesting a police detail to guard you while on shift and follow you to and from any calls. I will be escorting you between your home and work. Another police detail will stand guard at your home.”
“We’ll cooperate with whomever the police send us,” Wilkinson said.
“For how long?” Brendan wanted to know.
“Hopefully not long, but I can’t give an estimated timeframe,” Trevor said apologetically. “I’ll be staying here with you until your shift is over and then I’ll escort you home.”
Brendan didn’t know what to say about the situation he’d suddenly found himself in. He’d been telling his entire family that he was fine—that everything was fine—and now suddenly that wasn’t true.
“I’ll give you guys a couple of minutes to talk logistics,” Wilkinson said, ceding his office to Brendan and Trevor.
The door slid shut behind him and Trevor offered up Brendan a grim smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Brendan said.
“Might be more than you think. The news streams have been reporting pretty widely about the hospital being the location I attend for medical school. The Sons of Adam have no love for me or my team.”
“Still doesn’t make it your fault.”
Trevor tipped his head in silent acknowledgment of that statement. “How much longer do you have on your shift?”
“I’m fifteen hours in on a twenty-four-hour shift. I get off shift at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“All right. If you get a call, I’ll follow you in my car.”
“I’d say you don’t have to do that, but I think it’d be a losing argument.”
Trevor approached and put his hand on Brendan’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before his hand dropped away. “Keeping you safe is my top priority right now. Shadowing you on your job isn’t a hardship. Escorting you to and from work isn’t either. You’ll have police on the street keeping watch but if you’d feel safer with me sleeping on your couch for a few days, it won’t be an issue.”
The idea of waking up to Trevor in his apartment made Brendan hesitate. He knew the offer was given out of concern and nothing else. That didn’t stop him from wondering what Trevor looked like when he first woke up in the morning.
But then his traitorous mind flashed back on the gun pointed at him in the ER, and Brendan knew what his therapist would tell him in a situation like this—that it was okay to ask for help.
“How long do you think it will take for the MDF to find the people behind the threats?”
“I don’t have an answer for you, and I can’t promise you soon. I can promise you we’re working on it.” Trevor paused before shaking his head, a rueful expression crossing his face. “The MDF, I should say. Technically, I don’t work for them since I’m in the reserves and haven’t been called up, but old habits die hard.”
