Page 36 of Her Keeper
Completely confused, now, I went to the first number on my emergency list and hit the button to call it. “Brooks? It’s me.”
“I know it’s you, idiot, I can see your number! Are you okay? What’s going on? Has Michael killed you?”
“Yes, and I’m calling you from the dead to let you know, so you don’t have to worry about it,” I replied immediately. “Also, Michael’s bleeding from the leg and we need a doctor. For some reason, he told me to call you. Any idea what that’s about?”
“Shit. Send me the address. I’ll be right there.”
I stared at the phone, shocked. She’d be right here? To… doctor him?
When the fuck had Brooks gone to medical school?
* * *
When Brooks arrived, she wasn’t alone. Sloane came in right behind her, smaller but just as fiery and full of energy, and the two of them went right to Michael. Brooks took one look at his leg, then looked up at his face and shook her head.
“What?” he ground out. “I didn’t know the guy was shooting at me until half a second before he shot.”
“Did you at least get a shot off?” she asked, dropping to her knees next to him.
He gave her a cocky grin. “Course I did. And I’m betting his is more life-threatening than mine is.”
Brooks snorted at that and went to work, pulling a doctor’s bag out and opening it. She reached in and got what looked like needle-nose pliers, along with a whole lot of gauze and ointment, and Michael’s eyes came up to meet mine.
“You might want to leave for this part,” he said quietly.
I did. I definitely did.
But I also wasn’t the little girl they all thought I was. And I wasn’t scared. So instead, I went around behind the couch and put one hand on his head and the other in his hear. My gaze met Brooks and I saw that she was no longer joking around.
She looked incredibly serious. And more than a little bit worried.
“You’ve done this before?” I asked.
She tipped her head back and forth. “Not this, exactly, but close enough. I’ve seen it done, if that helps.”
It didn’t. Her answer also didn’t explain how—or where or why—she’d learned how to do things like this. But I’d known Brooks long enough to know that she had tricks none of us had ever even dreamed of. The girl was a nonstop Pandora’s box of talents. And if anyone could patch Michael up, other than a hospital, I believed it was her.
I nodded to give her the go-ahead, and she nodded back, injected Michael’s leg with what I hoped was anesthetic, and went to work.
It as bloody and horrible, and Michael just about broke my hand with how hard he squeezed, but ten minutes later the bullet was out and his leg was wrapped up, Brooks and Sloane—who had assisted—in the bathroom washing their hands.
I was feeling numb and nauseous, and not only due to what I’d just seen my best friend do to the man I cared about.
It was more than that.
This was my fault. Maybe not entirely, but at least partially. I was the one who’d infiltrated Michael’s operation and passed information to Monica. I didn’t see how that might have led to any of the attacks on House Rossi—I hadn’t given information that would have led anyone to the warehouse in LA, for example—but my actions had definitely led to Monica writing that article, and Michael going to that house to stop her.
When I said as much, though, Michael grabbed my wrist and shook his head.
“You were right in the first place. If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. This would have happened regardless, if she wanted it badly enough. And there’s something else.”
“What else could there possibly be?” I asked, nearly sobbing.
Michael looked over and caught Joseph’s eye. “The article Monica was writing had a whole lot more in it than what Penny gave her. High-level stuff. Things only someone very high in the operation would have known about.” He turned back to me and brushed his fingers across the tears on my face. “Whatever she’s got, it’s more than you gave her. This isn’t your fault, Penny. She has someone else on the inside.”
The world around me froze as I thought about the implications, there. Someone else on the inside. Someone else passing details, and able to reach information that was more important than what I’d given her.
One of the Rossi’s head guys had turned on them.
