Indivisible (Steel Talons Motorcycle Club Book 3) (8 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Geez, woman, have you slept at all?” Bridgette asked playfully, as she walked into Jim’s house.

Susan simply shook her head where it rested in her hands on the table, her hair stringy from running her fingers through it all night, beside herself with worry. She had a final to take, but she couldn’t even dream of going to class having not heard from Jim. In a voice that sounded distant and far too calm to her own ears, Susan said, “He was supposed to be home eight hours ago.”

Bridgette frowned at her, and Susan could barely see through her swollen eyes, which were burning and probably bloodshot. “Mr. Wade? Wasn’t he headed through the Pass last night? He probably got caught in the storm and pulled over somewhere to wait it out.”

Susan would like to think so, but she had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. “He would have called.”

“There are a lot of spots out there where you lose signal. I think you might be overreacting. Even if he’s not in a place that’s normally dead, the storm could have taken out some of the towers and satellites.”

Susan nodded, but somehow, she didn’t believe it. “I suppose so.”

“How’s your father this morning?” Bridgette asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject, her voice bright and cheerful.

Susan sniffled, crying without tears. Those had dried out hours ago. “He’s good. We read some more of Lonesome Dove. I hope you don’t mind. Plus, he’s sleeping soundly this morning.”

“Of course, I don’t mind. You’re his daughter.” Rather than head to the bedroom, Bridgette sat across from her, reaching out and taking one of Susan’s hands in hers comfortingly. “I’m sure Mr. Wade is fine, Susan. Just give him a couple of hours. I bet you’ll hear from him, and you’ll sleep like a baby after your exam.”

Susan knew she had to go. It was a vital exam and under normal circumstances she’d ace it and bring her grades up significantly. However, if she went now in her state of anxiety and near panic, she would probably fail miserably. Rather than answer Bridgette, she asked, “How did you know his favorite?”

“Whose favorite?” she asked sounding confused.

“My father’s. How did you know that Lonesome Dove was his favorite book?” For some reason, Susan felt she had to know. After all, she would never have guessed, and she didn’t think her mother even realized that her dad liked to read. It was so utterly strange to her that someone they’d met only 48 hours ago would know something like that.

Bridgette smiled congenially. “I have a sense about people. I don’t know if it’s an ability to see auras or just to feel their energy, but things like that happen a lot.” She looked away. “He didn’t tell me it was his favorite, though. I didn’t know that. I just had a sense that he had read it and loved it, and that it would be soothing and healing to him.”

She held up a finger, as if suddenly remembering something. “I would ask if you wanted the good news or the bad news, but they’re one and the same in this case.”

Coming out of her funk a little and trying to put faith in the fact that Bridgette was right, Susan sat up a little straighter. “What is it?”

“I got the results from your father’s blood test.” She reached into her bag, which was more like a tote than a purse, and pulled out a sheet of paper that she slid across to Susan. Not having learned to really read the technical results like this yet, Susan frowned and waited for an explanation. “The bad news—and the good news—is that based on the dosages of Dilaudid that your father should have been receiving, that screen shows that the buildup in his bloodstream is about four times what it should be. In fact, my contact tells me that he’s an incredibly strong, lucky man to still be alive with his liver failure. It looks like he’s been overdosed almost from the day he showed up at the hospital, and these are fatal levels.”

The rage and hatred that flowed through Susan’s veins snapped her out of it completely, and she stood, pacing the floor with the sheet in her hand. “I don’t know what to make of this,” she said, talking as much to herself as to Bridgette. “Is this just a common practice by lazy, evil people? Or was this a personal hit against my dad by someone who feels like he’s an abomination? Or could it be that someone really has it in for me? Hell, it could be random, or an Angel of Death excuse.”

“I don’t know, Susan. The problem is, this would have been a consistent overdose from every caretaker who entered his room. It was a concentrated effort of some kind.” Bridgette sounded as personally affronted as Susan felt, and it was good to have more than one indignant individual working with her.

Making up her mind, Susan slammed the paper on the table. “Put that somewhere safe. I’m going to shower and go take my test. Then, I’m going to put out an APB if I haven’t heard from Jim. Then, while I wait for the police to hunt him down and make sure he’s safe, I’m going to go to work, get with my partner, and call this lawyer. I want these people to fry.”

“Me, too, sweetheart,” she heard the nurse mutter, as she closed the door to Jim’s bedroom and hurried for the shower.

She made it to class with seconds to spare, and for the next hour and a half, Susan put everything out of her mind except the test. When she turned it in, she was confident and even smiled at her professor for the very first time. It wasn’t until she got out to her car, checked her phone—which wasn’t allowed in class on exam days—and found not a word from Jim that the sense of doom swept over her again.

