Page 43 of It's Always Been You

“For what?” Her eyes were struggling to stay open.

“For not being there to protect you.”

“Not your . . . fault.” Her lids slid shut, her breathing evened out. She had fallen into her deep slumber.

“Trav?” Nate whispered behind him.

Travis turned around and was surprised to see Sam, with his arm in a sling, standing beside Nate.

“Are you all right, Harper?” Travis asked.

“Yes, boss.” The younger man’s face was filled with remorse. “Sir, I am so sorry—”

“Not your fault,” Travis cut him off quickly.It is mine. “What the hell happened?”

“We can’t talk here,” Nate said. “There are two detectives in the reception area waiting to speak to Harper and Caitlin.”

“Not happening,” Travis growled.

“That’s what I told them.”

“Call Porter.”

“He called me actually,” Nate said. “When he couldn’t get a hold of you. You forgot your phone somewhere. He’s handling it.”

“Shit. I left it in the car,” Travis said. He looked at Caitlin. “I’m taking her home.”

“Shouldn’t you wait for the all clear from the doctor?”

“They’re just waiting for the toxicology report, and if Porter’s handling it . . .”

There wasn’t going to be one.

It tooka shit ton of paperwork to clear the hospital of any liability for taking Caitlin home against medical advice, especially in the absence of a toxicology report. But Travis got it done. Dealing with the detectives was a different matter.

They were having a standoff at the hospital entrance. Travis had deposited a sleeping Caitlin into his car, turned around, and glared at the two detectives who followed him outside.

The one who identified himself as Detective Moore spoke first. “I don’t care what my captain says; this reeks like a big stinking pile of cow dung. Two of the Russian thugs are in custody, and two got away. They’re after your wife. Why?”

“Take my advice, Detective,” Travis said. “Back off. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

“You’re some hotshot security expert, Mr. Blake, but you’re not above the law,” the second detective known as Smithers said. “We want to know how two people—one of them female—were able to fight off four Russian mob soldiers.”

“Watch it, Detective, you’re sounding like a chauvinist,” Nate interjected.

“Bullshit. Something’s going on in that facility. Some weird shit,” Moore said, watching their reactions intently. “Witnesses are tight-lipped except what one of them let slip about your man here”—he nodded to Sam—“stabbing your wife with aninjector. What is it, some kind of drug? Is that what this is all about? Drugs?”

Travis was relieved that Sam had already mastered the poker face. “You’re overreaching,” Travis said. “Your captain already told you to drop it.”

“Your wife has drawn dangerous elements into my jurisdiction. It has now become my goddamned problem!” Moore fired back.

“I’m taking my wife home,” Travis said. “You delay me any further, I’ll be calling the MPD police chief.”

“The great Travis Blake,” Smithers sneered. “Think you’re so well-connected. Well, I find out your wife is in bed with the Russian drug cartel, no one—not even you—can save her. I can put her away for thirty years.”

He could take threats against him, but against Caitlin? These fuckers had gone too far. Travis clenched his fists and made a move toward the detectives, but Nate blocked him.

“Assaulting a police officer in DC is a felony, Mr. Blake,” Moore smirked. “I hear it seems to be a habit of yours.”

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