Page 13 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

Chapter Ten

Simone

I don’t just walk out of the room. I rush, moving as if my life depends on it. It isn’t about discharging him quickly. Nope. It’s about getting the door closed behind me, needing to hear the latch click into place—proof that whatever almost surfaced in there can’t follow me out here.

Proof that I still have control. That I can still draw the line: patient and person I never wanted to see again. Same body, sure. Same blood and breath and heartbeat.

But I can differentiate, right?

Not that it will help for long. I’ll be under the same roof with him for . . . too long.

My replacement should be arriving soon, but I don’t even know how long I’m supposed to be gone—or how long I’ll have to live with him in the meantime.

I head toward the nurses’ station, one hand tightening around the chart, ready to hand everything off and walk away clean.

Then, I stop short when I spot two tall figures leaning against the counter. I recognize them immediately. Atlas and Malerick Timberbridge. The sight of them knocks the breath clean out of my lungs.

This is bad.

Either something happened—or they know.

No. That’s impossible.

They can’t be here because I’m hiding their brother. That would be insane.

Malerick bought the story I gave him when I fed him when he wanted to know more about the wreckage.

He believed me when I told him the guy we found was transferred to Boston, that it wasn’t our problem anymore—or his jurisdiction for that matter.

I did my part, stabilize the patient, and sent him on his merry way to a hospital that was capable to treat someone in his condition.

I even made it look convincing. I showed him the transfer documents myself. Added enough fake logistics to make the story believable.

Then again, it’s the Timberbridge brothers. They’re relentless and always find a way to figure out shit. Maybe they don’t know he’s Keir, but . . . what if. Fuck, this would be a great time to call someone to help me out of this mess. These two shouldn’t know about anything that’s happening.

I should’ve known they’d eventually come. This is why asking for backup is always a good idea. I just thought . . . well, I told myself I’d have more time—weeks, maybe months. Enough to get Keir out of my care. Out of my clinic. Out of my sight.

Now these two . . . I have enough Timberbridges to deal with. Well, it’s one, only one, but that’s plenty.

More than enough, actually. I not only have to deal with him, but I also have to care for him. Plus he’s asking questions he shouldn’t be asking with a voice that still feels like a wound I never treated properly.

Simone, calm down and just do what you do best. Divert and .

. . lie. I got this. This shouldn’t be hard, though.

My grandparents believe many of the lies I told them.

I don’t see why these two won’t. I square my shoulders and walk forward like I haven’t just had the breath knocked out of me three different ways in the last ten minutes.

“Simone,” Malerick says, greeting me with that no-nonsense tone that sounds like he’s the boss of everything—kind of the world and all.

I smile and look at Atlas. “Everything okay? Everly and Blythe?” Asking about his daughter and wife should distract him. I’m ready to see baby pictures and listen to milestones.

He doesn’t crack a smile. Atlas simply tilts his head. “Are you aware Keir’s missing?”

“Sorry,” I reply, cool and clipped. “I don’t keep up with your family affairs. Plus, we agreed you wouldn’t mention him in my presence.”

Neither one seems unmoved by my response. Oh, crap. I level my gaze at both. “Is there anything I can help you with, gentlemen? If not, I’m busy.”

Right on cue, the nurse approaches. “We’re ready to transport Mr. Doe,” she says, then heads down the hall toward Keir’s room.

Malerick steps closer. “I need to see my brother. In fact—we’re taking him home.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I slide the file I’m holding into its slot, careful not to slam it. “If that’s all, I have a patient to?—”

“John Doe,” Atlas cuts in then serves me with a knowing smirk. “You’re taking him home, aren’t you? I thought you didn’t want him near you—like ever.”

“There’s something called HIPPA,” I say. “Unless somebody’s life is in danger, I don’t have anything to disclose to either one of you.”

“John Doe is Keir,” Atlas states.

“Really?” I cross my arms. “You’re here to tell me you’re delusional?”

“I don’t understand why you’re taking care of him,” Atlas continues. “You and I both know that if given the chance, you’d smother him in his sleep.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Because he’s not wrong—and also because I can’t confirm Keir is here.

“Who are you working for?” Malerick asks.

My spine stiffens. “Excuse me? I own part of this clinic. If you two are done with this nonsense, please leave, or I’ll have you removed.”

Look at me sounding badass and all bossy even when I know that these two could break me like a twig if I try to fight them.

He doesn’t blink. “Who are you working for?” Malerick insists.

“Aren’t there potholes to fix or parking tickets to write?” I snap. “Go be the sheriff somewhere that needs one.”

“This is what I know,” he starts. “You lied to me about the whereabouts of the man you found a couple of weeks ago. You’ve been literally living in this building and haven’t let people on that side of the clinic.”

I glance toward the area where Keir’s staying. Only personnel with an NDA are allowed there. Those and the doctors that have been coming for consults. Did someone break their silence? They’re not only fired, but nothing good is going to happen to them after I report it.

“You’re hiding someone,” Malerick continues. “And now I want answers.”

“It’s none of your business,” I say, voice low and fierce.

“It is when you might be harboring a fugitive,” he fires back. “And if you don’t start talking, Simone, you’ll be the next one in handcuffs.”

“Your badge doesn’t give you jurisdiction over my patients,” I say flatly. “So maybe back the fuck off.”

“Simone,” Mal says again—this time slower, my name stretched between his teeth like it’s both a warning and a plea. “Something doesn’t add up. I could pin The Honey Drop fire on you. All I need is motive—and you’ve got plenty.”

I raise a brow. “Really? That’s your theory? I lit a whole building on fire because I asked Del to bring me a cup of tea?”

“You never ask Del for tea,” he says, like he’s solved the goddamn case. “I don’t need evidence. I could fabricate it. Same way you faked the paperwork when you brought him in.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?”

I stare at him, my jaw tight, my hands clenched at my sides to keep from shaking. I don’t have the energy for this. Not today. Not with Keir being transported to my home and the clinic being left to some stranger for the next whatever fucking days I’m gone.

I’m tired. Of the Timberbridges. Of the secrets. Of pretending like I’m not unraveling from the inside out.

So I do the only thing that feels honest at this moment.

I step forward, press my wrists together, and hold them up to his chest.

“Then cuff me,” My voice doesn’t shake, but something behind my ribs starts to. I’m not even sure I’d fight it if he did. “Drag me out of here. Let the clinic collapse. Let my patient die. Let the whole fucking town burn.”

His mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Then . . . “Should I?”

I don’t blink. “Go ahead. You seem to have a case. Why not blame me for stealing the bee flags from the apiary, too?”

His nostrils flare. He’s thinking but doesn’t move.

“What’s stopping you?” I dare to ask because he might drag me to jail, but I’ll be out of there before he can run my prints.

“Your boss, obviously,” he states, stepping in close.

“He’ll bring down the whole damn department if I touch you.

We’re not ready for them. That’s what the Hollow Syndicate does, right?

Set the things they can’t have on fire. Quiet those who can talk against them by burying them—or stage accidents.

You hate this town enough to burn it from the inside.

That’s what the Hollow Syndicate wants, right?

And now I’ve got a brother no one’s seen in weeks, locked away in your care.

You think I won’t believe you’re part of that plan? ”

“You’re delusional,” I argue, because who the fuck is that syndicate?

His jaw sets. “Maybe . . . maybe you’re the lost heir. The one who’ll soon be taking over.”