Page 9

Chapter Nine

Shae

I regretted running as soon as I stopped, still a good two miles from the hospital, but I had to stop out of sight and this back alley worked. But what the fuck? Why did Drake always have to step in? Why the hell couldn’t he get off my back for once? It was okay for him to look out for me, but not the other way around? That was messed up.

No , my stupid brain said. You are.

And I, for sure, wasn’t going back to Drake’s. But what about the dogs? I’d made a promise to Miss Moira, and I hated letting them down. I’d have to live in the apartment—which I knew Diesel would let me do—and run to the farm and back every day. I knew that wouldn’t work, though. Screwing with my heart was okay in an emergency, but deliberately risking it? Maybe I could bed down in the barn some nights.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’d slept rough and probably wouldn’t be the last.

I walked slowly toward the hospital, taking my time since the appointment wasn’t for over an hour.

“Can I have your name and date of birth, please?” the woman on the desk said without looking up.

I gave her the details and ignored her jerk of shock then huge eyes as she saw my scar when I handed her my ID. She glanced back down at her computer. “I know I’m real early,” I said. “I got a ride from a friend.”

She sent me an understanding look. “Well, the coffee bar…” Her words trailed off at the same time that I saw a security guard notice me. It was the first time I’d been to any hospital on my own, and I was regretting it. I assumed she’d realized sending me into a public coffee bar might not be a good idea. “That is,” she stammered, “Dr. Brown isn’t back from surgery yet, but I’ll let him know you’re here. I would say he’ll be here in around another thirty minutes.” She winced.

“I can wait outside,” I said, wanting this day to be over.

“Problem?” The security guard approached the desk. He looked me over and his lips pulled into a sneer.

“No,” she hastened to add. “Mr. Turner is just a little early for his appointment.”

“He can wait outside,” the cop mandated, and because he’d said it, there was no way I was going to be put outside like an animal.

No insult to animals.

I had forty-five dollars to my name, and I didn’t want to waste any of it on hospital coffee, but this was way more important. All my life, I’d never stood up for myself. I’d wanted to make Mom’s life easier when I was a kid, and Gran spoiled me rotten. Georgia had taken care of the school bullies, and it was only when I met Dad after he got out that I painfully found out that any attempt at defiance would never work. Then, after I had gotten my scar, there had been the constant threat to anyone I cared about.

But I was done.

I ignored the cop and turned back to the receptionist. “You mentioned a coffee bar?”

Her face paled, and she glanced back at the mall cop.

I could smell his onion breath before he leaned down. “Not a good decision, son. You go wait outside until I come get you.”

I waited until he’d straightened and turned, clocking that he’d already unsnapped his gun holster.

“One, I’m not your son, and two, you might want to check and see if the coffee place sells breath mints.” I turned back.

“Why you little—”

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I glanced over at Drake in exasperation, trying to hate his guts, even though I wasn’t surprised he was here. His green eyes glittering as they locked with mine, before he yanked his gaze back to the guard. “Mr. Turner has done nothing except turn up early for an appointment with Dr. Brown. This hospital’s anti-discrimination policy is enforced by the Office of Civil Rights, and as such, you are about to commit an offense that would result in you losing your job.” He shot the desk clerk a disapproving look as well before continuing.

“I’m fully aware that this clinic is private and not subject to certain legal restrictions. You should also know that I have a concealed carry permit and served as a Marine for over twenty years. I’m a million-percent sure I could get to my weapon before you even thought about twitching your finger in that direction. So be a very good boy and fasten your holster, or I will be forced to bring the real cops down here to arrest your ass.”

Okay, so I had to admit I enjoyed that. I’d seen Drake do plenty of physical takedowns—Pink had access to their training videos and had let me watch—but never a verbal one. I wanted to crow, but that would bring me down to this ignorant fuck’s level.

Drake turned away from the guard in dismissal and smiled at the receptionist. “I believe I heard you mention a coffee bar?

“Shae Turner?”

We both looked over to where a nurse stood holding a clipboard. “Dr. Brown has asked if you could get your testing done before your appointment. Thank you for coming in early.”

Drake stepped up close. She smiled at us both, assuming we were together. “If you’d both like to come in?”

This was the time. This was the time to go tell Drake to fuck himself, and I turned to say exactly that but caught his expression. Regret. Shame. Even if he didn’t speak the apology, I saw it. Should I allow it?

