Chapter Twenty-Seven

Aja Blue was having a hard time processing what had happened. One minute, Presley and Kayne had Heathcliff Sinclair under arrest—or whatever CObrA Securities officially called it. No, they weren't cops. They were better.

The next minute, Mr. Sinclair's entire face had exploded into a fine red mist.

Aja Blue's already drug-queasy stomach heaved. She didn't think she'd ever get that image out of her head. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. Things like this didn't happen in real life. But it had, and Kayne and Presley were proof. Aja Blue didn't know how they could stand to be covered in blood and other fluids she didn't want to think about.

Seeing it happen in the movies was a thousand percent different from watching it in real time. It felt surreal.

Christian's sure, steady presence calmed her. If not for him, she'd have shattered into a million tiny pieces like the window Mr. Sinclair had shot. Christian had promised they would catch the person responsible for Jay's death, and they had. They had also stopped Sinclair from ending her life.

Christian came over and crouched down in front of her. A soft finger brushed the hair from her face, and she leaned into his touch.

"How are you holding up?"

She wanted to tell him she was teetering on the verge of falling apart. That she was a mess. But he was the toughest person she'd ever known. She didn't want to appear weak in front of him. Aja Blue would never forget him putting himself between her and a bullet.

An unholy roar sounded, and Aja Blue watched in horror as Eleanor Sinclair hefted a statue in the air and slammed it into Christian's head. He crumpled to the floor like a popped balloon.

Aja Blue jumped up to stop the woman, but Nicole beat her to it. With a running dive, she took Eleanor down hard to the ground.

All the remnants of shock fled as Aja Blue dropped beside Christian. Blood poured from a gash on his head.

"Christian? Can you hear me?"

Kayne was there, pressing a cloth to his head to staunch the bleeding. Then all hell broke loose. The cops arrived and ordered everyone to the floor until Nicole explained what had happened. It seemed like a hundred people poured into the office. Mrs. Sinclair screamed incoherently while the police dragged her away. The guards Kayne and Presley had subdued, including Johnny Cash, were spilling their guts on their former boss. All the while, Aja Blue held Christian's hand and willed him to wake up.

Since they were on the boat, she feared the medical crew would take too long to arrive. Somehow, Kayne or Presley arranged for the helicopter on board to transport Christian to the hospital. Aja Blue sat beside him, along with a doctor who had been on the yacht. He hadn't tried to reassure her that Christian would be fine. She flat asked, and he only said that head wounds were notoriously tricky and that they tended to bleed excessively. So much for bedside manner—or stretcher side. Whatever.

When they landed at the hospital, she had to find her way through the maze of hallways to the emergency waiting room while they worked on him. Aja Blue was still wearing her expensive gown, now torn and soiled with blood. Though you couldn't see the red on the black dress, she knew it was there. She'd never be able to put it on again.

After she'd been drugged, she'd lost her shoes. Presley tracked down a pair of sneakers for her to wear. Half of her hair was still pinned up, the other loose. She probably looked like a crazy person, but she didn't care.

Aja Blue checked in with the nurse on duty, asking for information on Christian as soon as there was news.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. "You look like you've been through an ordeal."

"Understatement." It would be big news soon. Huge. It would rock the entire world. One of the wealthiest people on the planet was a traitor to his country and a murderer. It would be a media sensation. The stock market might be affected. Movies would be made about the saga.

"Wait right there."

The nurse had snapped her from her musings. Aja Blue watched as she disappeared through a doorway and returned with a set of blue scrubs. "Here, hon, this will be more comfortable."

Tears stung her eyes at the kind gesture. "Thank you."

"The restroom is over there." She pointed in the direction. Aja Blue thanked her again and went to change her clothes.

"Gah!" She caught her reflection in the mirror. Mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and her face was pale except for streaks of blood. Her upswept do was no longer upswept. In other words, she looked like she'd been through an ordeal, precisely as the nurse had said.

Aja Blue ripped paper towels from the holder on the wall and wetted them. Her hand stalled as she removed the blood—Christian's blood.

Her knees buckled, and she had to grab the sink for support. Mrs. Sinclair had struck him so hard. Remembering the sound of the statue connecting with his skull made her want to throw up.

He had to be okay. She couldn't even think about life without him. He'd become her lodestone. He was, without a doubt, her soulmate.

Aja Blue had never been a doomsayer and refused to start now. She inhaled a deep breath and held it before slowly releasing it. Then she finished cleaning up and changed into the scrubs. She hated trashing the expensive dress but never wanted a reminder of what had happened to Christian. After ripping it off, she stuffed it into the garbage can and wondered what had become of her purse. She'd had it when the woman had lured her by asking for a picture. Hopefully, it would show up, and she wouldn't have to get a new driver's license and cancel her credit cards.

Her head snapped up—the woman. Aja Blue thought she'd looked familiar. Now that the drug was leaving her system, it all came rushing back. She was the fake nurse who had killed Aja Blue's kidnapper. She hoped the woman had been caught in the sweep when the police raided the yacht. Aja Blue would have to let Nicole know about her.

