Page 9 of Rescuing Josiah
Without a parachute on.
“It’s going to be okay, Josiah,” Chelsea said gently.
They were sitting side by side in the waiting room at the hospital. This was the same hospital they already knew had a connection to the trafficking ring. It was the hospital Ava hadattended mere weeks before she was targeted and abducted. The same hospital that several other young, healthy adults had a connection to before they also turned up missing.
Since they needed the trafficking ring to find out that Chelsea was supposedly sick, Prey had vetted one of the doctors here and briefed him on their plan. The man would take them on as patients, make sure to talk about the case as much as he could without drawing undue suspicion, and keep them updated if he felt like anyone was accessing his files.
Because this mission was so critical, they had to take it a step further than that.
If they could get themselves a meeting with the trafficking ring, that would include having some of the ring’s own medical personnel take a look at Chelsea. While of course they were not going to actually do anything to damage her kidneys badly enough that she was legitimately in need of a kidney transplant, they had to do something so that she at least passed for sick when they got their meeting.
That’s what had his foot bouncing anxiously this morning.
Chelsea didn't seem worried about literally playing with her health. Or at least if she was, she was doing a better job at hiding it than he was. He was terrified that whatever the doctor suggested they do to make Chelsea appear ill would have long-lasting implications for her health. They had to walk a fine line, make her ill enough not to rouse suspicion, but not make her sick enough that she walked away from this with irreparable damage caused.
It should have been him.
He didn't care if he walked away with lasting damage to his body. His sole purpose in living was only to honor the memories of the men who had died at his side that day six years ago. That, and to protect himself from more pain.
But he didn't care when he died.
He didn’t care if that day was tomorrow, next week, next year, or fifty years from now.
Actually, that wasn't quite true. He’d much prefer to die next year than in fifty years’ time.
“We’re here to make you sick, not better,” he growled under his breath so the other patients in the waiting room didn't overhear.
“Notsicksick, just enough to fool them,” she soothed like that was any better.
Before he could say anything, the door to the doctor’s room opened, and Chelsea’s name was called. They both stood, and he was startled enough by the easy way she slid her hand into his that his fingers automatically curled around hers.
If he held on a little too tight, that was only because he wanted to be supportive. Not because he needed her. She was the one taking most of the risks, he was little more than glorified muscle.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fleet, Mr. Fleet,” the doctor greeted them as they entered his office, and he closed the door behind them.
Hearing someone call Chelsea his last name sent an unexpected shaft of … something … through his chest. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't really pleasure either. In fact, he couldn’t decide if he hated it or liked it. But it was a reminder that he had a role to play, and while the doctor was in on it, he’d better start getting used to playing the role of doting husband.
Pulling out a chair for Chelsea, he helped her into it, then took the seat beside her. “Whatever you’re going to do to her, I don’t want it to be something she can't come back from,” he blurted out.
A hand landed on his knee, and since he knew it was Chelsea’s, and she was also just playing her role, he didn't look down at it.
Wanted to though.
Because it didn't feel like she was just playing a role.
She’d had a crush on him pretty much from the beginning, but he’d always thought that it would eventually fade when she realized her feelings weren't reciprocated. Only it hadn't. He often caught her sneaking what she thought were little, unobtrusive glances at him, and saw the love shining brightly from her eyes. Despite his terrible attitude, she’d found something in him compelling enough to develop feelings for him.
She saw something in him he couldn’t even see in himself.
He was too consumed with grief, guilt, and rage to feel anything even remotely human anymore. But whatever lingering light that was left in his world, it was there solely because of the woman sitting beside him.
“I've been thinking about what we should do,” the doctor said. “A quick rundown of the signs of kidney failure are swelling of the legs, ankles, and feet, urinating less, itchy skin, tiredness, trouble sleeping, loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting, muscle cramps, and headaches. Most of those things can be faked without the need to do anything. If you can get a meeting with these people, Mrs. Fleet can easily pretend to be nauseous and tired, there’s no way to prove or disprove she’s having muscle cramps or headaches. Same with the loss of appetite and urinating less. So, I thought we would focus on one specific symptom, while also setting you up to have fake dialysis at home. Although we will have to insert a catheter into your abdomen,” the doctor said apologetically to Cheslea.
Josiah felt his insides clench at the thought.
Of course, he’d known they’d need to do something, but inserting a catheter …
It made him feel sick.