For an interminable moment I was silent, then I turned and followed the nurse, knowing because I hadn’t said a word that Drake would be a step behind me. I assumed Diesel or Danny had called the doc and said I was here. Should have turned my phone off. I remembered Danny telling me when I moved fast, it wouldn’t register my location until I stopped.

An hour later, after I completed every test it seemed they could think of to give me, we walked into Doc Brown’s office and sat down. He nodded to us both, already knowing Drake as he’d been by my bed every second after I’d gotten out of the jail.

Or, if I was honest, after Drake had gotten me out. The doc had told me I was moments away from my heart giving out completely.

“I went over the data from your tests last week along with the originals, and I’m looking at the ones we just did. I’m cautiously optimistic.” My head shot up. I’d been expecting…well, I’d been expecting him to tell me I’d fucked my heart up even more.

“Meaning?” Drake pressed.

“Meaning,” Doc Brown carried on, “that some of your scar tissue has repaired itself.” He put up both hands in a surrender gesture as I gaped. “I know. I’ve never seen this before and I’m assuming this is a DNA enhancement.”

“But you said that was impossible,” Drake argued.

“Outside of a research lab, certainly. As I told you, there have been some preclinical studies in rats that show a single injection of Tropoelastin into the heart a few days following a heart attack could turn back the clock, but this research isn’t anywhere near being allowed on humans.”

“That’s the stuff that means I can stretch, right?”

Doc Brown beamed at me. “Absolutely. It’s the protein that gives human tissue its elasticity, which scar tissue doesn’t have. And I have absolutely no idea why this would kick in now, but liquid chromatography is—” he stopped, looking a little sheepish as he registered he was getting a little carried away. “Sorry, not the time to go into the science and we cannot do a simple blood test to determine it, but at a guess you are producing higher than normal levels of this protein. Whatever is happening with your body is, truthfully, absolutely fascinating, especially as it wasn’t happening up to even two months ago, which is the last time I saw you.”

I thought about that. “I remember you telling me that enhanced heal better.”

He leaned forward. “Absolutely, but I’m talking about simple injuries. You don’t get the common cold, for example, and because each individual enhanced is different, it’s impossible to predict. There isn’t any recorded instance of someone recovering from major surgery in a day, or something like that, but minor injuries heal within hours, and we studied you for weeks. I have no idea why your tests should suddenly be so different.”

I met his gaze. “The only thing that’s changed is using my ability.”

“But one time?” he said incredulously.

I sighed and didn’t dare look at Drake. “I’ve used it three times in emergencies.” Well, I supposed four including running here.

His eyes widened, and I was pretty sure I was the only one who heard the noise from Drake. It sounded like a growl, but I’d been reading too many of his books. Humans didn’t growl.

Doc Brown leaned back and tapped his pen. “How about this? You avoid any emergencies for a month, then we bring you in for clinical studies. A controlled experiment to see if your heart tissue repairs. We’d take scans both before and after.”

I nodded eagerly.

The doc smiled. “You remind me of my eldest. She never bothered crawling. She just went from sitting to walking.” He smirked. “She’s currently in Southern Kenya on an archaeological dig for the Smithsonian.”

I knew that was a fancy museum, and I quite liked that I reminded him of someone smart. Or maybe just stubborn, I guessed.

“What are the dangers of these experiments?” Drake asked like experiments was a dirty word.

Doc Brown turned to him. “We will monitor him every moment in real time, and the second we have any indication there might be a problem, I’ll shut it down.”

I knew Drake wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care. My body, my decision. I promised to do my best not to use my ability with mental fingers crossed, and they arranged an appointment. It was only when we got back to the front desk area that I remembered I had nowhere to live, or that I had to call Diesel.

I wasn’t sure if Drake was a mind-reader but he spoke up. “We need to talk, if you’ll give me a few minutes. I owe you a thank you and a huge-ass apology.”

I stared at Drake, almost in shock. But did he mean it?

He steered me to the entrance then walked down the street, gesturing ahead to a sign that said, “The Old Bean,” and had a silhouette of a man in a top hat with a walking stick. I followed him into the small coffee shop and inhaled in appreciation, then remembering the reaction of the receptionist and when other members of the public saw my scar, dipped my head to look at the floor.

