I should have a slim scar, but my fingertips couldn’t locate it. Another scar that had been erased.
I blinked and remembered why we were at the hospital. Christopher turned back to look at me with concern. I slapped the wall back up, certain it had slipped when my thoughts had jumped into the past. The vision had been too close to the center of my pain. He didn’t know I was a murderer.
I sent him a sharp look, and he turned around, shoulders rigid. I was a jerk. Being at the hospital had to be horrible. We were here to see his brother, who was in a coma. It wasn’t about me. I swallowed. Seeing Brandon wouldn’t be a picnic for me either. Until a few months ago, I’d thought Brandon was my true love, the one who’d gotten away. His original disappearance had broken my heart, crushed my soul, made me doubt my gut. Proved I was right not to let anyone too close.
When I’d returned to this time, he’d been different than I remembered, colder, more clinical. Despite my efforts, he’d left me months before the coma. Maybe if I’d had more time, I could have changed his course of action. He’d left me without thought, thinking I wouldn’t care. Like I hadn’t mattered. For all his talk of loving me, it didn’t feel like love. He’d taken me for granted. He might love some version of me, but he didn’t know me if he thought I wouldn’t be upset. Those years I’d spent wondering what I’d done wrong had been a waste of time.
Christopher took my icy hand, breaking my reverie. I squeezed, then let go. We weren’t allowed to hold hands, but I wanted him to know I was here for him. Friends offering reassurance. He shot me a half-smile.
Brandon lay in his hospital bed, propped partially upright with pillows. There were tubes in his arm and a mask attached to the ventilator covered his face. He looked smaller, shrunken, and younger than thirty-two—the faint lines by his eyes had disappeared. Christopher sat on the chair beside the bed and lifted his brother’s hand. The hiss and whoosh of the ventilator was the dominant sound in the room. I remained near the door, one foot on the threshold.
“I brought Elizabeth today,” said Christopher. “We’re on our way to track something down to help you. We know this wasn’t an overdose, no matter what the doctors say.”
He spoke in ordinary conversation tones, as if his brother might answer. He talked for another couple of minutes, telling him about a new beer he’d tried and the scores of the Mariners’ game last night. He mentioned the Museum reception, but not that he’d gotten drunk and spent the night at my place.
Last time, I’d taken Eric to the gala, and he’d been on his best behavior. Though he wasn’t terrific at socializing either, he’d tried. I blinked again. I hoped I’d never see him again. I hadn’t seen him since the grocery store, but he’d been around. I shook my head. Thoughts of Eric were unwelcomed and intrusive.
“I won’t be here tomorrow,” Christopher told his brother. “I’m going out of town. Something unexpected, but I’ll be here Monday.”
We stopped at the nurses’ station on the way back to the elevator. Christopher wanted to let them know that while they could reach him on his cell, he wouldn’t be around. While he spoke to the head nurse, I spied two men stepping off the elevator. One was tall and thin, and the other was short and stout. They wore trench coats and fedoras, which was odd and like something from a stereotypical detective movie. They should have just worn signs that said,“Hired goon.”It was a sunny September morning and felt like summer. They didn’t belong, and I couldn’t imagine anyone looking more suspicious.
They strolled toward us while Christopher rambled and I overheard the tall man say, “The boss told him human trials needed to start. Nobody thought he’d take it upon himself to be the trial.”
I froze at his words, my ears straining to catch every syllable while I almost stopped breathing.
His companion said, “It puts us in a dangerous position. The boss isn’t known for his patience. We’re lucky he’s preoccupied with another project.”
I’d been right. Someone else was involved in this, someone who’d pressured Brandon. My back to the men, I pretended to be absorbed in my phone. I didn’t want to attract their attention.
“Winters screwed us.” The tall, crane-like man set his face in a scowl. “He’s set the company back months, maybe longer, unless the boss can replace him or replicate his work.”
Christopher finished, and we strode past the men and got on the elevator. Christopher pushed the button for the lobby, but I tapped the one to hold the doors open. He shot me a querying look with his eyebrows, in all likelihood wondering what I was doing. I wanted to hear more of the Brandon conversation. The mismatched men stopped at the nurse’s desk and I tried to imprint their features on my brain. One looked like a crane, the other like a bulldog.
“What room is Dr. Brandon Winters in?” said the stout man.
“Oh, he’s popular today,” said the nurse. “It’s smart of you to take shifts to see him.”
I jammed the button to close the door, suddenly worried the men would look back or the nurse would point us out. I stabbed it twice more, willing it to hurry.
The short man glanced over his shoulder as the elevator closed.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t think they had seen us.
“What was that?” said Christopher.
“They were talking about Brandon and know about his research. They said something about the boss not liking what he did.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing else until we were in his car. I glanced over my shoulder several times to see if they had followed us.
“Do you think it’s safe to leave Brandon?” His voice was too loud.
“They want him to wake up and share his research. They won’t hurt him. The sooner we help, the sooner these guys leave him alone. They wanted to confirm his condition for their boss.”
He took a deep breath and changed the subject.
“Did you know Reno is at least a nine-hour drive? I looked it up.”
I nodded and bit my lip.“You still willing?”
