Page 79 of Protecting Peyton

“Peyton?”

“Right here,” she answered from the opposite side of the bed.

I turned my head and smiled. She was here, along with Lucas. We were in one of the curtained-off emergency room exam spaces.

“Miss,” the doctor intoned. “Our rules are family only, so if you’re not here for a pap smear, the waiting room is where waiting is done. You too, sir.”

“We’re staying,” Lucas insisted. “Check with Dr. Dalton, if you want.”

“Chief Dalton?” she asked incredulously. “How long was he unconscious?” she asked, clearly giving up the battle.

“Twice,” Peyton answered. “A minute or two the first time, longer the second time.”

The doctor put her finger against my palm. “Squeeze my finger.” She winced when I tightened my grip. “That one’s good. Now the other.”

I did, and by her expression, I’d clearly passed. “Wiggle your toes.”

That was followed by a series of predictable questions about what I remembered, who was president, what day it was, and a command to recite numbers forward and backward.

“So far, so good. Now we need to wait for the CT results,” Dr. Holland said. “They take some time.”

Peyton let out a sigh.

“They’ll be ready,” Lucas said confidently.

Dr. Holland raised a brow and moved to her screen. Typing and clicking her mouse, her eyes widened, and she turned to Lucas. “How the hell? I’ve never gotten a radiology report this quickly.”

Lucas didn’t tell her it was because the Covington name was on a wing of this hospital.

After scanning the report, the doctor gave me the good news. “Mr.March, based on the CT results and your responses, I’m classifying this as a mild concussion. I’m recommending you have someone responsible around you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours to note whether any symptoms arise. And?—”

“I know the drill,” I said.

Peyton raised her hand. “I’ll be with him and testing him three times a day.”

The doctor raised a brow, then gave me the usual admonitions about aspirin, blood thinners, alcohol, and reading the discharge paperwork thoroughly.

At the checkout desk, Peyton held my hand, and I had to admit it felt damned good that she felt confident enough to take that tiny step after all the pushback I’d gotten from her.

“I’ve called you a ride home,” Lucas said. “And I think you should reschedule your dinner.”

I’d completely forgotten about the dinner reservations. “Roger that.”

Peyton backed away. “I need to use the restroom. Don’t leave without me.”

I smiled back at her. “Never.”

“Because of the ambulance call,” Lucas said, “the LAPD got there before we could get the two who attacked you. I don’t know how long it’ll be before we can interrogate them.”

“You can start with the lady who lured Peyton out there,” I suggested.

“Constance already did. The lady is the short one’s aunt, and they paid her to put the ad up and lure Peyton out. Constance believes that’s as far as her involvement goes. The woman did hear the big guy say thatthe manwanted to talk to Peyton, whoeverthe manis, so there’s that.”

“Those two idiots don’t have enough brain cells between them to organize their way out of a paper bag, so this Mr. X must be the one pulling the strings. Could they be referring to Victor, and this is some wacko revenge play on his part?”

“Not likely, but trust me, we’ll find out when we get our hands on them.”

I had no doubt that Lucas had the tools to do exactly that.