Page 34 of Shattered Truth (Off The Grid: FBI #15)

Chapter Nineteen

Matt stood in the surgical waiting room of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, watching Haley pace.

Her restless energy was still as high as it had been when they'd arrived an hour earlier.

It was now almost six in the evening, and Brooke was still in the operating room.

"Do you want to go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat or drink, maybe something decaffeinated? " he suggested.

"I can't eat or drink. I'm too wound up," she said, her voice tense.

"I can see that. Let's get out of here. If you're going to pace, you need more space."

"I wish I could be as calm as you are," she said as they moved down a quiet hallway that led toward the main lobby. "I'm afraid Brooke isn't going to make it, and everything she knew will die with her."

"That could happen," he said quietly. "But I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can.

As for talking to her again, I don't think that will be possible tonight.

With the length of the surgery, she'll be in recovery for hours.

We should probably go back to my place. We can come back when she wakes up, when she's able to talk. "

She frowned. "Let's give it a little more time. I'd rather not leave until I know she's at least survived the surgery. Have you heard any more from Jason? I saw you texting a few minutes ago."

"He was just asking if there was an update on Brooke. Derek is still working on the drive, but no luck yet. He's an expert hacker, so I'm a little surprised, but apparently your brother was very good at securing his work."

"Except for his black notebooks and whatever they contained." Shadows filled her eyes. "Brooke admitted to stealing them. I'm not sure I believe she didn't know anything about what was in them."

"She may be more willing to talk now that someone has tried to kill her. Joining forces with us will be the best way for her to stay safe."

They had just entered the lobby when he saw a young man rush toward the reception desk.

He was tall, athletic, wearing expensive jeans and a worried expression.

"That's Kyle, Brooke's boyfriend," he muttered.

"I know her parents are out of town, but I wondered when one of her friends was going to show up. "

Kyle Vance spoke briefly to the person at the desk, then walked a few feet away, pulling out his phone to make a call.

"He looks upset," Haley commented. "I wonder who he's calling. Should we talk to him?"

Before he could answer, another man entered the lobby, heading straight for Kyle. He was dressed in a designer suit and appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties.

As the two men conversed, he opened the camera app on his phone and snapped a photo. Then he sent it to Derek to get an ID. As their conversation intensified, they moved toward the hospital gift shop. Curious as to what they were talking about, he said, "Stay here. I'm going to get closer."

"I'm coming with you."

He didn't bother to argue, since Haley rarely gave in without a fight. They moved across the lobby, standing behind a tall potted plant near the gift shop, so they could hear Kyle's conversation.

"What the hell is going on?" Kyle demanded.

"Your girlfriend will be fine," the man replied. "You need to keep your eye on the bigger picture."

"She's not fine. She's still in surgery, and her condition is critical."

He could hear the fear in Kyle's voice. He genuinely cared about Brooke.

"I don't understand what happened," Kyle continued.

"She walked in on a burglary in progress, and she was stabbed. That's what happened," the man said.

"I don't believe that," Kyle snapped.

"You need to calm down and keep it together."

"Where's everyone else? Why aren't they here?" Kyle demanded.

"Jill is on her way. Have you spoken to the police or the FBI yet? I'm sure someone will have questions for you," the man said.

"Not yet. I'm going upstairs now. I need to see Brooke when she gets out of surgery."

"I'll go with you."

As the men moved down the hall, Matt turned to Haley. "Let's go."

"We can't leave," she protested. "We need to talk to Brooke before they do."

"No one is talking to Brooke tonight. There will be security on her room as soon as she gets out of surgery. There is nothing more we can do here," he added as he urged her toward the exit. "Did you recognize the man talking to Kyle?"

"No. I've never seen him before," she said as they got outside. "He sounded like he was involved. Kyle didn't seem to believe the burglar theory."

He met her gaze. "Yes, they sounded very much involved. But Kyle was shocked by Brooke's attack, which means he's not at the top. I'm not so sure about the other guy."

"We need to find out who he is."

