Page 46 of Dirty Deeds

“That was brutal,” Ro remarks as we reach the visitor relations desk. “Do you know what room Captain Cunt is in?”

The guard behind the desk raises an eyebrow.

“She means Brent Matthews,” I explain, handing him my license. The guard takes my license but as soon as he types Brent’s name into the database, he hands it back to me and picks up the phone.

“What’s happening? Isn’t this the part where you give her a little badge, and send her on her way?”

“Mr. Matthews is on a secured floor. He’s not accepting visitors other than his staff at this time.”

“What a pussy,” Ro mutters, earning her another wayward glance from the guard.

“I’m his ex-wife. I’m sure I’m on the list. If not call his handlers, they’ll approve my visit.”

He stares at me for a beat, the phone pressed to his ear, then he glances behind me. I turn my head, following his line of vision to see my face plastered on the television screen in the waiting room. There is no volume, but the ticker on the bottom readsBrent Matthews’ ex-wife arrives at the hospital.

Jesus Christ, they’re quick.

I roll my eyes and bring my attention back to the guard. He speaks quietly into the phone then hangs up and points to the camera propped on top of the desk, instructing me to remove my sunglasses and stand in front of the lens. Once he snaps the picture, he prints me a pass and informs me someone will be down to escort me to Brent’s room.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Ro says, giving my forearm a squeeze. “Give the bastard hell.”

Suddenly, Brent’s campaign manager, Elliot, emerges from the elevator, a policeman in tow. His eyes lock with mine but I can’t read his expression.

“Danica,” he greets, his tone curt. “It’s a good thing you’re here. We hired a new publicist who is meeting with Brent right now before he goes into surgery.”

“Surgery?”

“To repair his eye socket. Right now, they are saying his vision shouldn’t be compromised, but we have a specialist on deck.” He jams his thumb against the elevator button, and I eye the cop behind me.

“What’s with all the heavy security? Is it because of the attack on Guthrie or the press?”

The elevator doors open, and Elliot gives me room to enter first. Once we’re inside and he’s pressed the button for Brent’s room, he turns back to me.

“Mr. Scotto was arraigned and released on bail. We are taking all the necessary precautions.” I gawk at him for a moment.

“You can’t be serious. What exactly did Brent tell you happened because I can assure you he doesn’t need any protection from the man he hired to fix our boat last year.”

“Really? Tell that to the surgeon repairing his eye socket today.”

Fuming, I smack my lips together and don’t say another word. The elevator opens on the fifth floor, and I follow Elliot to Brent’s room where another cop stands outside. Talk about overkill. The two cops exchange pleasantries as Elliot opens the door for me.

Drawing in a deep breath, I remove the sunglasses from my face and drop them into my oversized purse. As soon as I step into the room, my eyes zero in on Brent. Laid up in a hospital bed, with a bandage across his eye and bruises marring his face, he looks every bit the role of the victim. His one good eye connects with mine and he quickly turns to the blonde fiddling with his chart at the side of his bed.

“Can you raise the bed, please?”

The nurse turns to me, her eyes locking with mine.

“You must be Mrs. Matthews,” she says. Keeping her gaze pinned to me, she pushes the controls on the side of the bed, effectively raising it into sitting position. “I’m Mr. Matthews’ nurse, Celeste. I’m here until seven if you or he needs anything.”

Realization hits me as she turns back to Brent.

Once he is sitting upright, she grabs the chart and starts for the door, pausing when she reaches me. “Just hit the call button,” she whispers.

I offer her my thanks and she leaves the room. Elliot, however, does not.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says, his tone sounds a whole lot more even-keeled than the night of the fundraiser. Brent has always been a master at charisma and charm. If the bid for congress doesn’t work out, he should try his luck at acting.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the smart retort from flying out of my mouth. That’s when I notice the three other people in the room. Three men dressed in ill-fitting suits that I’ve never seen before all stare back at me with narrowed expressions on their face.

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