“You are so full of shit.”
Nichols hangs up. “Security is bringing them up.”
I sit with him for the next few minutes until they arrive. Just as they start to load him onto the stretcher, he digs in his pocket. He flips Nichols his car keys. “Take the Escalade and bring Sam back up the hill.” He grabs the newspaper crossword puzzle sitting on the table and tears off a corner of the page, scribbling something on it, then presses it into her hand with the elevator key. “For your eyes only. Flush the paper when you get in.”
Nichols looks at the paper in her hand. “I don’t know the address.”
Blake looks at me. “Can you get her there, Sam?”
I nod, hoping I remember all the turns.
He must see all the fear I’m barely containing in my eyes, because his gaze softens and he touches my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be right behind you.”
The paramedics strap Blake down and rush his gurney down the hall, and I can’t explain the hole in my chest as he vanishes into the elevator.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I MANAGE TO get us there without getting lost, and by the time we pull into the garage, the sun is rising. I drag myself though the shower and then lay in bed, trying to sleep. But it’s useless. I find myself lingering on the edge of consciousness, listening for the elevator door, and every time I start to doze, the ring of gunfire in my head jerks me awake.
Finally, I give up. I tug on some clothes, and when I come out of my room, Nichols is in the leather armchair, biting her thumbnail and texting someone. A half-played game of solitaire is laid out on the coffee table in front of her.
I cross to the kitchen and start a fresh pot of coffee brewing, then flop onto my back on the sofa. “Why didn’t you know how to get here last night?”
“Only Montgomery, Cooper, Jenkins, and Special Agent in Charge Navarro were privy to that information,” she says, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone.
“Why?”
She looks up at me. “Security. The fewer people who know, the more secure the location.”
I spin on the sofa and sit up. “Is that Blake?” I ask, glancing at her phone.
“No. Sorry,” she says, gripping it tighter, like I might make a dive for it or something.
“Has anyone heard from him?” I try not to sound totally desperate, but I can tell from the look on her face that I don’t pull it off.
“Cooper says they gave him a transfusion and the doctor wants to keep him for a few hours. He should be back later today.”
Relief floods through me. “Good. That’s good.” I bring my knees up and hug them to my chest. “What’s going to happen to Jonathan?”
She relaxes back onto her chair. “It depends on whether he knew they were tracking him. If he did, he’ll be charged with any number of things, including aiding and abetting, and obstruction of justice.”
“He’s my best friend. He didn’t know.” I wish I sounded more convinced.
She gives me a grave look. “I hope you’re right.”
Her stomach growls and she rubs a hand over it as she sets her phone on the end table and settles deeper into the chair. “We should have picked up some fries on the way home.”
I give her a feeble smile. “That kid is going to pop out of there with curly red hair and floppy white shoes, you know.”
Her eyes widen, but then she cracks up. Both hands go to her belly as she laughs, like she’s trying to hold everything together.
“Boy or girl?”
She looks at me, then her eyes shift around the room as if she’s afraid someone might be listening. “I’m not supposed to know,” she says quietly, leaning forward.
“What do you mean?”
“My husband says this is one of life’s few surprises, and he doesn’t want us to know ahead of time.”
I give her a skeptical smile. “But . . . ?”
Her face pulls into a guilty squint as she chews on her cuticle. “I couldn’t stand it. I had to know. So I called the doctor’s office after we had the ultrasound and asked him.” She leans closer. “It’s a boy,” she whispers.
“Is that what you were hoping for?”
She sits back in her seat, rubbing her bulging stomach. “I just want a healthy baby. We’ve been trying for three years to get pregnant.”
“Wow. Well . . . congratulations.”
“It put a lot of strain on our marriage when it didn’t happen right away. Mike comes from a big family and he wanted lots of kids, so . . .”
“Well,” I say, gesturing to her stomach. “Maybe it’s twins.”
That gets a nervous little smile out of her. “There was only one baby on the ultrasound.”
I get up and pour us both a cup of coffee, then come back to the sofa, handing her a mug.
“Thanks,” she says, taking it from me. “Something else I’m not supposed to have.”
I settle into the sofa. “Blake told me you were undercover at Benny’s.”
Her hand pauses, her mug halfway to her mouth. “I was.”
“What did you do there?”
She takes a slow sip of her coffee, and I notice a slight shake in her hand. “Danced. But then I got pregnant, so I told Special Agent in Charge Navarro that I had to pull out. I couldn’t risk anything happening to the baby. I’m on leave from fieldwork until after he’s born.” Her hand migrates to her stomach again as she says this in what I’m just now noticing is a protective gesture.
“Huh. I think I might have gotten your job. Jonathan said someone got ‘knocked up,’ ” I say making air quotes, “so there was an opening.”
Her smile seems a little forced. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Blake said you couldn’t find anything on Ben while you worked there.”
She shakes her head. “He keeps that place pretty spotless. Totally on the up and up.”
“So why are you guys so sure he’s guilty?”
She lowers her gaze and swirls the coffee in her mug. “I can’t really talk about anything to do with case with you.” She scoops up the cards and starts shuffling. “But I can whip your butt in cribbage again.”
We play, and she’s in the process of beating me for the third time when the faint clank of the elevator door opening has me bounding out of the sofa. My eyes snap to it in time to see Blake step into the living room.
He’s in a fresh T-shirt and there’s a white gauze bandage wrapped around his left upper arm. He looks like shit—pale, with dark hollows under eyes that look glazed over, mussed hair sticking up in twelve different directions, and slumped shoulders, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on them.
“Are you . . . is it . . . okay?” I stammer.
“It’s fine,” he says, wrapping his hand over his bandage, as if that might hide what crappy shape he’s in. “Wasn’t much more than a scratch.”
“I’ll stick around tonight, if you need me to,” Nichols says, hauling herself out of the chair.
“We’ll be fine,” Blake tells her. “Cooper’s out front, waiting to take you back down the hill. Special Agent in Charge Navarro’s sending him back up tomorrow morning, even though I told her I’m not compromised.”
Nichols cuts him a skeptical look. “You’re not indestructible, Montgomery.”
“I’m fine,” he says in that slow drawl.
Her face scrunches as if she doesn’t believe him. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Blake answers. “Go.”
“All right.” She moves toward the elevator, jiggling her phone. “Mike will be happy. He’s been texting me every three minutes. He worries.”
“As any husband would,” Blake says with a weary smile. “Thanks for standing in.”
“Just glad everyone’s safe,” she says, punching the elevator button and stepping in. But just as the door starts to close, Blake sticks his hand in and it springs open again.