“Ringo, buddy!”

Startled at the yell, I looked up just in time for a giant of a man to push his way through the gap in the counter and head for Drake. The giant reached out with a huge grin on his weathered face and pumped Drake’s hand, slapping his back so hard it nearly sent him flying. “You in town for a while? How’s it going?” Then he saw me standing behind Drake and stepped forward with his hand out. I braced myself, but he was much gentler.

“Shae Turner, sir,” I introduced myself.

He grinned. “Call me Brew. Any friend of Sarge is welcome here.”

He gestured to a corner table, and we headed over. “Cynthia,” he boomed. A young woman wearing an apron with blond curls and the same blue eyes as the giant came out of the kitchen, rolling her eyes.

“Dad, could you shout any louder? Not sure they heard you in Alaska.”

Drake turned, and she squealed, taking a running jump into his arms, and I gaped, hearing his bark of laughter. Had those techs in lab-coats somehow done a personality transplant on gruff, silent, pissed as hell with me , Drake Starr while I was getting tested?

“How are you?” Drake said, setting her down. “You haven’t taken out your dad yet? Thought I taught you how to shoot,” he joked. I shook my head in wonder. They’d said they hadn’t given me any drugs, just taken blood, but they must have lied.

She turned to me and I extended my hand automatically, but she ignored it and threw her arms around me. I inhaled because she smelled amazing—cookies and chocolate—and much to my shame, my stomach growled rather loudly.

Cynthia turned accusingly on Drake. “You’ve been starving the poor boy.” Boy? She had to be what, five years older than me, maximum? I kind of expected it from Miss Moira, but not…okay, who cared? She grinned at me. “Sit. I’ll bring you your favorites,” and she headed back to the kitchen.

“It’s been a while,” Brew said, looking Drake over carefully in case he was missing a limb or something.

“Rawlings is a bastard, you know that. Taking a few weeks off to get some work done on the farm.”

Brew chuckled. “Does that mean we might see you at our poker night next month?”

Drake shrugged. “I’ll do my best.” The door opened, and some customers walked in, so Brew went back behind the counter.

“Brew?” I asked, needing something normal to say.

“We served together, as I’m sure you gathered, but Brew was christened because the first thing he asked every day was if we wanted one.”

“A brew,” I clarified. “Beer?”

“Nah, hot tea. His mom was from England, and that’s what she called it. Tea, anyway. He drinks tea and coffee like there’s a national shortage. Good guy. Takes bombs apart.” I gaped again, not a hundred-percent sure Drake was serious, but what did I know? “Good thing you’re hungry because you’re about to get a full English.”

“A what ?”

“British breakfast, because of Brew’s mom. He’s even got some butcher to cut English bacon. Breakfast’s the only thing they make here; well, variations of that, and all sorts of coffee and tea. When they open at six the med students line up for bacon sandwiches like it’s their last meal .”

I leaned back and looked at Drake through what my gran would have called a different lens. He’d had a whole life before we met, and I was only just starting mine. Protection—while it might get annoying—seemed understandably to be a huge part of him. I still deserved to be treated with respect, something my grandad always championed, but I could understand his anger over the incident earlier. I got that he was a Marine. I guessed protection was in their DNA.

But he’d still been off on the way here, and at the apartment.

Brew put two mugs of coffee on our table, but he was answering a question from a customer, so he didn’t stop. “They do a ton of different ones,” Drake said, gesturing to my black coffee.

“This is fine,” I assured him and wrapped my hands around the cup even though I wasn’t cold.

Drake glanced around, probably to make sure no one could hear, but then he fixed his gaze on me. “The truck had false plates, unsurprisingly. Danny’s trying to trace it via street cams, but we’ve got nothing so far. Danny made sure no cameras show any of us exiting the building earlier, and I left before the cops got a chance to see me there. The teenager driving the other car had her music on so loud, and was also arguing with her boyfriend, that they didn’t notice anything.

Danny also said the fire investigation at our place has stalled out, so we don’t want to give them any reason to look at us again.”

Our place? Warmth spread through my belly.

He took a drink of his coffee, then looked back at me. “I find it really hard to see you put yourself in any danger, and that doesn’t mean you’re not capable. It just means that I’m…a stubborn bastard that doesn’t do well with not being in control. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He took another gulp.

