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“Yes,” the flat voice said.
“Why then, did one of you shitheads think it was okay to kick him in the head…you stupid, reckless fucks!”
“Calm down, Cass,” Mike Williams said.
“Calm down?” my friend growled. “These Feds think it’s fine to kick someone when they’re down, Mike. Someone’s getting written up for this bullshit. You know it’s not right and when the special agent in charge gets here, he’s gonna know about it!”
My friend was really pissed but he and Mike were here—wherever this was—and I was safe. I blew out a relieved breath as I tried to lift my eyelids, tried to shift in the bed, but realized my body hurt all over. My head was a whole other story since a very loud mariachi band had taken up residence inside my skull. I tried to sit up but realized I couldn’t move. Someone had a tight hold on my hand. I slowly rolled my head on the pillow as I finally managed to open my eyes.
Raven was seated on a chair on my right, holding my hand, looking…ravaged. An IV was taped to the inside of my arm, and I could see that the railing on the bed had been lowered. A rhythmic beeping sound was coming from a machine I hadn’t yet spotted, and my surroundings finally sank in. I’d been hospitalized several times, but that had been because I was a Marine, not because some asshat kicked me in the head. My head throbbed. If Raven hadn’t been staring at me with haunted eyes, chewing his bottom lip, I’d no doubt go back to sleep.
“Get out of this room.” Cassidy’s growling voice was coming from my left.
“Yes, you need to leave now. I can hear you down the hallway. This is an ICU, you’re disturbing other critical patients,” an authoritative voice said.
“We need to talk to Mr. Huerta. He was an eyewitness to Rufus Modelo’s murder, and we need to confirm the identity of the shooter,” the FBI agent said.
“I don’t care. This is unacceptable. This patient is unconscious. I’m calling security now,” she said.
“He’s awake,” Raven said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Thank God,” said Cass.
I angled my head on the pillow so I could see Cassidy but when I tried to turn my head to look back at my partner, my stomach rolled.
“Oh shit,” I managed to mutter and a second later, I felt the bed being raised. Panic began to set in just as the nurse shoved a pink kidney dish under my chin. And to top off my lovely morning, I proceeded to puke up a rather large portion of whatever fluid was in my stomach. At that moment, I was relieved that I hadn’t had a chance to take a bite of that delectable, iced lemon cake. I shut my eyes but suddenly something cool and damp was covering my forehead. When I finished throwing up, the wet washcloth was pressed to my mouth. The relief was instantaneous.
The nurse started checking my vitals as the war still raged on around me, and I answered her questions about how I was feeling.
“He’s not going to give you anything,” Mike said. “He’s got a fucking concussion.”
I did?I shook my head which turned out to be a mistake as the pounding returned. The kidney dish was moved and then replaced by a larger, rectangular basin. The washcloth on my forehead was the only thing that felt good.
“If you have to throw up again, use the basin, sweetheart,” Raven said, leaning down to speak close to my ear. All I could do was nod as he slipped his hand back in mine.
“I’ve got a license plate,” I croaked, barely able to understand myself.
“License plate?” the guy—the FBI guy—asked. “Won’t matter. The assassin probably already dumped the car.”
Assassin?
I felt a hand on my left shoulder and glanced over to that side of the bed. Cassidy and Mike stood there, a cross between compassion and worry in both their expressions.
“What’s the number, Miguel?” Mike asked, his ever-present tiny notebook in hand. He scribbled down the number as I recited it from memory, though, the effort hurt like a bitch.
“There were spinner rims on the vehicle. Mercedes Benz SUV, black, limo tinted windows,” I said. “Really high-end car. I’d put money on the guy not dumping it,” I said directly to the FBI guy standing beside Cassidy. The man was a short, mousy looking, older guy with a bald head. He wore a twisted, corded earpiece and as soon as I gave the description, he stepped away from the bed.
Cassidy took my free hand and smiled. For the first time, I noticed one of those clip-on oxygen monitors on the middle finger, only because Cassidy’s long fingers closed over it.
“How you doing, buddy?”
“Head hurts really bad.” I felt Raven let go of my hand and then he was around the bed standing beside Cassidy and Mike. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and unbrushed hair, nothing like he’d looked when I’d seen him last, standing at the hostess stand inside the coffee shop.
“You’ve been unconscious since they brought you in here,” Raven croaked out.
I watched as his eyes got shiny. “Where am I?”
“Cedars.”