Flint shakes his head. “No, not at this stage. If he cooperates fully, he should have all charges dropped. For now, they’ve been moved into protective custody. His wife didn’t know anything about it. Dr. Patel was trying to protect her.” He pauses.
“Who did this to him? To me?” I ask.
“We haven’t tracked down the source yet. That investigation is still ongoing. Suffice to say that they are a clever bunch. Nothing traces back to them. Not that we have found; we’ll keep digging.”
“Thank you, Flint,” I say. “For everything you did. Can you tell Ridge—?” I stop. “Tell him thank you. From me.”
“I will.” Flint nods. He and Carla look at each other for a beat that goes slightly too long. Carla looks away first.
“Take care, Carla.”
“You, too.”
We watch him go.
“Holy hell,” she says under her breath. “His ass is something in those leather pants.”
I giggle. She does, too.
Flint swings his leg over the bike, putting a helmet on his head. Then the engine turns, and he rolls out of the space, checks for traffic, and he’s gone a few seconds later.
Carla turns to me. “Shitty about poor Raj.”
I nod. “Yeah. I feel for him.”
“I wonder how long he’ll be gone.”
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“Okay.” Carla claps her hands together. “I’m taking you home.”
“We should probably go to the hospital,” I start. “Both Dr. Patel and I are?—”
“No way.” Carla takes my arm and steers me firmly toward her car. “Absolutely not. We are going to your apartment. I’m calling the hospital right now to tell them to redirect anythingurgent to my cell. If there is a genuine emergency that requires you specifically, they will call.” She pauses to pull out her phone without slowing down. “Tomorrow is another day.”
I open my mouth to argue.
“I mean it, Robyn.”
“Okay. Fine,” I say.
She squeezes my arm. “Here’s what we’re doing. We’re having a pajama day, which means I’m borrowing something from you to wear. Then I’m ordering enough Thai food to last three days, and we are not moving from that sofa. We’ll watch movie reruns.”
My eyes sting all over again. “You’re the best, Carla.”
“I know I am.” She glances at me as we reach her car, and her expression goes soft for just a second.
“You’ve become an amazing friend to me, and I love you stacks,” I tell her.
“Ditto, babe,” she says as she unlocks the car.
Just then, an entire group of journalists arrives, shouting for my attention. There are cameramen, too, pointing their lenses at me.
They start firing questions at me.
“Have you been acquitted?”
“Did you do it?”
