Page 7 of The Maverick (WaterFyre Rising #7)

CHAPTER SIX

ATTIKUS

“She’s still sleeping,” I said to Detective Gary Farmer, who stood in the hospital waiting room with me.

He had curly red hair, a determined expression, and integrity I’d never seen in any police officer. We had a history, and I trusted him.

Detective Farmer had arrived, wanting to question Nessa about the severed finger. But I didn’t want him disrupting her rest. I debated telling him what I’d seen at Loretta’s Café but held back.

What if that incident had nothing to do with the severed finger? What if it was a personal issue she didn’t want anyone to know? I’d wait to ask her those questions later.

Why? She’s not your family. She’s not your girlfriend.

I grunted at my inner voice. It wasn’t wrong.

But I was a businessman who valued my investment.

Nessa Lambert was my most recent investment.

Her well-being ensured I profited. I didn’t spend all that money renovating the retail strip—the gallery—to let some fucker ruin it on its first day of opening.

I briefed Detective Farmer on what I’d seen in Boston and sent him a picture of the men. Maybe they had something to do with this.

“I’ll take a look,” he said, glancing at his phone.

“Please keep me posted on your findings.”

“Will do.” He tucked his small notebook into his chest pocket. “If you can have her stop by my office to give her statement when she wakes, I’d appreciate it.”

I nodded and watched him leave the waiting room.

Who had sent the severed finger? I remembered the fear on Nessa’s face when she opened that box. The image replayed over and over again. I wanted to hurt whoever was responsible for this. It was her grand opening, and he’d ruined it.

Nessa had expected a congratulatory gift, but her world collapsed figuratively and literally. Fortunately, I was there to catch her.

Dr. Li, the emergency room doctor who was also an acupuncturist, had checked Nessa’s pulse and said she was extremely tired. What would she say if she checked mine?

Beyond help. Hopelessly doomed.

I walked back to Nessa’shospital room and sat in the chair beside the bed, watching her.

When she passed out, I wanted to reach out to her family, but Willow said she didn’t have anyone.

That intrigued me. Everyone had some kind of family or a close friend.

Who was Nessa Lambert? What was she hiding?

Was she more than the artist I’d invested in?

Nessa was friends with Elena, Audri, Vivian, Michelle, Natalie, and Kiera, but I didn’t know how close they were. Elena and Audri had offered to accompany Nessa, but I told them I’d do it.

Orion and Remi had stayed behind, apologizing to people for the abrupt closure of the gallery.

My friends knew what to do while I went with Nessa in the ambulance.

They’d check the cameras at the surrounding businesses to help with the investigation.

Though the police were called and Detective Farmer was on the case, the city often took its time.

Orion had a team of people who were excellent at retrieving data that others couldn’t.

I didn’t know why I offered to accompany Nessa. Elena or Audri would have been more suitable. They knew each other better, whereas Nessa and I were only business partners.

Yet, I felt this inexplicable urge to protect her. She reminded me of my sisters, Ellen and Amelia. Ellen had an abusive boyfriend, and Amelia was the thirteen-year-old budding artist whose life was cut too short.

Why did I feel this need to keep Nessa safe? It made little sense. I was no saint, and I certainly didn’t have time for this. But here I was, sitting in her hospital room. I’d rescheduled my conference call, which was supposed to happen in an hour, to another day.

“ M? . . .”Nessa mumbled as tears streamed from the corners of her closed eyes. She shifted and screamed, “No!” Her hands flung out, and her eyes flipped open, glancing around.

“You’re safe.” I rose from my chair, standing over her.

She looked at me, and confusion splashed over her face. Then remembrance registered in her eyes, and her demeanor changed. She pushed herself up, and I placed a pillow behind her back.

“Thank you. How’s the gallery?” she asked, looking embarrassed.

“Everything’s taken care of,” I said. “No one was angry that we had to close early.”

Should I sit on the edge of the bed to talk to her? Or should I stand here looking like a fool? Why should I care what she thought of me?

More importantly, why was I asking these stupid questions? Annoyed at myself, I sat in the chair.

“Why are you here?” She studied me.

Yeah, why are you here, idiot?

“You’re the star of the art gallery—a property I own. I need to make sure my investment is safe.”

She stared at me, and I desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. Something shifted in her brown eyes as though she were forming ideas for an intricate painting.

Her fingers clutched the bedsheet. “What happened to the finger?”

Of all the questions she could’ve asked me, I didn’t expect that. Instead of asking me if the authorities had captured the person responsible for that horrendous act, she wanted to know where the severed finger was.

“Do you know who the finger belongs to?” I asked.

Her lips quivered as she squeezed the bedsheet until her knuckles turned white.

When she didn’t reply, I said, “It’s a man’s finger. The police will run a fingerprint and DNA.”

“The finger belongs to a man?” A spark of hope flashed in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Based on the shape of the finger and fingernails, the CSI said it looks to be a man’s finger. But DNA will confirm the gender.” I leaned forward. “Do you know who sent the finger to you?”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and released it slowly. When she reopened them, she looked me in the eye. Desperation, determination, and anger swam in them. I’d seen the same emotions in my eyes when I was in the hospital years ago, recovering from a beating that crippled me.

Nessa clasped her hands together, rested them on her lap, and looked at me. I sensed her nerves, but also the calm that came when someone had endured too many storms. She had mastered the skill of forcing herself to remain calm to do what was necessary.

I admired that.

Who are you, Nessa Lambert?

She blew out another breath. “I have a business proposal for you.”

The surprise dropped into my lap like an asteroid that didn’t belong. No one had shocked me more in one day than her.

My business radars perked up. “Let’s hear it.”