Page 95 of Her Dom's Secret Past

Chapter Twenty-Seven

John

I watched as Anabelle fell asleep, wondering if I’d ever come to terms with unknowingly putting her into harm’s way. My thoughts then turned to Riley. How did he know about Anabelle, but not know my new identity and address? There was something very odd about it and I intended to take it up with the agency. It infuriated me to know that somehow Anabelle had been linked to one of my old identities.

I decided to fill in the time writing out reports while Anabelle slept. I knew if I didn’t get a full incident report on the desk in the agency by noon I’d be in deeper shit. Clemson wanted his copy as well. I went out to the nurses’ station and cadged a pen and pad of paper from them.

Working through the events from when I’d gotten the phone call from Charlie until I’d handed over the weapon to Cooper, I made sure I crossed all the t’s and dotted all the i’s—except for one little gray area. I didn’t put that Cooper had to stop me from emptying my magazine into Riley. Of course, when they examined the body they’d know. Anyway, I wrote the report out twice, omitting a few necessary details like my phone calls to the agency. Clemson should be satisfied when he came in later.

I stood and went back to the nurses’ station, returning their things, and asked if there was anywhere where I could send a fax. The nurse on duty directed me to the NUM office where I sweet-talked her into letting me send the report to my old boss. Once it went through, I grabbed a coffee from the visitor’s lounge and a dried-out sandwich from a vending machine before returning to Anabelle’s side. The coffee was weak, the sandwich stale, but I’d had worse and it filled a corner. I think I’d only just shut my eyes when the overnight nurse came in to take Anabelle’sobs, waking her again. It was 6:35 AM.

“Sorry to wake you, Miss, but I have to check you everywhere, including your um … burns.”

“Oh,” Anabelle muttered as she tried to wake fully.

The nurse peered at me as if to say, “Leave the room,” but I ignored her and put on my “move me if you can” face. It must have worked because she made a little huffing sound but lifted the sheet to check Anabelle. I could see how embarrassed Anabelle was. She fidgeted and blushed, which was rather impressive given the bruising to her face. I took her hand and kissed it, trying to let her know I was here for her. The nurse checked her face and chest and then examined the burns, I couldn’t see them, but she seemed satisfied.

“I’m going to put the cream on now, Anabelle.”

“Again?” The fear in her voice cut me to the bone.

“Sorry, I know it hurts at first, but we can’t risk you getting an infection.”

“Um… I need to use the loo.”

“Okay, you go first then I’ll do the cream.”

The nurse helped Anabelle sit up. Then she brought the IV stand and got Anabelle onto her feet. The sound of Anabelle’s groan stabbed through me like a knife, settling in my heart as her wounded feet touched the ground. I watched sadly as she slowly staggered and limped to the bathroom, the nurse trying to hold her upright and Anabelle bent over like an old woman. I was determined more than ever to never let her out of my sight.

Ten minutes later, she made the slow return journey, flinching as she got back into bed. The nurse checked her feet. The walking had made them ooze a little. She put something on them and told Anabelle it was time to treat the burns. As she applied the cream, Anabelle grabbed my hand, squeezing it with a grip I never thought possible. Tears ran down her cheeks. She was moaning as the nurse finally covered her and stood.

“All done. Later this morning one of us will help you shower.”

“Thanks,” Anabelle murmured.

“Breakfast will be here anytime soon.”

With that comment, she left. Anabelle’s face was now pale among the swelling and bruises. I took her hand again.

“I want to go home.”

The pain in her voice tore shreds off my heart.

“Sweetheart, I know you do but you have to stay here until the doctors know you are okay.”

“But I don’t want to be here,” she almost whined.

“I know, but I’ll be here with you all the time.”

She seemed as if she was going to argue again, but I could see she knew I was right. A few minutes later, we heard the rattle of the breakfast trolley.

Anabelle studied her tray—Weetbix, milk, orange juice, and tea. She started to cry, and I leaped up, thinking something had happened.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I don’t likeWeetbix,” she sobbed as if it were the end of the world.

For the first time since she’d been taken, I smiled.

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