Page 3 of Echo, the Sniper (Men of PSI #2)

The Nobody People

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I HATED HOSPITALS. The last time I was in one, I had to lie to the doctors about how I’d slammed my finger in a door on accident.

I hadn’t done the slamming, and it hadn’t been an accident.

The time before that, different finger, same story, with my husband calling me “clumsy.” Then of course, I’d been in a hospital to witness the death of my mother as she succumbed to end-stage lymphoma, and a year before that another hospital, another goodbye, this time my father, who’d lost his long, desperate battle with heart failure.

Thankfully I hadn’t had to go to a hospital for Dane when a sniper had shot him in the chest right in front of me, because he’d been declared dead right there at the scene.

No one ever came to a hospital for a good reason, unless it was for something like the birth of a child. Nine times out of ten, a person went to a hospital because their house was on fire, everyone was dying, and the world was coming to an end.

Story of my life right there.

The police had come and gone, taking my statement as my gurney had been pushed into a curtained-off cubicle in the hospital’s Triage, an overflow offshoot of the ER.

From there, I could see heavy activity beyond the partially-open curtain around my little space.

It was now almost four in the morning, a literal hell of a time if there ever was one.

But in a hospital’s ER, apparently there was never a down time.

That sucked. Personally I had no idea how hospital personnel managed to come into work every single day with pep in their step and a smile on their face.

Everywhere I looked, there seemed to be nothing but misery.

Then again, that could just be me and the total trainwreck I liked to call my life.

Speaking of trainwreck...

My attention wandered down to my hand that the nurse had propped up on a pillow, and I tried to take stock of my injuries.

My right hand was the worst of it. Blisters that were proof of second-degree burns seeped and oozed into the white gauze that now mummified it.

Each finger also had its own mummy wrapping, because blisters had popped up in between my fingers even as the ER doc had examined me.

Gross.

The pain had started to creep in by the time I’d been wheeled into the ER—very dramatic, with ice packs on my hand and an oxygen mask on my face.

By the time the doctor had made her way to my curtained-off cubicle, the pain of my burns had been so bad I couldn’t stop from moaning while the tears dripped down my cheeks.

Amazingly enough, the nurses didn’t give me something for the pain right away, because my doc had it in her mind to examine every last inch of me to see if I had other injuries, and she didn’t want the pain to be masked.

Come to find out, she knew what she was doing.

To my astonishment, she found a couple minor injuries I hadn’t even known were there.

I had a slightly swollen ankle that I’d been walking around on without any pain—adrenaline and shock, she’d diagnosed absently, like such an astonishing thing was no biggie in her world.

There was also a good-sized lump on the back of my head.

Since I couldn’t remember hurting my ankle or hitting my head, both of which the doctor suspected came from my jump from the second-story window, she ordered x-rays for my ankle, and a CT scan of my head and chest, since I was still coughing.

Only then had I been given something for the pain, which definitely took the edge off of not just the agony gripping my hand, but the world itself.

Her questions came to an end at that point, and I couldn’t blame her.

A drugged-up patient with a possible head injury wasn’t going to be the most reliable source of information.

That was where my new shadow came in.

Ethan Echols, or Echo, was some kind of mystery, that was for sure.

Clearly he took his bodyguard duty very seriously, standing at parade-rest no more than a few feet from me at all times.

I wasn’t sure what to do with him; I was in too much distress to think beyond the moment, but eventually I’d have to get to the bottom of what the hell he was doing in my life.

More to the point, what was I supposed to do with him?

I mean, was he my employee now? My responsibility?

Did I need to feed him three square meals a day and find him a place to stay?

I didn’t have any of that myself, so there was no way I could take care of him, too.

My life was a total disaster.

I stirred restlessly, anxiety crushing down on me despite the painkillers coursing through my system. In a heartbeat Echo was by my side, his pale eyes searching my face.

“What do you need, Rory? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Anything?”

Good grief. All I did was twitch. “How much longer do I have to be here?” Not that I had someplace else to go.

“According to the nurse, we’re just waiting on the results from the CT scan of your head and lungs. If they’re clear, we can go.”

“Go where, exactly?” I found myself shaking my head and couldn’t seem to stop. “I would say home, but I’m not sure the fire is even out yet.”

“There’s no need for you to go back there. Even if there were, I’d still veto it, at least while it’s still dark out. You’re too easy of a target out there in the open.”

“A target? Oh, that’s right.” Again I shook my head, this time at how conveniently I’d forgotten that someone had tried to kill me with fricking fire.

Geez. Maybe I really did have a brain injury.

“The fire that was started right outside my bedroom shows that someone’s targeting me. Like, actually targeting me.”

“That, and the vandalism of your car. That act forced you to take public transportation, which in turn made you accessible to the public. The moment you started venturing out into the world, you became an easy target for theft and a host of other nasty things.”

“Such as?”

“Identity theft, for starters. I know you said your ID and money were in your phone case and not taken, so what was taken when you got pickpocketed?”

“My wallet.” It had been lifted right out of my purse and I never even knew it until later.

“Was your Social Security card in your wallet?”

“Yes, but I applied for a new one.” It was impossible to get a job without one.

His amazing mouth tightened, something I immediately never wanted to see it do, at least when he was looking at me. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve contacted our IT specialists to look into your digital profile, so we’ll know by the end of the day if any damage has been done.”

His words chilled me to the bone. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it.”

“You’re telling me that it’s not just my house that’s burning. It’s my entire existence that’s on fire.”

“Lying to you would only put you at more risk,” came the measured reply. “We need to operate on the assumption that everything that means something to you is now compromised.”

“This feels like a nightmare,” I said faintly, trying to wrap my mind around it all.

Nope. My mind wasn’t capable of that much evil.

“I just thought I was having the worst run of bad luck in history. My husband getting murdered, my car getting vandalized right inside the garage... You know, that’s the second time the alarms have failed to go off,” I added suddenly, while a faint whisper of anger twined its way through the fog of shock cocooning my brain.

“Someone broke into the garage and the house to set those fires tonight. And someone broke into the garage to vandalize my car two weeks ago. Not once did any alarm go off.”

His pale eyes were so intense it was hard to look at him as he whipped out his phone. “What’s the name of the security company your property’s contracted with?”

“Vigilance Security.” Not that they lived up to their name.

He typed quickly. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.

We’ll get to the bottom of everything, Rory.

We’re not usually an investigative firm, but in order to protect you effectively, we have to identify where the danger is coming from.

That means we’re going to have to go through every nook and cranny of your life. ”

“I have nothing to hide.” Because I was the most boring person on the planet, according to Dane. “That was my husband’s jam.”

His quick typing paused. “It’s possible this could have something to do with Dane Grant and his criminal dealings.”

“I’m sure that’s what it is.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because people like me don’t have enemies.” Or friends. Or anyone.

“People like you?”

“People who don’t matter. People who don’t get noticed by the rest of the world. The nobody people.”

His hands dropped to his sides, apparently forgetting whatever it was he’d been intent on typing. “You don’t really believe that about yourself, do you?”

I shrugged. Dane hadn’t found anything interesting about me, except that I was a suitable social match, thanks to my late father being a state senator and my mother a former model.

I had never been extraordinary like them.

How many times had Dane reminded me of that?

No talent. No stunning good looks. Not even good in bed.

The only thing he’d prized about me was my family’s good name, but as he’d often reminded me, the benefit of having a good family reputation had died with my parents.

It was only now that I realized he’d stayed with me for as long as he did because my family’s good name had given him some sort of legitimacy.

That hypocrite , a vicious whisper slid through my mind. That horrible hypocrite .