Play to Win (7 page)

“Sage.”

Parker's voice startled me. I thought he'd been asleep.

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

Thinking he was in pain and needed something, I jumped to obey. “What is it? Do you hurt?”

“No. I'm fine. But you look like the proverbial princess and the pea, trying to sleep in that chair. Here. There's plenty of room. Climb in.”

I eyed the space next to him in the bed that he indicated. Even small, it looked decidedly more appealing than the chair, and not just because it was next to Parker.

I shucked my shoes and climbed in, being careful of his cords and monitors, though they were all on his other side.

He slid an arm around my shoulders and tucked me into his side. A deep sigh eased from me and I didn't resist the temptation to rest my arm across his abdomen and snuggle closer.

In that quiet moment, it hit me, and tears began leaking from my eyes. I didn't sob, thank God, but neither could I halt the flow dripping down my cheeks and onto Parker's chest.

“What's the matter?” he asked, his fingers brushing my wet cheek.

I had to swallow—twice—before I could speak.

“I nearly lost my dad today,” I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. “Nearly lost you. A few seconds' slower reaction time from you and you'd be—” I couldn't finish.

His arm squeezed me tighter.

“Shh. It's all right. I'm fine and your dad will be fine. I promise. No one died and no one's going to die.”

His word choice made me wonder for a moment, then I shrugged it off. I was too relieved that we were all okay to worry about it. He was on painkillers and likely didn't know what the heck he was saying.

I felt him press his lips to the top of my head and my eyes slipped closed. I savored the feel of his skin, the sound of his heart beating strong under my ear, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Before I knew it, I was once again out like a light.

Voices woke me and I cracked my eyes open against much brighter light than I would have wished for. My head was hurting from too little sleep and it took a fraction of a second longer than normal for me to remember where I was and what had happened.

I was in bed with Parker, who'd been shot.

My eyes flew open and I tried to sit up, but Parker's hand tightened on me, keeping me in place.

“The doctor will be in to discharge me this morning, correct?” he asked the nurse who was busy removing his IV, and looking none too happy about it.

“He'll be in to see you, yes,” she said. “Though whether or not he'll discharge you is up to him—”

“I'm sure we'll work something out,” Parker interrupted, giving her a smile I'd seen work on weaker women, and it didn't fail now. She mustered a small smile in return, her displeasure at his demanding to be discharged softening.

After she left, I twisted to look up a Parker. “Discharge?” I didn't think I had to say any more and also didn't want to because,
hello
—morning breath.

“No way I'm staying in here any longer than I have to,” he said, his fingers trailing through my hair. “And your mom stopped in earlier. I told her I'd send you her way once you woke.”

Alarm shot through me. “My dad—”

“Is fine,” he interrupted. “He's doing well and is stable. Your mom went to the cafeteria for some breakfast. Why don't you go join her while I deal with the doctor?”

Coffee sounded better than air at the moment, so I just nodded. This time he let me slide out of bed and I padded on bare feet to the bathroom, where the image in the mirror made me wince. My makeup was long gone, save for the morning-after raccoon-eye thing I had going on, thanks to too many tears mixing with my non-waterproof mascara.

After washing my face and doing all the necessary things one did in the bathroom, I combed my fingers through my hair the best I could and came back out. Parker looked better than any man should, especially after what he'd gone through. But other than the bandages and him looking more tired than usual, he could've been recovering from a late night out with the guys rather than a bullet wound.

“Do you want anything?” I asked.

“Coffee.”

I didn't know if he was supposed to have coffee, but I nodded anyway. I could ask the nurse or something.

My mom was sitting by herself in the cafeteria, a plate of barely touched food in front of her, and sipping from a Styrofoam cup. She was staring off into space, but focused on me as I sat in one of the three empty chairs at the table.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I wasn't shot at last night.” Her hand reached to grasp mine, holding on tightly. “But my baby girl was.”

“I'm fine, Mom.” I squeezed back. The bones in her hand felt fragile and delicate. “How's Dad?”

Her face clouded. “He did well and the surgeon was very thorough. But it was quite serious and they have him in an induced coma at the moment.”

My stomach sank. I knew that had been a possibility, but to hear that I wouldn't be able to talk to my dad for who knew how long was a blow.

