Page 9

Too late.

A crack.

A burst of pain through my temple.

And then the world goes black.

Three

Dash

I tap my fingers impatiently on the tray table as I peruse the papers in front of me.

A phone call to one of my cyber experts late last night resulted in having a file with all the information he could dig up on one Dylan Theodore Durand couriered to me here at the hospital.

Born and raised in Indianapolis.

Dropped out of UCLA his junior year because he got a small part in a big action-adventure movie. His acting career didn’t take off but his producing did. And over the last ten years he’s made quite a name for himself.

On paper, he seems like a great guy.

Handsome, wealthy, altruistic, and engaged to one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood. They’re a power couple that everyone seems to love.

If I hadn’t heard him talking to her with my own ears, I wouldn’t believe that he was capable of anything nefarious.

Except there’s a sealed juvie record my guy couldn’t get his hands on.

Yet.

I told him it was a priority, and I didn’t care whom he had to bribe to get a glimpse at it.

There was also an incident in college, but the details are sketchy, which bugs me.

A he said-she said situation where there was simply what’s referred to as an “incident” in the report, and which was settled by the student services department.

Whatever that means.

That’s a red flag if I ever heard one, but I know the woman’s name, so I may send someone to talk to her. Something I would normally handle myself.

Except I’m still stuck in this fucking gilded cage.

My surgeon said I was good to go, but the neurologist said one more day of observation, since I’m still getting headaches if I don’t take the meds. And it’s a catch-22. Concussions can cause dizziness. Dizziness means I could fall. Falling could fuck up the already fucked-up hip. The same one I need to heal as quickly as possible.

So here I am.

It’s one in the morning and I’m wide awake.

Again.

I close the file and shove it to the side as I get to my feet.

I’m more confident today, and though I still hate the damn walker, they said I can move to a cane if I don’t have any setbacks between now and when I’m released. And since I’ll be damned if I’ll use a walker at home, I’m going to be careful.

Besides, I’ve walked past Willow’s room multiple times today, making sure her dickhead of a fiancé isn’t back. But she’s been alone, which is as much of a relief as it is sad.

How does a beautiful, successful movie star not have a single person sitting with her? Friends? Family? Private nurse? No one? Even the fiancé, who supposedly adores her, only comes by intermittently. The research I did tells me Willow has a very involved mother in her life…so where the hell is she?

It all feels a little off to me.