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“Okay, so….” She closes her eyes. “Yesterday was breakfast with Senator Bradley. We ate at the yummy little diner around the corner from the house, remember?” I nod, even though she can't see me with her eyes sealed shut in concentration. “I actually ordered something different than my usual, so I wouldn't think someone could've prepared for that.”

Tank pulls his phone out again and begins typing. “I'll have someone stop by the diner and check it out just in case. What else?”

Brows furrowed, she crinkles her nose. “Shit, I forgot to eat the rest of the day.” Peeking one eye open, she looks to me. “Oops.”

“Madam VP.” I groan and run a hand over my face. “You keep forgetting to eat.”

“Guessing this is a normal occurrence,” Sam pipes up with a questioning glance between the two of us.

I grunt a response.

“That's very unhealthy,” he adds, narrowing his eyes on Randi.

“Thanks, Doc,” she huffs. I don't stop the smile from pulling up my cheeks.

“Okay, so you didn't eat anything else yesterday afternoon or night. What about drinks? You mentioned coffee this morning. What about food?”

She nods. “Water yesterday, maybe a Coke or two.” Again she lifts her arm but winces when the IV line snags. “Can someone get this fucking thing out of my fucking arm,” she shouts.

Tank raises a bushy brow, flicking his gaze up to meet mine. “The doctor did say she might be more irritable than normal.”

“I'll show you fucking irritable,” she practically growls. “Get the damn doctor in here.”

“The coffee, Randi. Where did you get it? What did you eat for breakfast?”

“The kitchen where I always get my coffee. Which is protected, all the time, by you guys. My chef, the cleaning staff, everyone is background checked. And not only that, they like me. They wouldn't have done that. And food?” She shrugs. “Oops again.”

“Thatas in poisoning you.Thatas in attempted murder, tacking on treason.” Sam leans closer with each word. What’s his deal with creeping into her personal space?

“Yes,” she grumbles at him. Focusing on the closed door, she sighs. “Birmingham or Whit is my guess.”

“Either, maybe both,” I say, stepping closer to her bed. I slide a finger down her bare arm, desperate for any connection, not caring about Sam seeing. The need to comfort her, touch her outweighs the consequences of him knowing about us.

She follows the movement. “When can I go home?”

A shuffle sounds behind me before Tank appears at my side.

“I'll go get the doc. Once he releases you to be under the care of your personal physician, we can fly you out of here.”

“Is that necessary?” She groans. “I don't want the media to get wind of this.”

Tank, Sam, and I exchange looks.

She tips her head back against the bed. “Let me guess. Too late.”

We all nod.

“Awesome. Has Tae called?” she asks me directly.

“The guys are fielding her calls and a few from your ex,” Tank responds. “Playboy and I were on protection duty while you were knocked out.”

“Right,” she says with a tight smile. “In case someone else tried to kill me. Nice.”

“You can call her when you get back and settled. The doc mentioned you'd need several days’ rest to allow your body to recover. There wasn't permanent damage, but it could turn that way if you don't take it easy.” Hopefully if I say it enough times, she'll actually do it. But knowing her, it wouldn't matter if we chained her to the bed. She'd find a way to work.

“You still on board for helping us, Randi?” Sam asks.

His poor timing for the inconsiderate question snaps the hold I’ve been fighting on my anger. Forgetting everything, I lunge forward, aiming to wrap my hand around his neck. Shock registers on his face before he quickly steps back just as my fingertips slide along his throat.