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“When do you think he’ll be released?” Chloe asked her.

“That I can’t say, but given the concussion he suffered, we usually watch it for at least twenty-four hours. The doctor can give you a more definite timeline,” she replied, then asked me, “Are you hungry?”

“Actually, I am.”

“That’s a good sign. Let me see when they want to move you, and then I’ll get you a snack before lunchtime,” she said before leaving. I watched Chloe dig around in her tote bag.

“Who knows what snacks they’ll give you? Probably green Jell-O or synthetic pudding.” She made a face and gave a quick shiver. “Ah…here we go. One of your favorite protein bars.” She laid it on the tray next to my coffee. “Alright, now I know you’re not in a coma or dying, I’m going to head to the office.”

As she gathered her things, I remembered I’d given the concierge my fake reporter business card. “Did you get any calls on the burner phone?”

“Nope,” she replied. “But I’ll check when I get to the office.”

“Thanks, Chloe. For the coffee and the protein bar,” I said sincerely.

She patted my shoulder after gathering her things. “I’ll check in with Jonesy later to see if they’ve moved you. Get some rest,” she said, and walked out.

I finished my coffee with the protein bar soon after she’d left. Within half an hour, Jeannie and an orderly came in with a wheelchair. “We’re moving you to a regular room, Mr. Bannon,” she said as she grabbed the IV and morphine pole. After about twenty minutes, I was in my new room, and Dr. Jenson came in to check on me.

“How’s your pain level, Mr. Bannon?” she asked as she shone a light in my pupils and then had me follow her finger to track my vision.

“Tolerable, but there are certain things that hurt. Deep breaths being one of them. I still have a slight headache, but not as bad as last night,” I replied.

“The discomfort in your breathing is due to the cracked rib and bruising. It’s a good sign that your headache seems to be lessening. You told me earlier that your vision is better, too.”

“I haven’t wanted to use the happy juice in my IV. I’d rather keep my wits about me.”

“We’ll keep you on Tylenol, though. That will help relieve some pain if you don’t want the morphine,” she said kindly.

There was rustling at the door and footsteps, which made the doctor and me turn toward it. In walked Marcus and Andrew, holding a cardboard tray.

“We went up to the ICU, and they told us they’d moved you. We brought food,” Marcus said.

“Uh… who brought the food?” Andrew said, frowning and looking at Marcus. “I was the one who thought it would be a good idea to bring him something I cooked instead of the awful hospital swill.”

Dr. Jenson snickered at the remark. “Friends of yours, I assume?” she asked me with a wink.

“Unfortunately, yes,” I said with a slight shake of my head. Marcus and Andrew frowned. “I’m teasing. It’s good to see you guys.”

“I’ll leave you in capable hands,” she said as she headed to the door. “I’ll check on you this evening. We’ll assess your injuries and how you’re doing then, and determine when you can go home.” I thanked her before she left.

“Oh, honey, you look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet!” Marcus exclaimed, looking over my body. Andrew snorted. I kept my mouth shut before a Fuck You slipped out.

Andrew set the cardboard box on my bed tray and pulled out three containers of something that smelled incredible. My stomach rumbled. “Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, and sauteed green beans await your taste buds,” Andrew said. He’d even brought napkins and silverware. “We thought we’d join you for lunch. Our other halves had to work today, but they send you their love.”

I couldn’t ask for better friends, and before long, we were scarfing down Andrew’s creation, joking about what they were going through, and making plans to get together once I was healed. They didn’t ask about what happened on that highway, and I appreciated it. I figured Jonesy had clued them in on everything anyway.

After lunch, both of them signed my cast with a Sharpie Marcus had brought. The fabulous lunch made me feel better but a little sleepy, so they said their goodbyes, letting me get some rest, and said they’d check in later.

As I drifted off, images of my wreck played over and over in my head. Who could have felt threatened enough to want me seriously injured—or dead?

31

JONESY

Looking at myself in the mirror, the makeup and outfit I’d planned fit the bill perfectly for becoming the makeup artist GG Deveraux. A light foundation, subtle smoky eyes, and natural lip gloss looked polished without appearing overdone. I’d put on stretchy, tight black slacks that flared at the bottom, topping them off with a sleeveless teal top that hung loosely at my waist. Luckily, I had the same type of top in a few colors to swap out throughout the week. I decided not to wear anything too flashy or restrictive.

I packed up makeup accessories and placed them in the new backpack I’d got for the venue. The pageant committee supplied me with the makeup palettes I’d requested, so I didn’t need to use my own, freeing up space in the backpack. Along with the accessories, I placed my badge in my wallet, holstered my compact firearm under my top, and pocketed an extra loaded magazine as discreetly as I could.