Stepping into the bathroom is a rude awakening. I relieve myself before examining the carnage in the mirror. And carnage is the right word.
The shoulder wound is bandaged. I need to ask what that’s about, but something stains the skin around it. That’s not counting the bruise that radiates from it, around the shoulder cap and down the biceps. Both elbows show bruising, as much as I can see through the ink there. I can feel them, and Ican see the swelling even if the color isn’t the primary indicator.
There’s a bruise to my chin on my left side, the same side as the hip wound. That’s bandaged as well. I rip the tape back and study the “gutting graze” as Ayla called it. It’s basically a through and through, but close enough to the edge that it blew away the skin there. It’s easily an inch wide and an inch deep and will be permanent. It fucked with my tat there too, which pisses me off almost as much as the shot itself.
Both kneecaps are swollen and angry. Again, I’ll have to ask.
Ayla wasn’t wrong. I’m annoyed as fuck. I’m not dead. I’m not buried alive in a house that may or may not be owned by a former client. I’m curious to see how this plays out with him.
My tablet. Shit. I return to the bedroom on stiff knees and a screaming hip, log on to manage my cloud devices, and remote wipe the tablet. I’ll log into Barnett’s systems later. I want eyes on him. I want ears on him too. That fucker better think again if he believes I’ll take this lying down.
I find a sweatshirt in Cian’s things from when he was here recuperating. That’s been more than a year. I slide it on backwards. The arms are too small, uncomfortably so, but I need the hoodie. I slide Poe inside and dial Lorien.
It never rings. The call goes directly to voicemail. “Wifey, you’re not answering and you haven’t responded to text messages. Send proof of life or I’ll be forced to come save you.”
I hobble downstairs, past Christian’s closed office door and to the outdoor terrace where my sister sits, face tilted to the summer sun, Sophia sound asleep on her chest, wrapped in one of those things my brain can’t figure out how to work.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Li.”
“Are you tired of playing Florence Nightingale for your brothers?”
“I’m tired of brothers needing hospital recovery.”
I scrub a hand over my head, feeling the bristles of two- or three-days’ growth. Long for me. “Can I guess that I didn’t go to a hospital?”
“You had the Army Ranger medical expertise of Dr. Young.” She smirks.
“Fitz did this?” I point to my shoulder. Fitz makes a damn good chili, but he’s no doctor.
“And your thigh.”
“I don’t remember it.”
She turns her face to me. “I’m not surprised. They gave you some good drugs. You should hear the stories about Ren trying to hold that kitten while Fitz needed his services. Christian ended up being the medical assistant while Ren calmed Poe. And we know Christian’s tolerance for that.” She smiles wide as a shiver runs from my head to my toes.
“This shit has to stop. Why does it feel like an attempt to pick us off one by one?”
“That’s something.” She sits up. “Think Dad could be behind this?”
I shake my head. “Doubtful. I’ve worked with Barnett for a while. He came from a referral.”
“And you know the references?”
I stare across the yard. “I’ll go back to double check. I can’t say I remember them off the top of my head, but anyone who uses my services…”
“Can afford to,” she finishes my thought.
“Thanks for bringing her to me last night.” I point to Sophia asleep on her chest.
She nods but doesn’t say much else for a long moment. “You saidshe’s why you’re herelast night. What was that about?”
“How much did Christian tell you about yesterday?”
She turns toward me, cupping Sophia so she doesn’t fall. She’s a natural at this momming gig. “All of it?”
“You’re a terrible liar. Let me get some coffee and I’ll tell you.”
