Page 64 of Rival for Rent

“Was he—he wasn’t—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. All I could do was silently beg.Please, please, please. Don’t let him be dead. Don’t take him away from me.

“Oh, he was in bad shape,” Maud said. “Breathing, of course. I checked for a pulse right away. But he wasn’t conscious, and it looked like he’d been lying there a while. Whatever was he doing out on the street in the middle of the night?”

She gave me a pointed look, like I should have the answer. Guilt squeezed my heart in a brutal vise.Guarding me. Helping me. Trying to keep me safe. And nearly getting himself killed for it.

“What did the EMTs say?” I asked.

“Oh, they didn’t know what happened either, but they said the police would surely have some ideas. They’re on the way, apparently. They’re going to investigate the crime scene. Imagine that—a crime scene, right here. The EMTs told me to wait for them.”

“Not about what happened,” I said quickly. “About Mason. Did they say if he’s going to be okay?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” Maud said, as if surprised I’d asked. “I heard one of them say to the other that he’d been beaten up pretty badly. They loaded him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. Didn’t stick around to chat.”

Beaten up. If he’d been shot, they would’ve said. If he were bleeding out, someone would’ve mentioned it. He was just beaten up.

“Did they say what hospital they were taking him to?”

“They might’ve said something about George Washington?”

“Not Georgetown?” I asked. “That’s closer.”

“Well, I don’t know. I might’ve misheard. Oh, I’m sorry, honey. You must be upset, and here I am keeping you standing out here. Why don’t you go inside and wait for the police? I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have time for that!” I snapped. “I have to go find Mason.”

I didn’t even change out of my pajamas. I just grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone, shoved my feet into old sneakers, and got in the rental car.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.

I repeated it like a spell. If Mason were dying, they would’ve taken him to Georgetown. Every second would’ve counted. They would’ve gone closer. Hehadto be okay. He was beaten up. He’d live.

But then why the siren?whispered the voice in the back of my mind.If there was no urgency, why the lights and noise?

I didn’t have any answers.

I skidded into the GW Hospital ER thirty minutes later, cursing all the red lights I’d hit on the way. I bolted up to the check-in desk, heart racing.

“Mason,” I panted. “Mason Clark. Was he taken here?”

I wanted to collapse against the counter, but I couldn’t relax. Not until I knew he was safe.

The intake nurse—her name tag said Irune—typed something, then nodded. “Looks like he came in a few minutes ago. They’ve got him back in one of the observation bays.”

Not surgery. That was good. If he were critical, they’d have rushed him somewhere else. Right?

“Can I see him?” I asked.

She frowned. “Are you family?”

“Yes,” I said instantly. “We’re brothers.”

Mason would probably mock me endlessly for saying that. But I didn’t care. I’d say whatever it took to get back there.

Irune’s frown lingered a moment, but then her expression softened. Maybe she saw the panic in my eyes. Maybe she just didn’t want to argue. Whatever the reason, she gave a nod, and a minute later, I was heading down a corridor towards the observation bays.

And then I saw him.

Reclining against a cot, awake, alive, and talking to Detective Myers and Officer Branscombe.

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