“Aye, boss.”
He turns to leave.
“And Kieran?”
He turns back to me, waiting.
“I’m putting you in charge of this because I think that’s what she’d want. Don’t disappoint me.”
He vows, “I won’t, boss. Nobody will get near our lass.”
Our lass. Christ, now she’s the team mascot?
Kieran sees my face and does the smart thing and leaves.
When I’m alone in the empty room, I take a moment to compose myself. Then I enter the adjoining room where Sloane is.
Pale but alert, she’s sitting up in bed, playing with the TV remote control, clicking through channels. When she sees me, however, she stops.
“Oh god. It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Aye. Subdural hematoma. There’s at least a fifty percent chance you’ll die.”
After a beat, she says, “Gee, don’t sugarcoat it.”
“Would you want me to?”
“No. But you don’t have to look so happy about it, either.”
I sit in the chair next to the bed, drag a hand through my hair, and sigh. “I’m not happy about it.”
“So that’s your sad face?”
“This is my my-captive-is-a-pain-in-my-fucking-arse face.”
“Ah, yes, now I recognize it. You could star in a hemorrhoid cream commercial with that mug.”
We gaze at each other. I’m trying not to feel admiring at how she’s taking the news, but I should’ve known better. She’s not one to break down and cry, even when she could be dying.
“Is there anyone you want me to call?”
Without missing a beat, she says, “Oprah Winfrey. I’ve always wanted to meet her. I feel like we’d hit it off, she’d invite me to all the cool parties at her Montecito mansion, and that’s where I’d meet my future husband, the crown prince of Monaco. Or Morocco. I can’t remember which was the cute one.”
I fight a smile. “I’ll get right on that. Anyone else?”
She sighs, settles back against the pillows, and shakes her head. “No. My mom passed away years ago, and I only talk to my dad on holidays. His new wife doesn’t really like me. You probably already knew that, considering you’re omniscient and all, but if anything happens to me, please let Natalie know. I don’t want to worry her by telling her I’m here, but she’ll freak out if she doesn’t hear from me again soon. She’s probably already freaking out now. She’s very emotional, you know. She’s the sensitive one.”
She trails off, chewing her lip and frowning.
“She’s lucky to have you as a friend. You’re very loyal.”
Sloane looks like I just informed her I sold her to a circus. “I’m sorry, it must be my janky brain, but I thought I heard you say something nice to me.”
Now I can’t help my smile. “It was definitely your janky brain.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I stand and take off my jacket. I throw it over the back of the chair, then sit down again and pick up the celebrity gossip magazine from the small table beside the bed. I settle in the chair, get comfortable, and start to read.
“Um. What are you doing?”
I don’t look up from the magazine when I answer. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Sitting. Reading. Staying.”
I say drily, “Your powers of observation are astonishing.”
Silence follows, but I know it will be short. And I’m right.
“Declan?”
“Aye, lass?”
“Don’t you have important gangster things you should be out doing? Murdering your enemies and whatnot? Skulking around dark alleyways?”
“Aye, lass.” I turn the page.
“So…”
“If anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me. I don’t trust that idiotic fifteen-year-old doctor.”
“Are you talking about the brain surgeon?”
“Aye. Looks like he got his medical license from a Cracker Jack box.”
Sloane starts to laugh. The sound is soft and surprisingly sweet. Even more surprising is how much I like hearing it.
“Are you sure you’re only forty-two? Cracker Jacks are like from my dad’s era.”
I lower the magazine and look at her. “You remembered how old I said I was.”
“I remember everything you’ve said.”
When I raise my brows, her pale cheeks flush with color.
“Oh, shut up.”
“You first.”
She sighs in aggravation and rolls onto her side, her back facing me. I go back to my magazine.
After a five-minute pause where I can almost hear her internal struggle, she rolls over and pronounces, “This is very strange. You know that, right?”
I respond without looking up from the magazine, because I know it annoys her. “Which part?”
“All the parts. The whole thing! Me, you, kidnapping, car chases, hematomas, imminent death, hello?”
“It’s probably best not to get too excited, lass. We don’t want you bursting any more brain vessels.”
“Are you…are you laughing at me?”
I say mildly, “Why, would your Teflon ego be hurt if I were?”
Another five minutes of silent seething passes before she can’t stand it anymore. She sits up in bed. “Declan!”
I glance at her. “Mmm?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Holding her gaze, I say, “Protecting you. Go to sleep.”
She opens her mouth, but closes it when—a miracle—she can’t find anything to say. Lying back against the pillows, she pulls the sheets up under her nose and looks at me with wide eyes.
It’s disarmingly adorable. I wonder if she practices this stuff in front of a mirror.
“Declan?”
“For fuck’s sake, lass, just ask the question. Don’t say my name every time first.”
She mutters, “So many rules.”
I snap the magazine instead of her neck and go back to reading.
“I was just wondering if you could tell me a story.”
I cut my gaze to hers.
Her voice comes out small. “To help me sleep.”
When I narrow my eyes in suspicion, she says, “Please?”
“Whatever kind of game this is, I’m not playing.”
After a moment, she whispers, “Okay,” and rolls onto her side again, tucking her legs up to her chin so she’s in a ball. A small, pathetic-looking ball.
I toss the magazine to the bedside table, wishing I hadn’t given up on religion years ago. Now would be a good time to pray for god to kill me and save me from this misery.
Heaving a sigh, I begin. “Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived…” I glance at the back of her head. “A princess.”
Sloane turns slightly, listening. I continue.
“A terribly homely princess, with buck teeth, facial hair, and a large hump on her back. She looked like a wee camel, in fact.”
She mutters, “Walt Disney, you’re not.”
“Am I telling this, or are you going to keep interrupting me?”
A grumble of discontent is my answer.