We sat in silence, both of us absorbing our new reality. Dad was our rock. He'd always seemed such a force of nature, unstoppable. Now someone had hurt him, nearly killed him, and I felt the anger rising inside again. The feeling became more familiar each time I felt it, like greeting an old friend.

“Can we see him?”

She nodded. “But you should eat something. You look dead on your feet.” She winced at her word choice, but our gazes caught and I cracked a smile.

“Mom being less than tactful? What's the world coming to?” I teased lightly.

Mom grimaced. “Yes, I know. Obviously, I need more coffee.”

We both rose and headed for the coffee machine. I got a cup for myself and one for Parker, adding a banana and a granola bar. He might be hungry, too.

The hospital was bustling with early morning activity and the changing of shifts as we headed back upstairs to the ICU. The sight of my dad in the bed had tears leaking from my eyes again.

“So many machines…” I murmured, looking with dismay at how my dad was surrounded.

My mom and I held tightly to each other's hands, then moved forward by mutual agreement to flank the bed.

“The doctor should be making his morning rounds soon,” she said quietly. “He'll be able to tell us more.”

About ten minutes later, the doctor showed, going through what he'd told my mom last night for my benefit. It helped to talk to him and I was grateful for medical professionals. To him, Dad was doing really well so the doctor was positive and optimistic about his recovery. Whereas to us, he looked awful and gravely ill. Which he still was, but he'd get better, and that's what the doc wanted us to focus on.

Drawing us out of the room and into the hallway, he continued: “There is plenty of research that says a person in a coma can be aware of their surroundings and can hear and even understand when people talk to them. So I'd encourage you to talk to him as you would normally. Tell him what you're doing and normal, everyday stuff. Not anything that might cause him concern, you understand.”

Mom and I both nodded. I'd heard that before, too.

“It's important that you don't wear yourself out, being here all the time,” the doctor said. “It's likely he'll be in this state for a few weeks as he heals, and you getting sick won't help that. So go home, pack a bag, maybe get a hotel close by. Take turns, get other people he interacts with on a daily basis in here to talk to him, too. It's a marathon, not a sprint.”

The wheels were already turning in my brain of logistics and things to do and how we could get Dad what he needed, and my mom as well. The last thing I needed was her getting ill on top of everything.

Shultz and Charlie walked up for the tail end of the conversation and caught the doctor's last bit of instructions. Shultz and I glanced at each other in mutual understanding. He'd help me take care of Mom and watch over her so she didn't overdo it.

“I'm going to go check on Parker,” I said. “Mom, why don't you go home and pack a bag, like the doctor said. Maybe get a nap before you come back.”

She nodded, but hesitated. “I know that's what I should do, but I hate to leave your dad alone.”

“I'll stay,” Charlie said. “Not a problem at all.”

I shot him a grateful look.

“Well…I guess it's all right then.” Mom cast one more look through the doorway to Dad, then walked with Shultz down the hallway toward the exit.

To my surprise, Parker was dressed when I got back to him.

“They're actually letting you leave?” I asked, watching dubiously as he put on his shoes.

“I'm fine. Just need something for the infection and some clean bandages.” He shot me a quick look before returning his attention to his shoes. “Though they said it might be a little worrisome, my living alone. If I passed out or something, I could hurt myself.”

Alarm shot through me. “Then you have to stay! You can't leave now. Just another couple of days—”

But he was already shaking his head. “No,” he cut me off. “I need to get back to work and I can't do that from a hospital bed.”

“Work can wait,” I tried again. He was shrugging on his jacket over his bloodstained shirt. “At least let me call Deirdre. Maybe she can come stay with you.” Deirdre was Parker's maid, of sorts. She always was around to tidy the apartment and cook his dinners, which were incredible.

“Didn't I tell you? She and Marco went away for the week. He's taking her to Italy.”

I was momentarily diverted. Marco was Parker's butcher and him dating Deirdre was a recent development—and incredibly juicy gossip.

“But they just started dating!” I said. “I can't believe she'd agree to a trip like that so soon.”

Parker shrugged, then a tiny wince flashed across his face. “She said something to me about it, that they weren't getting any younger and they got along really well. She seemed to be looking forward to it.”

Huh. Well, good for her then, I supposed. I had a slight pang inside that Deirdre—a grandma in her sixties with double-digit grandkids—was more able to take control of her life and go after what she wanted and what made her happy than
I
was.