When she returned to the waiting room, the nurse came over. "Ms. Lalonde, right?" At her nod, she said, "I received a call from the police requesting that I take you for a blood test."

"Oh, yeah, I was drugged."

The nurse's eyes widened, but she didn't ask questions. Aja Blue followed her through a set of double doors and down a hallway. They stopped at a room, and the nurse flipped on the light. "Have a seat, and someone will be here shortly."

"Thank you, and for the scrubs too."

"No problem."

A man with dark hair and eyes came in a minute later, pushing a cart laden with supplies. "Hey there. You can call me Dracula since I'm here to suck your blood . . . or remove it with a needle if you want to get technical. No fangs are involved in the process, I promise." He held up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute.

He tried to be friendly and funny, but she was completely wiped and had nothing to offer—not even a smile.

"Wow, tough audience," he joked.

"Sorry. It's been a hell of a night."

"Ah, I got it. I promise I'll make this quick and painless. Please provide your name and date of birth."

She recited them.

His pen stalled, and his head jerked up. "The Aja Blue LaLonde?"

She thought about denying it, but seriously, what was the point? She nodded.

"Wow. I'm a big fan, Ms. LaLonde. I know the show was ages ago . . . er, not to imply that you're old. You're not. Sorry, I'm a blabbering fool."

"It's okay." She tried for a reassuring tone but failed miserably.

Dracula finally read the room and got down to business. He tied a rubber strap around her arm and then inserted a needle into a vein, drawing two tubes full of blood. When finished, he applied a cotton ball and wrapped it with soft tape around her arm.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. LaLonde. I don't suppose I could impose?" He held out a pad of paper and a pen.

It was the least she could do. It wasn't as if he was asking for a selfie. "Do you want me to personalize it?"

His smile brightened. "Sure. Can you make it out to Craig?"

"Absolutely." She scribbled a message and signed her name before handing it back.

"Thanks, Ms. LaLonde. You've made my day."

"And you made mine by remembering me, Craig. Thanks."

Maybe she did have something left in the tank. However, as soon as she returned to the waiting room, she promptly fell asleep. Her eyes popped open when someone gently shook her shoulder.

"Ms. LaLonde?"

She bolted upright at the sight of the nurse. "Is there news?"

"Yes. Follow me."

Aja Blue's legs shook as she trailed the woman through a set of double doors and down a hallway. She stopped and motioned to a room. "In here."

Aja Blue stepped inside and let out a cry of relief.

"Hey, babe."

"Christian!"

He had a white bandage wrapped around his head and a smile on his handsome face. She ran to his bed and threw herself against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart to assure herself he was alive. Reluctantly, she pulled back and took his hand. "How do you feel?"

"I'm not feeling any pain at the moment." He smiled and tipped his head at the IV. "Now, do me a solid and help me break out of here, will ya, babe?"

He started to remove his blanket, but she slapped it in place. "Absolutely not! You will stay here until the doctor says you can leave and not a moment sooner."

"Speaking of the doctor, he'll be in to speak with you shortly," the nurse said as she kicked the stopper and closed the door, giving them privacy.

Aja Blue leaned forward and kissed him. She'd been so worried. She could feel his smile.

"I'm fine to go home, but if you won't let me, why don't you climb in so I can hold you? My head might be sore, but the rest of me works just fine." He wiggled his brows and patted the mattress beside him.

As seductive as that sounded—and she was sorely tempted—she refrained. "You were seriously injured, Christian. I'm not taking chances with your health." Aja Blue shuddered, remembering again the horror she'd felt watching him crumple to the ground.

"About that . . . what the hell happened?"

#

The look that passed over Aja Blue's face, along with the shudder, told Christian that how he had ended up in a hospital bed with his head wrapped like a mummy wasn't good.

"You were crouched down, checking on me, when Eleanor Sinclair came up from behind and bashed you over the head with a bronze bust of Christopher Columbus."

Christian's jaw dropped open. "What? Why?" He didn't even know the woman. Why had she attacked him so violently?

"She thought you had killed her husband."

"Isn't that something she should've asked before trying to crush my skull into dust?" And damn, a statue? It was a good thing he couldn't feel much of the injury. It had to hurt like a mother.

"She was arrested for attempted murder."

"I should've let her fall to the floor when she fainted," Christian groused, not that he really would have done so.

"Nicole took care of her for you. She tackled her and broke her arm—Mrs. Sinclair's, not her own."

He shouldn't be glad that an older woman was injured, but in fairness, she had tried to kill him. Wait — "Did you say Nicole tackled her?"

"Yep. She dropped her crutches and plowed into her like a linebacker sacking a quarterback."

Now that was something he'd have liked to see. He'd have to remember to thank the detective. "How long was I out?"

"At least thirty minutes. It was a while. One of your coworkers commandeered the helicopter and pilot from the yacht to fly you here. Dr. Wooten, who was attending the fundraiser, accompanied us."

He squeezed her hand. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Are you kidding? There is nowhere else I'd rather be. But please, don't get hurt again."

"I'll try."