“Okay,” I said evenly, because what the hell else could I say? Our relationship—whatever that looked like—might be messed up, and guilt or responsibility was no basis for one, but if that was all I could get for the moment, I might have to take it. His eyes widened at my calm agreement. “What did you think of what the doc said?”

He put his coffee down. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Seb amazes me, and you remind me of him.”

I tried to joke. “I suppose you could say we both had daddy issues.” He snorted, but then we were interrupted by Cynthia holding a tray with plates full of more food than I’d ever eaten in one meal in my life. She put it down before I got the chance to stand and take it from her, beamed her dad’s smile, and said she hoped we enjoyed it. I stared at the meals. At least five rashers of bacon, sausages, two sunny-side up eggs, fried bread, baked beans in some tomato sauce, mushrooms and tomatoes, and big fat fries.

Drake rubbed his hands together. “Cyn leaves off the black pudding for me, but she can get you some if you want it.”

I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know what that was, but I doubted if I was going to be able to eat even half of this. Drake picked up his fork and tucked in. “The Brits don’t do barbeque beans. These are just in tomato sauce.” He scrunched his nose up. “They eat them on toast as well, as a breakfast or a snack thing.”

I followed his example and before I knew what had happened, Cyn was clearing away my completely empty plate. Drake smirked. “I have no idea where you put all that.”

I scoffed and pointed at his flat belly. “Same place as yours.”

“Seriously, though. Stupid-ass question on my part. Enhanced need more calories because your metabolism is jacked up. I’m betting you running at the speeds you do burns through a lot.”

I looked down at my refilled coffee. “I’ve never eaten that much, even at Pink’s, who always tried to feed me.”

“You should hear Finn. He says between Talon and their kids his grocery bill is equivalent to the debt of a small country.”

Drake’s phone buzzed and he picked it up and answered it “Danny, can’t put you on speaker, we’re not on our own.”

I watched Drake’s eyes widen and his face grow hard as he listened. “The hell,” he snapped. “Let me know.” Then he rang off.

“What is it?”

“Danny traced the traffic cams with the truck. It disappeared briefly, then reappeared with proper plates and parked in the lot behind the Marrietta police station.”

My lips parted in astonishment. “Who?”

“The driver had a hoodie pulled over his head and kept his face down past the cameras. Danny’s gotten access to them but they don’t show anything. The truck is unmarked and doesn’t have cameras, and was seized in a drug raid three months ago. They normally have a record of who borrows what car but Danny can’t find anything recorded for today.” He huffed. “It could be just written down. It might not be entered electronically.”

“That isn’t where Lee Dodson died.”

Drake shook his head. “No, but it means that someone who has access to police vehicles tried to shoot me, you, or both of us.”

I lowered my voice. “But isn’t going from arson to a shooting a big jump?”

Drake was quiet while he stared at his coffee. “Definitely an escalation. Assuming this has to do with Ryan. It was also very public.”

“Well, technically so was Dodson’s death,” I pointed out.

Drake drained his second coffee then glanced around to make sure no one could hear. “I want to try and explain why I was such a dick to you earlier. Can we go home? You need to see to the dogs, and I need to talk to Albert.”

I wasn’t fazed at the change of subject because I’d been expecting us to get around to it. Was I going to go home with him? Should I? “I thought you might have changed your mind about me staying there.” I gripped my mug, but it was empty. “I’m not coming if you’re going to do that. I need somewhere settled.” I shrugged. “I can keep out of your way.”

“Not here, but at home,” Drake said. “We can talk,” he clarified. “Please,” he added which surprised me.

Brew refused to take any money, and Cynthia refused to take a tip. She was as stubborn as her dad. Brew just folded his arms across his massive chest, and Cynthia disappeared into the kitchen after a second round of hugs. Brew walked us to the door and changed the sign to closed, then after telling Drake to make sure he brought me to poker night, he locked the door behind us after we’d left.

I couldn’t help looking at every car and listening out for the sound of revving engines as we walked past to get to Drake’s. Not that I was surprised it was on my mind. In the last few days someone had tried to burn the house down, and then one or both of us had been shot at.

Drake was right because as escalations went, they were stepping up.

But I was nervous for another reason now. Drake wanted to talk and I had absolutely no idea what he was going to say.