There didn't seem to be any other answer. I certainly didn't want Parker by himself so soon after getting shot while protecting
me
. “I-I guess I could stay with you,” I offered, nearly afraid to utter the words. What if he turned me down? What if he didn't?

Parker finished tying his shoes and stood. “If you wouldn't mind, that would be great,” he said. “You don't have to play nursemaid. Just make sure I don't keel over.” His lips twisted in a smile that made my pulse triple. I'd forgotten how beautiful he was in the few weeks I'd not seen him on a daily basis. Or else my memory just couldn't do him justice.

“Sure.” I headed down the hallway, Parker just a step behind. “I just need to get some things from my apartment and I'll be over.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No,” I argued. “I'll take you home and get you settled, then I'll go.”

“I'll be fine and I'm sure it won't take long.”

We stood by the door to the hospital, at a standoff, and I frowned as I looked in his eyes. He seemed guileless, his face carefully blank—

And realization dawned. My lips thinned.

“It was a hit, wasn't it,” I said.

Parker frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night. It was a hit. Did Charlie come by and talk to you?” My fists were clenched at my sides as I waited for him to answer.

Parker's gaze was steady on mine as he studied me and several beats passed. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah. It was a hit.”

I
thought I'd been prepared for that information, but I wasn't. My veins seemed filled with ice and my knees grew weak.

Someone had deliberately tried to kill my dad.

I turned to head back into the hospital, but Parker caught my elbow, halting me.

“I need to go make sure Charlie has called our security people to guard my dad,” I said, trying to tug myself free.

“He's already done that,” he said.

I shot Parker a glare. “Why didn't he tell me? Why do
you
know someone tried to kill my dad and
I
don't?”

He hauled me closer to him with laughable ease. “Because your dad was just one of the targets,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You were the other.”

My mouth went dry and my eyes went wide, staring into the blue depths of Parker's. I didn't want to know that, didn't want to believe it. I'd had too many bad things happen to me lately and it hadn't occurred to me that going to work for my father would be a life-threatening decision.

“Sage, it's okay,” he said soothingly. “You're fine and you're going to stay that way.”

I wondered why he was talking to me as though reassuring a child, then I noticed my knees had nearly given out entirely and he'd wrapped his other hand around my arm, supporting most of my weight.

“I need a drink.” The words put some starch back in my spine and I straightened my clothes and patted my hair (as though anything other than a shower and blow dryer was going to save it at this point).

Parker signaled for a cab and once we'd climbed inside, directed the driver to my apartment.

“So is security covering my place, too?” I asked, staring out the window. That was going to be super fun. Men I didn't know watching my every move. And I wasn't even getting paid for it.

“No. I thought you'd be more comfortable with someone you knew.”

I turned to look at him. He raised an eyebrow. My jaw dropped.

“No.”
Please tell me I'm wrong.

“Don't sound so thrilled,” Parker said dryly.

“So that whole ‘Oh help me, I might keel over' was just a show to get me to stay over so you could keep an eye on me?”

He gave me a shameless smile.

And it would appear I'd been effectively outmaneuvered. “I don't want to insult your masculinity,” I said, “but wouldn't the fact that you have a
gunshot wound
somewhat impede your bodyguarding abilities?”

“My gun arm is just fine.”

I could tell by his tone that the discussion was over, not that I was terribly distraught at having to stay with him. I
was
worried about him and wanted to keep an eye on him. If he chose to see it as him protecting me, well then so much the better.

But I knew I needed to keep him at arm's length. I wasn't prepared to trust him again, especially now with Natalie back. I didn't believe that he still harbored feelings for Natalie, but with Ryker acting completely the opposite, I didn't want to muddy the waters between Parker and Ryker now that they'd patched things up.

The cab pulled up to my building and Parker handed him some money as we got out. I felt his eyes on my back as we went inside and was unsurprised when he plucked my keys from my hand and entered my apartment first.

“Stay here,” he said, leaving me by the door he closed and locked it behind me.

I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms over my chest. If he wanted to play alpha male bodyguard while still recovering from a gunshot wound, then he could be my guest.

Parker disappeared into the hallway that led to my bedroom, then was back in about five seconds flat.

“Let's go.”

