“Do you know why?”
“Not yet. I’ll be back when Mrs. Grey wakes. She’s safe here. We have Hyde handcuffed to the bed, under police guard 24/7. He’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s reassuring. Will we get our money back?”
Clark frowns.
“The ransom.”
He smiles, briefly. “Eventually, Mr. Grey.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’ll leave you to rest,” he says.
“Thank you.”
I grimace at Detective Clark’s back as he closes the door.
Hyde is here, somewhere in this hospital, because my wife put a bullet in him.
Anger surges through me again.
I could find him and finish the job.
He’s under guard, Grey. I hope to God he’s incarcerated for a very long time.
Dr. Bartley returns. “How are you doing, Mr. Grey?”
“I’m fine. It’s my wife I’m concerned about.”
“Well, I’m here to take a look at her.”
I stand back and let her do her checks.
“Why hasn’t she woken?” I ask.
“It’s a good question. I would have expected her to by now. What she’s been through was traumatic, though, so maybe she needs a little more down time to process it all. Was she under any other stress?” Dr. Bartley gives me a direct look and I flush, guiltily.
“Well, um…the pregnancy?” I keep my answer vague.
“I have an idea that may bring her around, but it might take a while to see if it works. Besides, I’m not happy catheterizing pregnant women for a long period of time. It runs the risk of UTI.”
“Okay, sure. Do I need to leave?”
“It’s up to you.”
“I’ll go fetch some coffee.”
Out in the corridor, my phone buzzes. It’s John Flynn.
“Christian. I heard about Ana. How is she?”
I sigh and give him the bullet-point summary. “She’s expected to wake at any time. It’s just—”
“I know. This must be hard on you. I’m sure she’s in capable hands. I got a missed call from you the other day. I was at my son’s parent-teacher conference.”
Ah. The night of my transgressions. It would have been great if he’d answered the phone.
“We’ll talk next week?” Flynn asks.
“Yes.”
“If you need me, I’m here.”
“Thanks, John.”
“Hello, darling.” Grace arrives during the evening carrying a small cooler bag.
“Mom.”
She hugs me briefly, then scrutinizes my face, her eyes full of concern. “When did you last eat?”
I gaze at her blankly while I try to remember. “Breakfast?”
“Oh, Christian, it’s after eight. You must be famished.” She strokes my cheek. “I’ve brought macaroni and cheese. I made it for you.”
I’m so tired that the burning in my throat moves to my eyes. “Thanks,” I whisper, and in spite of the fact that my wife has still not surfaced, I’m hungry.
No. I’m fucking starving.
“I’ll go heat this up. The nurses’ kitchen has a microwave. I’ll be a couple of minutes.”
My mother makes the best mac and cheese in America—better even than Gail’s. When she returns, the room fills with its mouthwatering aroma and we sit side by side, and she chats aimlessly while we watch my beautiful wife, who stubbornly refuses to wake.
“We took Mia home late this morning. Carrick’s with her.”
“How is she?” I ask.
“Christian! Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, with my mouth full—and she laughs. For the first time in forever, my lips lift in a reluctant smile.
“That’s better.” Grace’s eyes glow with maternal love, and I have to confess I feel more hopeful with her here. I finish the last forkful and place my plate on the floor, too tired to move any farther.
“That was delicious. Thanks, Mom.”
“My pleasure, darling. She’s very brave, your wife.”
“Stupid,” I mutter.
“Christian!”
“She is.”
Grace’s eyes narrow and she regards me speculatively. “What is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s up. I mean, something other than Ana lying here unconscious and you being exhausted.”
How does she know?
Grace says nothing, her penetrating gaze doing all the talking. Silence fills the room, broken only by the hum of the machine monitoring Ana’s blood pressure.
Fuck.
Interfering woman.
It’s no good—I crack under her scrutiny, like I always do. “We had a fight.”
“A fight?”
“Yes. Before all this happened. We weren’t talking.”
“What do you mean, you weren’t talking? What did you do?”
“Mom—” Why does she automatically assume it was my fault?
“Christian! What did you do?”
I swallow, and my throat burns with unshed tears, exhaustion, and anxiety. “I was so angry.”
“Hey.” Grace takes my hand. “Angry with Ana? Why, what did she do?”
“She didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The baby. It was a shock. I stormed out.”
Mom grasps my hand, and suddenly I’m overcome with an urge to confess all. “I saw Elena,” I whisper, and shame washes over me like a riptide. My mother’s eyes widen, and she releases my hand.
“What do you mean, ‘saw’?” she hisses, emphasizing the last word with such scorn that it rocks me. Did you sleep with her? I recall Ana’s question from…when, yesterday? The day before?
First Ana, now my mother!
“Nothing like that! Fuck, Mom!”
“Don’t curse at me, Christian. What was I supposed to think?”