Page 117 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

She laughed for real this time.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful for all the sex. I learned a lot.” His playful tone had returned. “The stewardess who got me back into journaling. The ballerina who worked on my interpretive dance. The tender moments with an empty nester down the street from my nana. And the supermodels—so many supermodels.”

Andrea laced her fingers through his. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.

“Weird,” she said. “That’s exactly how I coped without you.”

Mike’s eyebrow arched. “Men supermodels or women supermodels?”

She shrugged. “When you’re in an orgy, you go where you’re needed.”

“Sure. You don’t want to be rude.”

She kissed him.

Her arms went around his shoulders. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Everything about his body felt new and familiar at the same time. His beard was as luxurious as she’d imagined. His mouth was like honey.

“Mike—” Andrea was breathless when she managed to pull away. “I’m sorry. I’m so stupid, and I’m so sorry.”

The curtain raked back.

“Time to go, folks. We need the bed.” The nurse didn’t seem to mind ruining the tender moment. She unceremoniously yanked the IV out of Andrea’s arm. “If you experience hoarseness, prolonged coughing spells, mental confusion, or difficulty breathing, call 911 immediately. Is this your husband or partner?”

Mike said, “It’s complicated.”

“She has a mild concussion.” The nurse held up a clipboard. “I need somebody who isn’t her to sign this.”

“That’s me,” Mike said.

“Breathing exercises. Do them once every waking hour.” She checked a box on the paperwork. “No smoking or drinking for the next seventy-two hours. Use throat lozenges or spray for the pain. Tylenol as needed. No strenuous exercise.”

“Can she work?” The question had come from Deputy Chief Cecelia Compton. She was still dressed in her blue power suit. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “Or should she take time off?”

“Desk duty is fine if she’s up to it.” The nurse reached into her pocket and handed Andrea some cough drops. “You’re due for Tylenol in six hours. Don’t exceed more than four thousand milligrams in a twenty-four-hour period.”

Andrea would take heroin if her throat stopped hurting. She unwrapped one of the cough drops. “Thank you.”

“Oliver?” Compton said. “Can you follow me?”

Mike helped Andrea down from the bed. She held onto his hand until she had to let him go. Then she had to jog to catch up with Compton.

“I’m glad Mike was in town.” Compton’s arms swung as she walked at a brisk clip. “Leonard worked with him a few years ago. Mike’s a stand-up guy. I never believed those rumors. No woman in her right mind would break his heart.”

Andrea rolled the cough drop in her mouth.

“Here’s the deal.” Compton was back in boss mode. “Bible’s idiotic parakeet rescue put him on the injured list. And I don’t care what your nurse said. You’re both on medical leave for the remainder of the week. Get some sleep. Walk on the beach. I’ve got another team taking over security for the judge and her family.”

Andrea should’ve been used to disappointment by now, but the thought of sitting in a motel room while Dean Wexler happily went about his sick business felt like a blow from a hammer.

Compton sensed her mood. “Bible brought me up to speed on your conversations with Ricky Fontaine and Melody Brickel. Sorry they didn’t pan out. Something will break eventually. It always does.”

Nothing had broken in twenty years. Forty, if you counted Emily Vaughn. Andrea wasn’t ready to give up. She hadn’t become a Marshal so that bad people could keep doing bad things. “Ma’am, I—”

“Hold on.” Compton knocked loudly on the door to the men’s bathroom. She asked Andrea, “You up for sticking around a tad longer?”

Before she could answer, the bathroom door swung open. Unlike Andrea, Leonard Bible looked no worse for the wear. The only indication that he’d been inside a burning house was a bright white bandage that covered his right hand.

He held it up for Andrea to see. “Bird brain.”