There was no compromise in his voice, just a flat order that I instinctively wanted to obey. He pulled open the door and tugged my elbow, but sense prevailed and I planted my feet firmly on the floor.

“I need my clothes!” I'd been wearing the same bloodstained sundress for twenty-four hours and I wanted it
off
.

“I'll come back for them. Let's go.” He pulled again and I grabbed on to the door to halt my slow slide into the hallway.

The way he said it, how adamant he was, pricked my spidey sense, and I jerked away.

“Is someone in there?” I asked, suddenly afraid.

“No, no,” he said. “Let's just go.”

“What is it then? What's in there?” I stepped back out of his reach as he grabbed for me, then spun on my heel and headed for the bedroom. Had someone broken in? Taken anything?

“Sage, wait!”

He reached again for me but I evaded his grasp, stopping short in the doorway to my bedroom, my jaw agape.

I couldn't tell what it was, or what it had been, but there was a mutilated lump of fur in the middle of my blood-soaked bedspread.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Then abruptly it changed to my gut deciding to make an appearance. I bolted for the bathroom.

Parker muttered a curse but I was already slamming the door shut and kneeling next to the toilet. Good thing I'd only had coffee today.

Not that it seemed to matter to my stomach, as images of the blood pooling on my quilt ran through my mind. I'd gotten that linen set at Restoration Hardware. And it hadn't been cheap. And now some little furry thing's innards were all over it—

I heaved again and felt my hair pulled back away from my face. My humiliation was complete. My ex-boss was holding back my hair as I puked. I'd averted this particular awkwardness in New York when we'd gone there together and I'd imbibed too much booze one night. So much for my dignity, currently being flushed into the Chicago sewer system.

“I'm fine,” I managed, trying to catch my breath.

“Yeah, I can see that.” He held a washcloth by my face and I took it, wiping my mouth and lowering the toilet lid. I felt heat creep up my neck into my cheeks and knew I had to be turning bright red. Lovely. I'd match the blood on my bed, I thought somewhat hysterically.

Parker helped me to my feet. I was shaking from shock and from being sick. I didn't throw up delicately, but what with my father would say was “gusto.”

“Lean on me,” he said, sliding a supporting arm around my waist.

I could've pushed him away, but then I'd just fall on my ass, so I let him help me to the sink. Turning on the tap, I let the water run, splashing some on my face.

I'm okay. I can handle this.

“Of course you can,” Parker said, making me realize I'd been muttering aloud.

Looking up in the mirror, I saw him standing behind me. My cheeks were paper white, my hair a bedraggled mess, and my dress wrinkled and stained. Our eyes met and he stared calmly into the reflection, his hands cupping my shoulders.

I'd nearly lost him.

My face crumpled and the nervous breakdown I'd been holding back decided it was done waiting for the appropriate moment. It shoved its way forward and set up camp.

Ugly Crying
was right up there next to
Puking
on my list of Things No One Besides My Mother Needs To See. Not that I supposed it mattered when I was bawling so hard I couldn't catch my breath and snot was coming out of my nose.

Parker turned me around and pulled me into his uninjured side, his arms circling me and holding me tight. I'd been strong all night—taking care of my mom, Dad's business, and Parker's job—and it felt so good to lean on someone else. Especially when that someone else was Parker, alive and whole.

“It's all right,” he murmured in my ear, his hand sliding through my hair to cup my scalp. “You're going to be fine. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

The promise, spoken in that low raspy whisper of his, calmed me down. I didn't think for that moment, I just felt—his chest rising and falling with his breath, the fuzzy warm feeling inside me at what he'd said, the way his hand was large enough to cover half my head. It all felt so good and so…right.

Which was dangerous territory.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice thick from crying. I stepping out of his embrace, turning back to the sink and grabbing a towel to sponge off my face. “We should probably call the cops. Can you take care of that? I want to change and I'll be out.”

I could feel his gaze on me in the mirror, but I carefully avoided his eyes. I needed some distance. My feelings for Parker were too near the surface, and I didn't trust his feelings for me.

After a moment, he left the bathroom, softly closing the door behind him.

I let out a breath, my eyes sliding shut as I leaned against the sink, giving up the pretense. But I couldn't stay there, hiding in my bathroom. Parker was out there and there was still the dead furry thing to deal with.

