Hunted. Cynthia Eden
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locked his hands around her shoulders and pushed her back down. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Yes, I am going someplace. I’m getting out of here. Because I don’t like hospitals. I don’t like getting poked and prodded, and since nothing is wrong with me, there’s no reason I can’t just walk right out of that door.”
There was more to it than that. She had a very specific reason for not liking hospitals. Once, she’d spent far too much time in a hospital. She’d grown to hate those white walls and the scent of antiseptic. That scent was like death to her.
He glanced at the doctor.
“She needs someone to stay with her,” Dr. Abernathy said. “In case she has any issues—blurred vision, slurred speech, convulsions...”
Oh, yes, that lovely list again. “I’ll bunk with my camerawoman. Katrina can make sure I’m okay.” Speaking of Katrina, the woman was probably freaking out. Casey needed to talk with her immediately but no one had let her have a phone.
Not helpful.
“If I make sure she isn’t alone,” Josh said, his hands still around her shoulders, “will she be able to leave?”
Dr. Abernathy nodded. “Yes, but if she displays any of those symptoms, she has to return to the hospital right away.”
He nodded. “Done.”
Done?
“I’ll get an orderly to help Ms. Quinn to the car,” Dr. Abernathy stated briskly. “Patient pickup is located at the front side of the building—”
“And that side is covered by reporters. I’ll be getting Casey out, don’t worry about that.”
The doctor blinked. “Uh, right. Okay, then. I’ll go prepare the discharge paperwork.” She exited the room. Josh didn’t move.
Casey stared up at him. “Safe house?”
“Yes, it’s a place we put victims or potential witnesses so we can be sure that—”
“I know what a safe house is,” she said. “But since when am I going to one?”
“Since you escaped a killer?”
“Josh—”
“I’m afraid you’re being taken into protective custody for the time being.” His hands slid away from her. He turned and paced toward the door—and he picked up a small duffel bag that she hadn’t even noticed before. “And while you’re under protective custody, I have to ask that you refrain from speaking with reporters.”
“I am a reporter.”
He brought the bag to her. She glanced inside and relief filled her. Clothes. The guy had stopped and picked up some of her clothes. “I could kiss you,” she mumbled.
“If you want...”
Her gaze jerked up to his.
He stared at her. The tension between them mounted. She hadn’t even been thinking when she’d spoken. It had just been an expression but now...
She swallowed. “You’re not...you’re not like other FBI agents, are you?”
“You’ve met a lot of us?”
“My fair share.” She felt too exposed. Being in front of him, just that thin gown covering her skin, made her feel too vulnerable. “Side effect of my job, you know? I tend to cross paths with the authorities a lot.” She was rambling. Casey clamped her lips shut.
His hand lifted and he touched her cheek.
Casey flinched.
“Easy...”
“There is nothing easy about how I feel right now.” Her whole life was out of control.
His gaze was on her cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“The cut or the bruise?” Then she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Josh, get me out of here.”
“It matters.” His voice was rough, his gaze gleaming. “It matters one hell of a lot to me.” He stepped away. “Do you need help changing?”
Help... Ah, him? Seeing her naked? “No, I...have it.”
He pulled the curtain back into place.
“You’re just...standing there?” On the other side of that thin curtain?
“I can’t see you.”
She slid off the bed and dressed—slowly. She didn’t want to fall and have him rushing back in to pick her nearly naked self off the floor. After sliding into the underwear and bra, she put on jeans and pulled on a T-shirt. He’d even brought her some tennis shoes. He’d covered all the bases. What a guy.
“Casey?”
She left the gown on the bed. “I’m done.”
He shoved back the curtain. His gaze raked her.
Her hands twisted. “So...a safe house, huh?” Crap. She’d said that before. “Just how long will I be staying there?”
He caught one of her twisting hands in his and led her to the door. “I don’t know yet.”
That wasn’t good. Not knowing implied it could be days. Weeks? No, absolutely not. She had a job. She had a story to cover.
I am the story. Her stomach twisted.
“Who’ll be staying with me?” They were walking down the polished hallway of the hospital. He kept his grip on her hand and he stayed firmly at her side. He’d probably drop her at the safe house and vanish. After all, his work was in the water—
“For the time being, I am.”
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