Page 44 of Anchor
“You’re good to go, Ms. McKinney,” a nurse says. She pauses in the doorway. “We’re so happy that you’re okay.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, but my voice sounds wooden to my ears. “Me, too.”
The door closes behind her and I turn back to my study of the square of grass outside my window. It’s lightening up outside, and I want to watch the sun come up. Maybe knowing that life will go on, thatmylife isn’t over, will help eradicate the dull, cotton that’s filled my chest.
It’s over. It’s over and you’re fine.
No matter how many times I repeat those words, my brain doesn’t quite seem willing to accept them. I tried going to sleep, but every time I laid my head down and closed my eyes, I could see Jones’ face in my mind and I’d shoot up, expecting to find him grinning down at me. Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep and convinced a nurse to let me have a cup of coffee instead.
It’s long since cooled on the bedside table because I found I couldn’t stomach much of anything.
“Hey,” comes a soft voice from the doorway.
I tear my gaze away from the window and find Sienna standing in the doorway. Her face is red, mottled, but dammit she looks beautiful even with splotchy skin and eyes bloodshot from crying.
She sniffles and wipes her nose with a tissue. “I’m so sorry,” she says brokenly.
I sit on the foot of my bed and gesture for her to come inside. “I didn’t know you were coming back! And you have nothing to be sorry about,” I tell her. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“How can you say that?” she sobs. “I’m the one that told you to take the job. I practically forced you! If it weren’t for me, you would have been on vacation. Probably met some sexy beach bum. Instead, you nearly got k-killed.”
“There’s no way you could have known it was going to happen.” I pull her down until she’s sitting beside me. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“How can I not?” she asks.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I was the one nearly killed. What I say, goes.” I intended it to be a joke to lighten the mood, but it causes her to burst into fresh tears.
“I’m s-sorry.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but when I saw your name on the news, I thought you were gonna die. I made them turn us around.”
I wince. “I totally forgot. Did you find a place to stay?”
She shakes her head. “No, but that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re okay. You’re here.”
“I’m okay.” I rub her back.
Sienna laughs and gets to her feet. “Look at me. I’m in worse shape than you are. You don’t look the least bit traumatized.” Her eyes narrow. “Why don’t you look traumatized?”
I lift a shoulder.
Sienna stops dabbing at her eyes and she squints at me. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” she declares imperiously. “What is it? What happened? You’re not hurt are you? You look fine.” She studies me for a few more seconds, then her mouth drops open into a little O of surprise. “No, you can’t—did you meet someone? You look positively miserable.”
Turning my back on her I cross back to the window to find the sun is rising over the buildings. “No, of course not.”
There are few seconds of silence and then she makes a sound in the back of her throat. “No, I don’t believe you. This is exactly how you looked when that asshole broke up with you. I don’t—how the hell did you meet someone when you were a hostage? This isn’t some sort of Stockholm situation, is it?”
That startles a laugh out of me. “No, it’s not.”
“Then who…” Her head jerks backward and she sucks in a breath. “That man,” she says, “the one who saved you.”
“Well, I like to think I helped.”
“You’ve got the hots for your rescuer?” The thought seems even more ridiculous when she says it out loud. “The one they’ve been showing on the news?” She pauses thoughtfully. “He is pretty hot.”
I glance over at her wondering if she’s seen him. The question must show plainly on my face because she says, “They showed his picture during the news report. Yours, too, actually. You’re all they’ve been able to talk about since it started.”
“Did they—” My throat closes around the words so I clear it and force myself to continue. “Did they say if he was okay?” I hope the words don’t sound as desperate and hopeful as I think they do.
“Oh, honey,” Sienna says, coming up beside me to wrap an arm around my waist and watch the sunrise with me. “He’s fine. The news report said he was wounded—they didn’t specify how—but they said he’ll be okay. I think he’s here, too, because of the mob outside and the heavy police guard.”