A knock on her car window made her jump, and she gazed up into Boxer’s worried face. That only made her fears grow exponentially. She didn’t bother to roll down the window, instead stepping out of the car. “What happened?” she asked in a clipped tone.

Boxer’s jaw dropped. “That’s kind of why I was looking for you. The nurse at Jim’s house said I’d find you here. Jim didn’t come home last night?”

Susan stared at Boxer, feeling like she was going to throw up at any moment. “Wasn’t he with you? What the hell happened that you lost him?”

Boxer’s shameful blush had Susan ready to faint. “It was getting cold, and he signaled he was pulling over and would catch up. I thought he was just going to button up or whatever. I hung back a little so he could catch me and we could catch the group, but he didn’t show up, so I had the others pull over. We went back to look, all the way to the spot where he’d broken off, but there was no sign of him anywhere. I called his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. There were no cops or ambulances or anything, either. We thought he must’ve stopped and stayed somewhere, lost his signal; but, we still haven’t heard from him.”

Susan uttered a vile curse. “Come on, we’re going back to Jim’s, and we’re going to call every damn hospital and police station within twenty miles of the Pass, looking for him.” She pointed at Boxer accusingly. “I’m not saying this is your fault because it’s not. You did what you were supposed to do. But it’s your responsibility to help me, so call your little playmates and tell them you won’t be back until we find Jim.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Boxer’s long strides were no match for Susan’s flat-out sprint, as she passed him on the way into the emergency room entrance at Snoqualmie Valley Hospital. She rushed to the registrar, past the people waiting to check in and demanded, “I need to know where to find Jim Wade.”

The woman started to argue, likely ready to tell her to wait her turn, but something in Susan’s eyes must have told the woman that this was serious and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Typing swiftly, the woman told her, “Third floor, room 327. Take the elevator on the right!” she called, but Susan was already running with Boxer at her heels.

On the drive up, Susan had called to check on her father, who had been beside himself with worry when he heard about the accident. He sounded much better, and that gave her a sense of relief. She couldn’t stand to be worried about both of her men right now. Boxer had spoken to Ari, who had shouted a great many things she couldn’t understand; but, she knew he was angry from the sound of his voice.

When he’d hung up, he told Susan in a gruff tone, “Ari says the state patrol just called a few minutes ago with information about bullets in the ditch where Jim was found. They’re running ballistics and, based on something that Jim mumbled to the EMTs on the scene, as well as a witness statement, they’re having people sent to the Diablos’ camp and checking out all their guns.”

Susan had glared at Boxer. “You tell me right now, big guy, if this was a purposeful hit or a random act. And you tell me why it happened. Not details, just the reason that these Diablos would be coming after Jim again.”

“Well, I’m sure they still believe that Jim shot their man. Besides that, we sort of broke into their territory without warning, and they’re a little sore about it. Jim tried to make it right, but Ari got all puffed up and ruined the whole deal. Let’s just say we’re still trying to work things out, and it looks like someone on the other side didn’t have faith we’d make it all good.” Boxer’s eyes were clouded with worry, grief, and guilt, and Susan backed off.

Now, as they ran side by side down the hall toward Room 327, Susan was too concerned about Jim to even pay the big man a whole lot of attention. She burst into the room and sucked in a breath. Jim looked like he’d been to hell and back and had fought every demon and batted off every tortured soul going both ways.

His right leg was casted all the way to mid-thigh, and above that, he was heavily bandaged from his hip to just inches below his armpit. His right arm didn’t look too worse for the wear, mostly bruised but not torn up with road burn. His face was bruised, as well. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, which had been shaved, and there was a large spot of blood on the right side of it.

Not waiting to talk to a doctor, she grabbed his chart from the door and scanned it, muttering aloud for Boxer’s benefit. “Compound fractures of the tibia and fibula, dislocated kneecap, severe skin damage from road burn, two fractured ribs, multiple contusions on his right arm but no breaks, the shoulder dislocated, another concussion, and a severe contusion to his right temple. He was also going into hypothermia when he came in, and he was unconscious until around 9:30 this morning.”

She shook her head. It could have been worse; she didn’t see anything about internal bleeding, but as Jim’s eyelids blinked apart, Susan felt his pain, radiating from the glassy orbs beneath. He forced a smile that looked agonizing and quipped in a hoarse voice, “Wow, I don’t know if I’m in heaven or hell. There’s an angel in front of me, but her shadow looks like the devil himself.”

