Page 54

“You realize the evidence is a small portion of what needs to happen for impeachment, right?” Careful to not attract attention, I drag the sweaty hand down my thigh to rid myself of the evidence of the touch. Thank goodness Trey rode in the lead SUV today or he'd have pitched Sam out of the moving vehicle by this point.

“One step at a time,” Sam mumbles.

“I don't think that's the smartest plan, Sam. We need to start working on congressmen and senators. Planting the seed of what we're planning and getting them on board now.”

“And what if they tell Birmingham?”

“He already knows you're looking into him. If anything, it’ll confirm what he already thinks, that I’m an idiot and can’t see that you’re using me for my connections. We’ll have a better idea of what he suspects after this fun getaway, you know.”

He shoots a side glance my way. “I suppose.”

Sighing, I press my fingers against my throbbing temples. The headaches aren't nearly as bad as they were days after the poisoning, but when they do come, it's unexpected and nearly debilitating.

I feel his stare even with my eyes sealed shut. Damn, this headache came on faster than the others. “Just think about it.” The throbbing in my head intensifies, making each thought more painful than the last. “Let's talk about this later. T?”

“Two minutes.”

Leaning back against the seat, I inhale deeply, focusing on the cool air filling my lungs and trying to get my muscles to relax.

“Have they run any more tests since the incident?” Sam asks, concern in his voice.

“No,” T practically growls from the front seat. “She's as stubborn as a damn mule.”

Good to know the guys are comfortable around Sam now, dropping the “ma'am” shit and back to talking to me like they always did when we were alone.

“But way prettier,” I whisper. “If I have an opinion on the matter.”

“No doubt, but it doesn't change that you're acting like an ass.”

Even with the pain, his words make me smile.

“What if they're still poisoning her?” This time Sam's voice is closer, no doubt encroaching on my personal space once again. I urge my eyelids to open but can't find the energy to fight through the pain. “Ever thought of that, Randi?”

“We're monitoring everything she's eating, everything she's drinking. There's no way.” The resolve in Champ’s voice fades with each word, making the last one sound more like a question.

The men continue talking, but I tune them out, trying to keep their loud voices from splitting my sensitive ears. Maybe Sam is right and I should let the doctor run more tests. More because this is becoming a nuisance than anything. But it could also simply be the stress of this job taking its toll in a more physical way. At least that’s what WebMD said. It’s either the stress or I'm dying and should seek immediate medical attention.

Eh, those websites are always a bit dramatic, probably written by someone like me. It could be the common cold or Ebola.

Yet I search the stupid site time and time again, thinking their prediction will make more sense or at the very least offer a smaller lethal gap in diagnosis.

“Death would really suck,” I whisper.

At some point while I'm preoccupied with simply surviving this migraine, we arrive at our destination. The SUV pulls to a slow stop, the seat belt tugging slightly to keep me from falling forward. Crips fall air brushes my hair across my face as the door swings open. Slowly opening my eyes despite the pain, I focus on the dark mass now blocking out the sun.

“Another headache?” Trey's familiar deep voice soothes the anxiety of being helpless these headaches invoke.

T answers for me. “Yeah. This one seemed to come on quicker than the others.”

“What the hell is going on with you, Mess?” he whispers as he dips into the cab, no doubt readying to scoop me into his arms and carry me into the cabin.

Nope, not going to happen.

“Stop. I can walk,” I grit out as another burst of pain flares behind my eyes. “I can’t let you carry me in there. Kyle cannot see me weak or he’ll take full advantage.”

Grinding my back teeth, I scoot to the edge of the seat and grip the door handle with a white-knuckled grip. Even with the overcast day, the peeking sun’s brightness assaults my eyes. Instinctively I squint to minimize the damage. Trey grumbles something as I step out onto the smooth concrete.

Hard plastic slides along my temples before settling along the bridge of my nose, casting darkness over my vision. I let out a sigh of relief and adjust the sunglasses to keep the heavy frames from slipping down the bridge of my nose.