“To wake up, pretty girl.”
I’m pulled to consciousness with a harsh start. The noise inside the room is loud and matches my rapidly rising chest; a beep, beep, beep that fully awakens me, bringing into focus the white walls and lone window with partially opened curtains. The view showcases that I’m on a high floor and no longer in a ballroom where high society beauty—opulence—fill every corner. Instead, there are machines all around me, the blanket atop my bare legs is a bit scratchy, and I gasp when my eyes land on the lone figure sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair to my left.
Theodore’s leaning awkwardly with his head lulling to the side. His breathing is deep and hair an absolute mess, but in a way that’s attractive while dressed in casual clothes like yesterday when—
Tim’s body. The bloody snake. Oh God.
“Shit,” I whisper rubbing my chest area, my voice almost indiscernible, and yet, Mr. Astor’s eyes snap open at once. They meet mine; amber on green, and in them I find concern and understanding, two things that bring tears to my eyes. Not that I let them fall. I’ve embarrassed myself enough by passing out and who knows what happened after that. “It’s nothing, really. This is all just one of those bizarre things that happen and become some anecdote I share as an old lady.”
“Shouldn’t I ask the question before you lie?”
Instead of denying his claim, I turn my face and pretend to take in the one-bed hospital room. “How did I get here?”
“You had a panic attack and passed out,” he says, voice low, yet there’s a hidden scolding there for looking away. “The officers at the scene called in the paramedics who brought you here. That was five hours ago.”
I cringe, my cheeks turning pink. “Five?”
“You’re safe, Gabriella.”
“Am I?” The question slips from me before I can stop it, showing a man I barely know—a stranger—how vulnerable I feel.
“No one will ever touch you. Please trust me.” I don’t miss the emphasis on the word you.
“No one is fully safe, Mr. Astor, and tomorrow is never guaranteed.”
“Look at me.”
The sun has begun to set, the blue sky turning a gorgeous shade of orange with hints of pinks and purples. It reminds me of the subject matter for my showing, how danger always lurks and comes out to play in the dark.
The dark. Why didn’t I think about the motion sensor cameras!
“Where’s my phone?” I’m still not meeting his gaze. Instead, I catalog the changes in hues. “How long will I need to be here, or can I—”
“Look at me.” It’s a command this time and I follow, my face snapping toward his without conscious thought. And damn him, I’m once again hit with tenderness and concern. With understanding, without him uttering a single encouraging word. For a few minutes we stay this way, slowly leaning toward each other, and I let out a low gasp when his large hand cups my cheek. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You are safe.”
“But—”
“I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Those words put me at ease for no reason at all, but maybe it’s someone caring that helps my mind cease its dreary movie reel. I grew up with no one defending me, much less giving me comfort, because in a group home where nine other kids are in your same position, the youngest are always shown off to potential adopters while the rest are left to figure it out.
For years, all I did was manage. Worked small jobs and fed myself, and even with the money and home my uncle left behind, I’ve been frugal and low maintenance because the future can be volatile and unpredictable.
Elise herself has never been involved in my life outside of my work or social settings where I’m invited. And I’ve been accepting of this. Have allowed her to go in my place multiple times because it was the easier alternative.
Because her whine is something I’d rather not deal with.
Never again, though. Her actions as of late show a side I’m not fond of nor need around me.
Hell, I don’t think she’d sit here with me while I slept after a panic attack.
Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and nod. I’m choosing to believe him. I’m choosing to breathe in deeply and gather my thoughts and think rationally, and not like the frazzled girl I’ve become as of late. “Thank you, Mr. Astor—”
“Theodore to you. Always Theodore.” His thumbs caress my cheeks twice before he sits back in his seat, the action abrupt while creating a bit of space between us. My lips part, the question sitting on the tip of my tongue. “After. Ask me after.”
I nod, even though he makes no sense.
“Miss Moore,” a male voice calls out before tapping twice on my room door, and my gaze turns to him. He steps inside without prompting, without explaining why he’s here, and when he notices my fingers about to press over the red button for the nurse, the stranger whips out a badge. “I’m here to talk about what happened—”
I cut him off by holding a hand up. “First, I’d like your name, that of your precinct, and under what guise you are here. If you are here to get my account, you are more than welcome to stay, but if I’m being suspected of any wrongdoing, then it can wait until I am discharged and in better form to withstand your line of questioning.”
Where my sudden bout of confidence comes from, I don’t know or question it. And while I’m guiding myself based on crime shows watched with a bit of common sense mixed in after having had a panic attack years ago—the doctor then demanding I avoid stressful situations—I wait for his reply. I doubt he’s taking kindly to my demands, his pinched face telling me as much, but I won’t back down. Something has to give after the hellish crap I just lived through.
“That isn’t up to you.” The tone isn’t one of warm regard while his posture is a bit threatening. “You are the last person to see Mr. Roy alive and—”
“That is a lie and we both know it.” Theodore places a hand on the bed right beside my own, not touching me but leaning forward. His expression is hard, eyes narrowed on the detective who’s yet to introduce himself. “Now, answer her questions and state your business. This will be her call on how you proceed, and if you want to test that theory, be my guest. The doctor can have you escorted out, citing unneeded duress being placed upon his patient and you’ll have to abide by the penal code which ties your hands on all accounts.”
“Who are you to interfere with a—”
“Theodore Astor.”
The man swallows hard, his face losing a bit of color while taking a step back. “I didn’t come here to create a problem for her. I’m just doing my job, nothing more.”
“Then answer her questions.”
My fingers drum against his hand to gain his attention. “Thank you.”
The anger of a few seconds ago vanishes the moment our eyes meet. His face softens, and a small smile curls his lips. “Never thank me for taking care of you.”