“Stop joking, asshole,” Boxer grumped behind Susan, obviously not finding any more humor in the situation than she did. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t want to repeat myself again. I just got through giving a statement to the police. Right now, I want a kiss from the angel to show me I’m in a good place and not headed down below.”

Gently, Susan touched his cheeks, placing a soft, chaste kiss on his lips but filling it with all her pent up fears and worry. Softly, she told him, “Do what the big guy says. Stop farting around and give me the rundown.”

His smile faded, and he winced, his whole body tensing. “These damn people don’t give you enough pain meds. This shit wears off every five minutes, and my leg feels like someone’s shoved an elephant inside it and the damn animal’s throwing a fit and trying to break its way out.” Locking eyes with Susan for the first time since she’d come into the room, he told her in a low raspy voice, “It was starting to rain, and I couldn’t catch up with the rest of the crew. I was about to do what you asked and stop somewhere for the night, send Boxer here a text; but, there was a honk, and I turned around to look. I couldn’t tell the difference between the flash of lightning and the flash of the gunshot, but it hit my back tire, and I went skidding.

“The bike was on my leg, and there was another shot…” He trailed off, looking haunted. “I couldn’t call you, Susan, and I’m sorry.”

She threw her arms around him. “I’m not angry, Jim. I’m just glad you’re here, and for the most part, alright.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jim clung to Susan like a lifeline. He’d just realized how close he’d come to death in so many ways. The shot that had hit the phone, the accident on the road, the freezing rain, and the head injury he knew he’d suffered could all have killed him. He didn’t want to die; he had too much to live for. Fighting back tears, he exchanged a look with Boxer over Susan’s head, and Boxer gave him a grin, tapping his closed fist to his heart in a salute before leaving the room.

“Susan?” Jim’s throat was killing him, and he thought he’d heard one of the nurses talking about IV antibiotics because he’d likely picked up pneumonia from his time in the frozen rain. She looked up at him with streaks on her cheeks from tears, and he saw how tired and haunted she looked. “I’m sorry. I know you have a lot to deal with, and—”

She put a finger over his lips to silence him. “I was worried sick all night, Jim. I don’t want apologies. I want to revel in the fact that you’re alive and here with me right now.” She ran her fingertips over his face in the gentlest of caresses, careful not to touch the bandages on his now bald head. “I love you, Jim. I don’t care what it takes. I want the bastard who shot at you taken out of the picture.”

Jim was surprised but pleased at her adamant statement. “Well, that’s being taken care of as we speak.” He looked away briefly and then met her eyes again. “The second shot would have killed me, but it hit my phone in my pocket. That’s why I couldn’t call. My phone was destroyed, and all my contacts are stored there. I don’t have a single damn phone number memorized.”

She turned green, and Jim was afraid she was going to be sick. “The bullet hit your phone? Over your heart?”

He nodded. “These guys have been practicing drive-by shooting for years. They have great aim, which apparently came in handy this time.” He reached up with his left hand, the only part of his body that didn’t hurt, and brushed her wild hair back from her face. “The cops have my phone, the bullets, and my back tire. They’re headed to Salem for the Diablos Blancos and Rechoncho, who was the one with the gun. He’s their president, and as soon as they match it all to his gun, he’s getting life. His whole club will go down because I can guarantee that those sons of bitches are in possession of large quantities of cocaine and heroin. You never have to worry about them coming for me again.”

“Jim, tell me you don’t run drugs. Boxer mentioned some sort of territory dispute.” She sounded concerned but not angry.

“No, I don’t. My club has nothing to do with that stuff. However, these guys want a piece of everything, so any business we do in their territory without consent pisses them off. That’s why they tried to come after us in that parking lot.” He didn’t want to get any more specific, knowing that Susan didn’t want to know everything, so he changed the subject, needing to think about something other than his third near-death experience in recent history. “How’s your father doing? I’m sorry you had to leave him today.”

A funny look came over her, and Jim forgot his pain, too curious now to feel the aches and sharp stings all over his body. “He’s actually a lot better, and I adore Bridgette. I think the two of us have already bonded. We’ll talk more about all that when you’re not covered in injuries and you have your head on straight again—not that I can count on that lasting with your track record.”

He touched the tip of her nose and did his best to lean forward and kiss her. “I was clear-headed when I asked you to move in, you know.”

She smirked. “Yes, and now you’re going to be clean-headed for a while, too, it would seem.”

Jim made a face in disgust. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll be sporting the Boxer look with a handkerchief covering the reflective surface until it grows back.” He shook his head, instantly regretting it. “My head isn’t shaped well to be bald.” He searched her face, finding no hesitation, no disappointment, and no disapproval, and that warmed his heart. Maybe she was going to survive this lifestyle after all. Jim looked forward to it.