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He sighed. “They’ve ordered a CAT scan to make sure your brain isn’t bleeding, but you’ll be able to go home tomorrow if you’re cleared.” He made himself busy by straightening the blankets on my bed. I knew he was worried. He wasn’t hard to read as he kept on talking. “The doctors here are nice. I even made sure the ophthalmologist on call took a look at your eye. It turns out, you were right. There aren’t any brick fragments or splinters in those beautiful eyes. Thank God you have a thick skull.”
I smiled. “I’ll remember that for the next time an FBI agent decides to kick me in the head.”
“That man should have been arrested. I saw the whole thing and made a complaint to the agent’s boss. They did a little racial profiling, though, they’ll never admit it.”
“The FBI mistook me for one of the cartel goons.” That made sense.
“Yeah, apparently, you running out of the store, gun in hand, gave them the excuse they needed to kick you in the head. That guy is in a lot of trouble, though.”
“How do you know?”
“I called the big guns,” Raven said.
I had to think. “Lincoln and Mac?”
He nodded. “And apparently, they went to bat for you the minute I told them what happened.”
I smiled, knowing that our friends in the FBI would have donejustthat. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them to remain open as I looked at Raven. He must have been so scared. I reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek. He hadn’t shaved either. “Sunshine, I gotta sleep.”
I heard him sigh. “Go to sleep, Miguel. I’m gonna step out for a minute. I gotta get a salad or something. Lincoln and Mac have two agents posted outside the door. They trust these guys and they have orders not to let any other agents bother you. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I knew he probably hadn’t eaten a thing. If he’d been the one lying in a hospital bed, I wouldn’t leave him unprotected either. “I love you, Raven.” I closed my eyes.
“I love you too, baby.”
The pressure from his lips was there one second and gone the next. I fell asleep, tasting Raven on my lips.
Chapter Eight
RAVEN
Miguel had to stay in the hospital for another day, going home with a much smaller lump on his head and a black and blue right eye. The swelling had gone down in both injuries and for that, I was greatly relieved. He still had scratches not only from brick shards, but also from the asphalt where he’d landed face first after an overzealous FBI agent had kicked him in the back. He’d been told to limit his pain medication to Tylenol even though he said it didn’t do anything for the aches and pains he had all over. For those, he’d been prescribed something else, also non-narcotic. I didn’t know what it was, but I hoped it helped.
When we’d gotten home and I’d walked into the bathroom while he was stripping for the hot bath he was running, I gasped. Right between his shoulder blades was an almost perfectly shaped bruise.
“What the hell, Miguel?” I said, when he turned to look at me. “I didn’t see that!”
“What?” He frowned at me.
I gave him a hand mirror, before gently taking hold of one elbow and turning him so his back was facing the mirror over the sink. “Look at your back. You have a gigantic boot print. You can match the tread pattern.”
He lifted the mirror, peering in it. “Fucker. No wonder.”
“No wonder…what?”
He lowered the mirror and held it out to me. “Hurts when I take a deep breath, so I keep them shallow.”
I frowned, taking hold of both forearms. “I’m calling Lincoln. I want that bastard brought up on charges. He should join the asshole who kicked your head with a suspension of his own.”
“Leave it, Raven. They didn’t know I wasn’t a cartel thug, and I don’t want to make anything more out of this.”
Why couldn’t he understand that I wanted my own piece of flesh? The man I loved had been hurt…by FBI agents no less. “I don’t understand you. That’s police brutality. They should be punished.”
“The guy who kicked me in the head is suspended pending an OPR investigation. I’ve given Lincoln and Mac and their SAC, Sarah Connor, a statement. Let them take care of things. I trust them to take the right measures. Sarah Connor is not a shrinking violet. I think they were horrified that I got hurt.”
“But the guy who kicked you in the back isn’t suspended. What if he does it to someone else? That was racial profiling.”
“Sunshine,” he said, smiling sadly at me. “Racial profiling happens all the time. I’m used to it.”