I really hoped it wasn't old Mrs. Judson's cat. She lived a floor above me and that cat looked like it had been around since roughly the Eisenhower administration, just like Mrs. Judson.

When I came out of the bedroom, I'd changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I'd grabbed the first things I'd laid hands on in my closet, deliberately not looking at the bed.

I met Parker in the kitchen. He had my small suitcase sitting by the door.

“I packed some clothes for you and called the cops,” he said. “Ryker's on his way.”

Shit. “Why Ryker?”

“At this point, who else?”

He had a point, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

A set of uniformed cops led by Ryker in his plainclothes showed up not even ten minutes later.

“What, no Natalie?” I asked when he walked through the door. And yeah, I totally sounded bitchy.

Ryker shot me a look, which softened when he saw my swollen eyes and pale face. He stepped close to me.

“You okay?” he asked in an undertone.

His obvious concern took the bite out of my attitude.

I nodded, adding, “I'm not the one you should be worried about. Parker and my dad were the ones who got hurt. Someone is after my dad.”

“And you.”

I shot Parker a glare—the last thing I needed was him and Ryker teaming up to go all bodyguard on me.

“We're already running the bullets through ballistics,” Ryker said. “Hopefully, we'll pull up a match. In the meantime, someone broke into your apartment. You're not safe here alone.”

“She's going to stay at my place,” Parker oh-so-helpfully threw in.

Ryker's brows climbed to his hairline, but he didn't protest. He just nodded. “Okay then. I guess I'll know where to find you.”

He turned away but I snagged his sleeve. “What are you going to do about Natalie?” I asked.

“I'm going to help her find Jessie,” he said.

“Ryker…” I hesitated. “I don't think you should trust her.”

His face went blank. “It's really none of your business,” he said flatly. “I'm here on an investigation about you. You should focus on your own problems and not worry about mine.”

Well. That was a big ol' brush off and fuck you wrapped into one. It felt like I'd been slapped and for once in my life, I didn't know what to say. It hurt.

“Natalie already has you being a complete dick,” Parker growled. “You're older and supposedly wiser. Try to remember that.”

The CSI guy came out of my bedroom and tapped Ryker on the shoulder to show him something. An animal collar with a tag.

It
was
Mrs. Judson's cat—or
had been
—and I insisted on being the one to go tell her, which was even more awful than I'd feared.

She answered the door in her pink housecoat. I'd never seen her wear anything else. She was about a foot shorter than me, and no one had ever been able to ascertain her age, although she looked as if she could be anywhere from about seventy to ninety. I haltingly told her about her cat, trying to find the right words to explain without going into unnecessary gory detail.

“But…why would someone do that?” she asked, blinking her tear-filled eyes behind her thick glasses. “He was
my
cat. Not yours.”

“I don't know,” I said, which was perfectly true. Guilt crawled up my throat because obviously
I
was to blame. “But I promise, I'll get you another cat.”

“I don't want another cat,” she said. “I want Morris.” The tears she'd been blinking back slid down her cheeks then and she pressed her lips together and closed the door on me without another word. I didn't blame her. If someone had killed my pet, I'd be pretty angry, too.

“Well, that was just the capper on a real shitty twenty-four hours,” I said to Parker, who'd insisted on coming with me.

“C'mon,” he said, taking my hand. “Let's go.”

I didn't resist letting him lead me from the building. The cops were still busy in my apartment and I knew I'd have that lovely yellow police tape over my door yet again. I was becoming That Girl in the building.

“Have you seen that girl lately? You won't believe what's happened to her now.” “I heard that girl was in trouble again.”

I was the most excitement the building had seen since Prohibition.

Parker held the car door for me and I slid inside. I thought I should offer to drive since he was hurt, but one glance at the hard planes of his face and I knew that wouldn't be happening. I fought to stay awake, but was lulled to sleep before we even hit the freeway.

The slowing of the car woke me and I blinked a few times, trying to figure out where I was. I'd reached that state of exhaustion where I was confused and it took me a good ten seconds to process where I was and get back up to speed.

Clouds had rolled in and a cold rain was falling, making it seem later than it was even though it was only midafternoon. Parker pulled into the parking garage and it didn't take long for him to navigate to his designated spot. He grabbed my small suitcase from the back and took my elbow again as we headed for the elevator.