The bruiser delivered a right hook.
Oliver swore, then laughed. “If you don’t believe me, ask his son. This man suffers from dementia and his cancer treatments have muddled his thoughts even more. His own son said so the first time this asshole mistook Nick for his grandfather.”
Kayla saw one of the men look uncertainly at the others. When the rest remained resolute, he clenched his jaw and glared at Oliver.
Great. They all were either sheep incapable of thinking for themselves or were simply too greedy to pass up whatever paycheck they would receive for being here.
The bruiser hit Oliver again, so hard his chair nearly tipped over.
Oliver grunted. A muscle in his swollen jaw tensed. “You can hit me all damn night,” he gritted. “It isn’t going to change the fact that Nick is just an ordinary guy.”
The old man looked over at Kayla. “What of the woman?”
Oliver tensed. “What about her?”
“She’s not ordinary,” the old man said. And the gleam in his pale blue eyes as they met hers sent a chill coursing through her.
Oliver snorted. “How do you figure that?”
The old man moved in her direction, his steps slow and careful. The knobby knuckles on his hand whitened as he gripped the head of his cane. “I saw pictures of her car in the aftermath of her accident. They had to use the Jaws of Life to extract her. And I saw the blood on the sheet that draped her in the hospital as Nicolas and the others rolled her out of the elevator. There’s no way in hell she came away from that with just a broken arm and a few bruises.”
Kayla held his gaze, unable to look away from the avarice it reflected.
Oliver snorted. “Ever hear of airbags?”
“She isn’t even wearing the cast.” The old man gave her a greedy once-over. “So she clearly heals quickly.” He stopped before her. And though he spoke to Oliver, he didn’t look away from Kayla. “If you won’t tell me what I want to know, she will.”
Kayla clamped her lips together in a mutinous line.
The old man smiled. “One way or another.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Send Marcy in.”
One of the men spoke into a walkie attached to his shoulder.
Kayla shared an uneasy look with Oliver.
A door on one side of the room—the only entrance and exit she could see—opened, admitting a stern-faced, heavyset woman carrying a kit.
The door swung shut behind her. The thick heels of her shoes clunked on the floor as she crossed to stand beside the old man.
She nodded at Kayla. “Is this her?”
“Yes.”
She crouched down, set her kit on the floor, and opened it.
Kayla’s nerves rattled when the woman drew on vinyl gloves.
“What are you doing?” Oliver asked.
The bruiser hit him. “That’s none of your concern.”
The woman wrapped a rubber tie tightly around Kayla’s upper arm.
Kayla strained against her wrist restraints. “What are you doing?”
The woman said nothing as she tore open a moist towelette and swabbed the bend of Kayla’s elbow. She didn’t meet Kayla’s gaze when she drew out the kind of needle used to draw blood.
Kayla moved her elbow from side to side, avoiding the needle. When that seemed unlikely to deter the woman, she braced her feet on the floor and shoved her chair back.
The old man swore. “Nelson!”
One of the four silent men in the distance strode forward and moved around to stand behind Kayla. Leaning down over her, he gripped her forearm and biceps to hold her arm still. His body kept the chair from moving, his grasp on her arm so tight it would leave bruises.
The woman palpated the bend of Kayla’s arm with two fingers, then inserted the needle. As soon as she connected a vial to the tubing attached to it, blood slithered through the needle and down the tubing to collect in it.
Kayla’s doctor’s office drew blood for routine tests every year during her annual physical exam. But they never filled more than five vials.
This woman took more, then filled a bag as if Kayla were donating blood.
All the while, Oliver cursed and threatened and suffered more punishing blows from the bruiser.
The old man smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth. “Whatever’s different about her, whatever Nick has passed on to her, we’ll find in her blood.”
“You aren’t going to find anything, you crazy fuck!” Oliver shouted, then shifted his gaze to the woman. “And any medical personnel who work for you will lose their licenses and face criminal charges once their part becomes known.”
The woman glanced at the old man.
He shook his head. “It’s all bullshit. Go ahead.”
The woman drew out a large self-adhesive bandage about the size of the knee bandages Kayla had kept on hand when Becca used to spend hours running around on the playground, learning to skate, or riding her bike. Carefully removing the paper backing, she applied it to the bend of Kayla’s arm above the puncture. Then she packed everything away in her kit, rose, and left.
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver suddenly began to laugh.
He laughed and laughed as if someone had just told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
The old man glared at him. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s fucking hilarious,” Oliver responded around a chuckle. “The guys are going to bust a gut laughing when they find out about this.”
“No one is going to find out,” the old man stated, his voice cold and sure.
But Oliver shook his head. “Oh, someone will find out.” His tone added You’re kidding yourself if you think they won’t. “Because the joke is on you. I’m in the witness protection program, dumbass. You think the feds won’t come knocking on your door when I don’t check in?”
The men in the distance exchanged looks.
The old man scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“You should’ve done your homework. Not only would it have confirmed that Nick isn’t who you think he is, it would’ve revealed that I’m not who you think I am either… if you’d dug deeply enough. You think I’m just Nick’s roommate? His personal assistant? You think I just order his art supplies and help him sell his paintings? Try to arrange showings that will get his career as an artist off the ground so he can ditch his security gig? You think it’s just coincidence that they placed me with a man who is well-schooled in hand-to-hand tactical fighting?”
“Who placed you?”
“The feds.” Oliver laughed again and spat blood. “I’m of no further use to them if I die, so they found me a really good babysitter. If anything happens to me, you’re done. That’s what’s so fucking funny. All your assets will be frozen, your passport will be confiscated, and you’ll spend the rest of your short life in jail because you went after Nick and got me instead. And I’m not talking about the bullshit sissy jail they send rich men to when they fuck people over and steal millions or billions. I mean the jail in which you’ll become your fellow inmates’ punching bag and find yourself some guy’s girlfriend until the cancer kills you… if the nightly ass-poundings don’t kill you first.”