Page 6 of Tone Deaf
“Then if there’s nothing more, Pen Gallagher and I are heading to the hospital.”
As I turn my back on Longe, he grunts out, “Wait.” I pause, ready to continue this verbal battle, when the detective hands me a business card. “Don’t leave town. We will have more questions for you later.”
“Will do.” I whistle, grabbing Pen’s attention as I stride toward our rental. He catches up with me, looking as frustrated with Detective Faller as I am with Longe. He strides over to me. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“Detective Faller is a giant dick,” he spits out as he climbs into the Bronco. “He kept repeating the same question—asking just a little differently—like I’m some fucking idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing. And his accusatory tone—I wanted to punch the asshole.”
“Same,” I agree as I start the vehicle.
Silence fills the space for a long moment, before I say what we both are thinking. “We have to call Tobias.”
“I’m not looking forward to it,” Pen imparts with a frown.
I groan. “And I thought we had finally settled back into the easy work.” Meaning, after the whole shitstorm that went down with Connor and his deviant uncle six months ago, I thought this year was going to be smooth.
“Maybe we should call Dante first,” Pen suggests. “They are, after all, the band’s manager.”
Dante Ross hasn’t been with the band long, not even a year. They were hand-picked by Ron to take over for him when he started his cancer treatment. Dante’s proven they’re capable, but they are prickly. I rarely initiate a conversation with them.
“Tobias will take the news better,” I say as I tap the screen on my cell phone for our lead’s contact, while trepidation and worry for Callum churns and settles heavy in my gut.
Please be okay.
Chapter Three
Pen
I pace in the emergency waiting room while Dom remains outside, making more calls. I can’t believe the hospital staff—namely the nurse at the emergency room desk, won’t allow me or Dom in the room with Callum. Even though we showed her our credentials and explained how we are his bodyguards, she still refused us entry.
Dom strides back inside, a scowl carved deep across his face. “Tobias, the rest of the team and the band, along with Dante, are on their way. So are some of Dean’s men that he is pulling off of other jobs.”
“Why?” I ask, since Harper Security isn’t currently employed by Warrior Black or LC Records. Dom and I used to work for Dean—as did the rest of the band’s current security team.
However, once Tobias and John became romantically involved with two of the band members, they left Harper Security and formed their own group solely to provide security for Warrior Black. Not much later, Fig joined them. Then Jordan not long after that. Dom and I both took a permanent sabbaticala year ago to be on tour with the band, and Dean knows we aren’t coming back.
As if those defections from Harper Security weren’t enough, Ron swayed the band’s label to hire Tobias’s new team and terminate the contract with Dean Harper. So the fact that Dean is sending men raises all kinds of questions.
“Dante brought him in—or should I say Ron made the choice. They think we aren’t handling the security properly and want Dean’s input,” Dom growls.
“That’s bullshit,” I grunt out. “What does Tobias say?”
“Tobias isn’t happy either that Dante pulled Dean into this, but he has no say. Dante has the backing of the record label’s higher-ups.”
I expel a long exhale, contemplating what kind of conflict will ensue when Tobias and Dean go head-to-head on this matter. “All I care about right now is if Callum is okay—Christ! I can’t stand here and not know if he needs us,” I blurt out.
Nurse Ratchet at the desk stares at me with open hostility, but I don’t give a fuck. I open my mouth to tell her to shove it, but Dom holds up a hand to shut me up. He walks over to the desk, leans in and whispers something, and her face goes pale and she starts nodding.
Dom turns, grins wide at me and says, “Let’s go.”
“What did you say to the woman?”
“I told her that if something happens to Callum while we’re out here, it’s going to be her ass and her job on the line. The lawsuit we’ll bring down on the hospital will be nothing compared to what she will lose,” he says with a grin.
I chuckle. “Dom does it again.”
I follow him down the wide corridor, peeking between the curtains, until we come to the last cubicle on the left. Dom sweeps open the curtain that separates the space from the walkway, and there, lying in the bed, is Callum. An IV is hookedup to his right arm—but his left arm is in a splint. A heart monitor bleeps in the background and the blood pressure cuff is wrapped around his biceps groans and expands.
He also has a nasal canula in his nostrils for oxygen. His poor face has been cleaned and a few of the scrapes have been bandaged, and his nose is taped across the bridge… But the swelling…Jesus Christ.