The door opened, and a man came inside wearing a white smock over a tuxedo. He nodded at Aja Blue. "Ms. Lalonde. How are you feeling, Mr. Zamora?"

"Like I could get out of here and go home."

The man smirked. "Nice try. I'm Doctor Wooten. I was at the fundraiser tonight. Still not sure what transpired, but that's a discussion for later. Your tests and x-rays have come back normal. No cracked skull. You have a very hard head, Mr. Zamora."

"Heard that all my life," joked Christian.

"You do have a significant concussion and, once the drugs wear off, you'll have a monster headache, I'm sure, but you should recover with no ill effects."

"Great. When can I get out of here?"

"I'm keeping you for twenty-four hours, minimum." When Christian opened his mouth, Dr. Wooten cut him off. "No arguments. Head injuries are not to be treated lightly. Issues could crop up unexpectedly, like blood clots. We'll need to monitor you today, and if your numbers are strong and you show no signs of impairment, you will be released tomorrow."

The only good thing about spending the day confined to a hospital was that he wouldn't have to deal with the crush of the media that was about to descend—or maybe they already had. Discovering the wealthiest man in America had conspired with a notorious war criminal would blow up quickly. Kayne or Presley would've called the CObrA Securities public relations professionals to handle it.

He must have fallen asleep because the low murmur of voices woke him. Instead of Dr. Wooten standing by his bed, Kayne, Presley, and Nicole talked with Aja Blue.

"Hey, Christian, how are you feeling?" Kayne asked when he noticed he'd awoken.

The drugs were wearing off, and his head was pounding dully, but he lied and said, "Good. Fill me in."

They approached the bed, and he held up a hand for a fist-bump with Nicole. "I heard you took care of my attacker."

"Broke her radius in two places."

"Sweet."

"It was a thing of beauty to watch," Kayne told him.

"I figured you'd be dealing with the aftermath for days."

Nicole gritted her teeth. "I wasn't allowed to assist. I was ordered away after giving my statement."

"Wow. Harsh, after you were part of the takedown."

"To be fair, it was all you guys. You figured everything out." She looked up at Aja Blue. "Detectives will be here to interview you sometime today. Probably the feds, too. Every three-letter agency in the government descended."

"Great," Aja Blue deadpanned. "Can't wait."

"All of us will be interviewed endlessly, so get ready."

"Needless to say, it was a monumental shitstorm . . . uh, sorry for the profanity, Aja Blue," said Kayne.

"You never apologize to me." Presley sniffed.

"That's because your vocabulary is far more colorful than mine."

She shrugged. "True."

"No worries here," Aja Blue told him.

He nodded. "We were told to keep Sinclair's meeting with Nofeshku quiet."

Christian scoffed. "Good luck with that not getting out."

"No kidding." Kayne checked his watch. "Luke and Logan are on their way. They should be here soon."

Christian's brows raised. The big guns were coming? Wow, that was major.

"Good," Aja Blue said. "I can discuss payment with them."

Christian remained silent, but he didn't think his bosses would allow her to pay when she'd been involved in undercovering a traitor to the country. Hell, she should get a congressional medal.

"Do they know who took Sinclair out?"

"Not yet," Nicole said, "but there were security cameras in the office, so everything was recorded."

"You'd have thought Sinclair wouldn't want proof of abducting Aja Blue."

"He assumed he was omnipotent," Kayne guessed. "Untouchable. He's probably been dirty his whole life and gotten away with it because he's wealthy."

"That means Johnny Cash's confession is on tape?" Aja Blue asked.

Nicole looked confused, so Christian filled her in. "Jonas Thames. He's the chief of security for Sinclair Industries."

"He admitted to killing Jay under orders from Sinclair," Aja Blue added.

"Oh, yes, it is. I haven't seen it, but I was told about it."

"I just thought of something," Aja Blue said. "The woman who lured me away after I'd been drugged was the fake nurse who poisoned my kidnapper."

"You didn't tell me that," Christian said.

"You were a little unconscious," she reminded him with a pat on his arm.

"I'll make sure the detectives know about her," Nicole said, pulling out her phone to tap out a text.

"What about the media?" Christian wanted to know.

Kayne gave a humorous laugh. "Circus, to say the least. They don't know exactly what's happening, only that the Sinclair fundraiser crashed and burned. Someone leaked that Heathcliff was dead, and that was like throwing gasoline on a fire. They all descended."

"TKO Productions is here and taking over," Presley told him. "We'll probably have to give interviews at some point, but they're handing things now."

"Good." TKO Productions was a wildly successful media company owned by Taylor Costa, Kendall Demarchis, and Olivia Mylonas, wives of their coworkers, Dante, Dorian, and Alex. They'd know what to do.

Nicole tried to cover a yawn, but Christian saw it. "Go back to the house and get some sleep. I'm here for the rest of the day. They won't let me go until tomorrow."

"We'll be back later to check on you," Kayne told him.

"Aja Blue, you go too," he said. "You need rest."

"I'm not leaving you."

He would've argued for her to take care of herself first, but his lids were drooping, and soon, sleep claimed him.