Page 88 of The Broken Keys

There’s a pause. “Hold on, let me check.”

About fucking time someone helps me.

I march up and down the sidewalk, my free hand raking through my hair.

People move past me. Some rush in with injuries or sick family members. Others leave with relief or grief written on their faces. The world keeps spinning while mine has stopped.

“Mr. Mayze?” Martinez’s voice comes back on the line. “Sometimes with high-profile individuals, they use an alias for privacy reasons. It looks like from the investigation’s point of view, she would be someone who would fall under that rule.”

“Right. So how do I find out what name they’re using?”

“You’ll need to speak with someone in administration or have a family member contact the hospital. I’m sorry, but I can’t help with that.”

A deep growl rumbles from my chest. “There has to be something you can do. I was there when it happened. I held her hand while the paramedics cut her out of the car. I need to know if she’s okay.”

“I understand, but hospital privacy laws are strict. Your best bet is to contact her family.”

“They’re away on vacation with limited Wi-Fi. Is there a way you could vouch for me and help me find out more information about her?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t count on it. If I were you, I’d find her family and let them know. That’s your best bet.”

“Thanks for your help, Detective.” I end the call more upset than I was before.

I’m about to dial Bren’s number when movement catches my eye. A luxury sedan pulls into the emergency parking lot, tires squealing as it whips into a spot. The back door flies open before the car fully stops.

A man emerges, and I freeze.

Tall, broad shoulders, and in expensive clothes that probably cost more than my tour bus. His dark hair is slightly disheveled. He moves with the confidence that comes from owning rooms and commanding attention without trying.

Jaxon Crowne.

The man who backed Mayhem when we needed it most. The venture capitalist who helped me escape Leon Baker’s stranglehold. The guy who met with me in Paris and gave me the surveillance jewelry that saved my life.

He’s here. At this hospital. Running toward the emergency room entrance like his existence depends on what he finds inside.

What the hell is Jaxon doing here?

The question barely forms before the answer slams into me with the force of that SUV hitting Livianna’s car.

My King.

Jaxon Crowne is the man she’s been seeing. He must be the man she was driving to meet in Malibu. And if that’s so, he’s the man who got her pregnant.

I stand frozen on the sidewalk as he hurries past me without a glance. His only focus is getting inside.

He doesn’t notice me or register my presence. His complete being is locked onto something, or more like someone who’s in that building.

The world tilts sideways, and my limbs go numb. My vision narrows to that spot where Jaxon Crowne just disappeared through the automatic doors.

Jaxon. It’s been Jaxon this whole time. Her boy-toy from Paris and here in the States. They must be one and the same.

How did I not see it?

Just the other day, I wondered, but let Cooper talk me out of it. It was easier that way.

But now…

Shit!