“Ach,Ford.”Henri shook his head, his frown deepening.“Il est parti.” He waved toward the window, in the direction where she’d heard the car engine moments earlier.
Had Ford actually left her here, alone with a total stranger?She’d known they were coming to a doctor’s hideout.She hadn’t known Ford planned to bail at first light.Something icky slithered around her insides, and she struggled to breathe.“Heleft?”Could Henri hear the panic in her voice?
Until she was in better shape, she was completely at this man’s mercy.Vulnerable.Did Ford still hate her so much that he couldn’t even wait around to explain what was going on?Was leaving her with this unhappy Frenchman—or whatever—some kind of revenge?
Her throat cinched tight.Ford might not like her, but four years ago he’d been as by-the-book as they came and a protector to his core.She couldn’t imagine him as vengeful.Then again, she knew as well as anyone that bad experiences changed people.
Either way, Henri’s nod confirmed Ford that had abandoned her.“Je suis un médecin,” he said, patting his chest.“Doctor.”
“Okay, but when is Ford coming back?”Maybe he’d just run out for supplies.
The older man shrugged as he threw up his hands and made a sound of disgust.Then he launched into another incomprehensible diatribe, his gestures sharp, his face flushing.
Fatigue hit her like a tsunami.She let her head fall against the stack of pillows, but kept her gaze trained on the man at the foot of her bed.Ford wouldn’t really leave her with him if it wasn’t safe, right?She had to believe that.Still, Henri was a complete stranger, and she was in no shape to fight him if the need arose.
He stepped toward her and she flinched.Dammit.
Falling silent, he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, the hard lines around his mouth softening.Then he pointed to the nightstand at her left, on which sat a sweating glass of water with a straw.He mimed drinking and tapped his watch, following it up with more French.
“¿Habla español?” she asked, mostly joking.But, hey, Spain was on the same continent, so it wasn’tthatfar-fetched.Based on his expression, though…no.Her Spanish wasn’t stellar, but it would’ve been better than using hand gestures.
Well, damn.Now what?If she had her phone, she could call her boss Gretchen and find out what the hell was going on.Also, have the woman translate her questions, which would be extra helpful, since she suddenly had to pee.“Uh…toilet?”
He sighed and nodded, moving to her side.With little fanfare, and thankfully, a professional demeanor, he managed to help her out of the bed and to her feet.
The bullet had only injured her shoulder, but her entire body protested the movement, and she swayed for a minute, grateful for his strong grip on her elbow, even as her muscles engaged in a battle between fight and flight.Pointless, as neither was an option at the moment.The urge to relieve her bladder overcame her psychological discomfort, and she let him guide her through the doorway.
More white walls and flooring, relieved only by a stripe of red tiles surrounding a clawfoot tub with a hand shower.Maybe in a day or two she’d be strong enough to take advantage of it without collapsing.
Henri helped her to the toilet and left her to do her business.Afterward, she was able to hold the narrow counter and hobble to the sink.She glanced into the mirror and gasped.
Her ponytail had loosened, leaving her hair looking like a ball of tangled yarn.Remnants of mascara and eyeliner shadowed her eyes, and her skin was as pale as the walls.She washed her free hand with foaming soap, and then used it to awkwardly splash water on her face, using the same soap—ugh—until she was scrubbed clean.
Her skin felt tight and over-stripped, but it was better than nothing.The cool water also chased away some of her brain fog.At the moment there was no help for her hair, but she had bigger concerns.
Pulling aside the neck of her flimsy gown, she studied the large bandage, feeling a little sick.
She could’ve fuckingdied.Probably would have if Jason hadn’t done his paramedic thing before he and Emma bolted.
Shit, were they okay?Had they found a way to get to Renfro Warner or had his goons caught up with them too?
Her head swam and she gripped the sink hard.
“Henri?”she called.“I’m done.”
He helped her back to bed, made sure she drank some water, and offered her an English edition ofPeoplemagazine.Then he asked her something that might have included the word “manger,” as he mimed using a spoon.
“I could eat.”Shockingly, she was suddenly starving.Her appetite had been zero during the drive last night, but now she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had food.God, what day was it even?
“Okay.”He took a small pill bottle from his pocket and gave her a questioning look.
Recognizing the prescription Dr.Amadi had given her yesterday before leaving the hospital, she nodded.“Yes, please.”She didn’t relish the idea of being cognitively impaired in this man’s company, but if she went much longer without the painkillers, she’d probably be delirious anyway.
As Henri turned to leave, she asked, “Do you have my phone?Oraphone?Teléfono?” Okay, that was Spanish again, but the root of the word seemed pretty universal.
He shook his head, his expression stern, as he sliced his hand through the air.“Non.”
“But…”