"We will. I sent his photo to my team. We should have his identity shortly."

Haley was still thinking about the man with Kyle when they got back to Matt's apartment. She kicked off her heels and dropped onto the couch in exhaustion. Her adrenaline rush had finally worn off, and now she was just tired.

Matt grabbed two sparkling waters out of the fridge and handed her one as he sat down next to her.

"Thanks," she said, taking a grateful sip of the cool, bubbly liquid. "So, what now?"

Before he could reply, he got a text.

"What does it say?" she asked impatiently.

"Kyle's friend at the hospital is Viktor Danilovich. He's an importer/exporter and real estate investor. Worked alongside his father until his parents died in a carbon monoxide poisoning at a resort in Fiji while on vacation last year."

She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds weird."

"It appears to have been a tragic accident. His parents were from Belarus, but he was born in the US."

"Now he's running his family business."

"Yes." He looked back at his phone. "Here's the link we're looking for. Viktor's younger brother, Alexei, went to Westbridge with Henry, Drew, Trent, and, presumably, your brother. Do you remember that name?"

She shook her head. "No." She wanted to feel excited about the new information, but she just felt overwhelmed. "How are we ever going to figure this out, Matt? We're adding suspects instead of eliminating them."

"That isn't defeat in your voice, is it? You, the intrepid reporter who never gives up?"

She frowned at his words. "I'm frustrated."

"Of course you are. But we are making progress. It might be small steps, but we're moving forward."

"I'm a little surprised by your upbeat attitude, Matt. If I had had to guess who was the most optimistic of the two of us, I would have picked me."

A grin lifted his lips. "I would have, too. But I have more perspective on this case than you do." He paused. "I'm starving. How do you feel about turkey chili?"

She was taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, but also hungry and somewhat intrigued by his suggestion. "Turkey chili?"

"Are you a fan?"

"I am, but doesn't that take a long time to cook?"

"Not when I can just defrost it. I made a big batch last week."

She was continually surprised by the man next to her. "Then I'm in," she said as she got up and followed him into the kitchen.

While Matt was heating the chili, she made herself useful by fixing a salad with the lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes he had in the fridge.

As she finished the bowl and set it aside, she watched him stir the chili and said, "This is strange, isn't it?

Friday morning, you wanted to arrest me, and look at us now, cooking together, living together…

" Her voice drifted away as he gave her a look that was a mix of amusement and something else she couldn't define.

"Making a salad doesn't count as cooking, and as for living together, you are in the guest room."

"I know, but you have to admit, this feels oddly domestic but also nice. I've never had a man cook for me before."

"Never?"

"No. Dates are usually out somewhere…drinks, dinner, that kind of thing.

And I don't offer to cook, because, well…

a restaurant is always a better idea than me cooking.

I don't know much beyond the basics, certainly nothing to impress anyone.

" She paused. "What about you? Do you cook for your dates? "

"I have made dinner for other women. Sorry to say you're not the first."

"I figured as much," she said dryly.

"With the work I do, sometimes I just prefer to be home."

"It's interesting you say that, because your apartment isn't homey. It's beautifully decorated, but the only room that really feels lived-in is this one. The rest of your place could use a more personal touch. I could help you warm it up."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She slid onto the stool at the kitchen island. "You're just telling me what I want to hear, aren't you? Is that a tried-and-true FBI technique?"

"Sometimes. People are generally more agreeable when you tell them what they want to hear.

But I learned that when I was a kid, not when I got to the FBI," he said with a smile.

"After the divorce, my parents competed for a while to be the best parent, but not really in my eyes, rather in their rival's eyes.

When my mom would make me dinner, she'd ask me if it was better than what my dad fed me.

I would say yes. And when my dad asked me if I liked living with him better than with my mom, I'd say yes. "

"So, you never got to have your own opinion."

"I had my own opinions; I just didn't share them. What was the point? It wasn't like making one of them unhappy would make me happier."

"You became cynical at a very young age."

"And you didn't?" he challenged.