"I gotta go now."
"Work or play?"
"Work."
"Have you noticed that's all you ever do? You should play more." He barked it, like an order, and I instantly wanted to work for the next 48 straight. Juvenile, I know, but he brings that out in me. I struggled to keep my temper in check.
"I think I've forgotten how." It was supposed to be a joke, but neither one of us laughed.
"Matt was good for you that way. He always made sure you had plenty of fun to balance your serious side. You need to find somebody like him. It's been long enough." I knew, for him, that ended the subject. He had commanded me to move on, therefore I would. What a jerk.
"I have to go," I said as evenly as I could considering I wanted to reach through the phone and smack him upside the head.
"Me too."
Click. We were done.
Like a couple of Shriners who've veered off the parade route, Cole and I arrived at our meeting place in tandem and parked one behind the other. The minute he saw me he started laughing.
"This is serious stuff, Cole," I said, trying to sound stern.
"Aw, come on Lucille, admit it, this is fun." He blew a big blue bubble and popped it all over his nose.
"You are so naive," I said, but I couldn't quite swallow the smile that kept surfacing every time I took in a new detail of his appearance. He'd gone with a pair of Drew Carey glasses. A green fishing hat, complete with dangling lure, hid most of his shaggy hair. Fake teeth gave him a slight overbite and a gray jogging suit somehow managed to make him look wimpy and anemic.
"Check out the socks," he said, wiggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. He hiked up the legs of his sweatpants to reveal black dress socks. I couldn't help myself. I started to giggle.
"Those socks really bring out the turquoise in your sneakers."
"Did you notice they match my eyes? The shoes, not the socks." He batted his eyelashes as I pretended to inspect his legs.
I nodded. "I can see that. Now we just need to get you a handbag to complete the look."
He clapped his hands, fingers splayed like a three-year-old's. "Oh goody! Shopping!"
I shoved him toward my car. "Oh, just shut up and get in."
He looked at me brightly. "You mean I'm driving?"
"Yup."
He didn't argue the point, just jumped behind the wheel and started rubbing the soft leather of the seats as if it was his favorite cat. I got in beside him.
"So what's the plan?"
"We go up to Derek's room, pretend we're looking for our father. When he's not there, we both go into hysterics, thinking Dad's dead. You raise hell, I pass out and fall onto Derek. The key is, I have to touch him."
"Why?"
I showed him the band-aid.
"Hey, I was just asking a question. You don't have to flip me off."
"I was just…" I took note of the finger I was holding up and dropped my hand into my lap, laughing so hard I nearly blew snot all over the windshield. Cole started laughing too, and we sat there for a couple of minutes like two hyenas while deadly serious events moved forward without us. Eventually we would catch up, but for the moment it felt great to let go and laugh. As much as it sucked to say so, Albert was right, it had been a long, long time since I could.
Either Cole had just come along at the right time or I was going to have to carry him around in my hip pocket for the rest of my days.
Cole glanced out his window and pointed at a black SUV that had just passed us. "Hey, I recognize those guys." He looked at me, his face suddenly sober. "They work for Assan."
I nodded and put oh my seatbelt. "Follow them."
I filled him in on the bug as we drove. Luckily the story only took a minute, because we didn't have far to go. They stopped in the loading lane of the hospital. One guess who they'd come to recover.
"Change of plan?" asked Cole, his eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. Follow my lead and we can still get it done."
"What are you thinking?"
I adjusted my wig in the passenger side mirror so I wouldn't have to look at him. Until now he'd still been on the periphery of this whole nasty deal. Now I was about to dump him front and center. The guilt made my stomach ache. "I think I'm about to get very sick."
Chapter Fourteen
I'll say this for Cole, he's flexible and functions well under pressure. Not a letter of recommendation I'd be happy to write considering what kind of people hire that type, but true all the same. We drove around the block and parked right behind the SUV.
"Come around to my side and open the door," I said, feeling the blood drain from my face. "He's coming."
"Already?"
I didn't need to reply. Cole was already out of the car. Moments later he opened my door. "Undo my seatbelt, and take your time about it," I said, that terrible feeling of imbalance momentarily blurring my vision. Something shook me at the core, as if the Ohio River had suddenly reversed course or all the grass in Browns Stadium had burst into flame.
"We have to meet them near the door," I said. "Be loud. Be scared. Make a major scene. Make sure something happens so that I can touch him."
He nodded. "Ready?"
Hoping I wouldn't puke on Cole's nifty velour jogging jacket, I nodded. He pulled me out of the car and helped me toward the door. My blood seemed to jump in my veins, a warning so dire I would've turned to run if Cole hadn't been holding onto me.
"There they are," he said.
I raised my head, forcing my eyes to team up, show me the scene. The men, a couple of clones of the gatekeepers Vayl and I had dealt with last night, had reached the first set of automatic doors. One pushed the wheelchair. The other strode beside it. Derek slumped inside it, pale and tired looking, wearing a black turtle-neck and white jeans. His head was tilted to one side, as if to protect the bandaged area that reminded me forcefully of my last confrontation with his attacker. Then I realized he was watching his reflection in the glass doors.
"Smoke and mirrors," I murmured.
"What?"
"Now. Make it loud."
He raised his voice. "It'll be all right, honey." He clutched at me, gave my arm a comforting pat and stepped us forward. We'd almost reached the entry doors. He waited until Derek and his entourage emerged. "Don't pass out on me now, it'll be okay."
I obliged and sagged, keeping one hand firm on the back of his jacket. It took an effort not to hit my knees. All I wanted to do was puke until my stomach was dry as an AA meeting.
"Look honey, a wheelchair!" Cole maneuvered us into Derek's path, blocking his way. "You're leaving, right?" he asked them. "We need the chair, man. My girlfriend's really sick."
"Get out of the way," growled one of the goons. He shoved Cole backward and I let go of him. This time I did fall, right into Derek's lap. I flailed my hands and managed to slap the bug onto the uninjured side of his neck.
"So sick," I muttered. Derek shoved me off his lap, leaving me in a crumpled heap. I considered just staying there. Hell, I was two yards from a hospital. Eventually somebody would discover me here, tuck me into a nice, clean bed, maybe pump me full of tranquilizers. I could legitimately sleep for a week.
Fortunately the person who hauled me off my butt was Cole. My hospital fantasy had barely played itself out before he'd strapped me back into the Mercedes. Actually, the seat felt even better than my fantasy bed. Love those luxury models.
I managed to focus on the road as Cole pulled away from the hospital entrance. The SUV was probably twenty yards ahead of us and gaining. "How close do we need to follow?" Cole asked.
I tried to remember what Bergman had told me about receiving distance. They drew further ahead of us and, as my nausea lessened, my brain kicked in. "Just close enough to keep them in sight."
We fell further behind and I sat up straighter, wiped the sweat off my upper lip, ditched the wig and the beret.