Did he fall asleep in the few minutes between Cheyenne leaving and me arriving?
Well, he’d been shot (twice). That would take it out of a guy. Even a Nightingale guy.
“Knox?” I called quietly.
He didn’t move.
I didn’t like this.
Knox was a mover.
Even when we were at someone’s pool party, he was not the one who lounged on a float and sucked back a margarita. He was the one who suggested pool volleyball. Or he tried to round up a touch football game. When he sat, one of his legs bounced, like he had other things to do and many places to go, and he had to be ready to go those places and do those things.
He was a man who was made for the military, the first part of his career.
So he was also made to be a private investigator, what he was now.
He was a man in motion.
A man of action.
Though, I’d seen him motionless. Watching some game at a sports bar or during a Superbowl party. He got pretty intense when he watched sports.
Or asleep in bed, at my side, and in those times, I’d watched him for what felt like hours, mesmerized.
Un-hunh, yeah.
I didn’t like this.
I took his hand, leaned toward him and whispered, “Hey, baby. You awake?”
Again, nothing.
Shit!
I was starting to freak out.
At this point, a nurse came in.
I turned to her as she headed to the monitors on the other side of his bed.
“He’s not awake,” I pointed out the obvious. “We were told he was out of the anesthesia.”
“He’s pretty drugged up,” she replied, moving from the monitors to the IV to check that. “He woke from anesthesia, but still, he’ll fade in and out for a while.”
“So he’s okay?” I asked.
She focused on me and gave me a small, professional smile. “He’ll be fine. But he lost a lot of blood and had surgery, both are traumatic. He needs to rest.”
I nodded.
“But even resting, company is good,” she encouraged.
I nodded again.
She moved to the laptop she’d rolled in, hit some keys, sent me another professional smile, and she and her laptop rolled back out.
I looked down at Knox.
