Page 14 of Spade
“Were you alone at Road Reapers the night this happened?” he asked.
“Kind of,” she said, shooting Spade a look. “I met Charlie and Ink at the bar. But then, Charlie had a bit too much to drink, and she had to go home early.”
“Ink is the one who got you your drink?” he asked. Spade had already filled him in on most of the details, but he still needed to ask Cynthia the basics.
“Yes,” she said, “but he isn’t the one who drugged my drink.”
“Of course not,” Razor said. “I’m a member of the Road Reapers too and know Ink. He’s not the type of guy to do something like roofie anyone. You work with him, right?”
“Yeah, I work in his tattoo shop, and he’s also one of my best friends—Charlie too. I honestly don’t have any idea why someone would do this to me. Maybe it was just a prank, and I was the unlucky person who got the drugged drink.” Razor looked up at Spade and could tell what he was thinking. It was a long shot that she was just unlucky. No one else had gotten sick at the bar that night. Cynthia’s drink was the only one roofied, and that couldn’t be just because of bad luck.
“Do you have any enemies or anyone who’d want to hurt you for any reason?” Razor asked.
“No,” she breathed. “I can’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt me.”
“Okay, if you can think of anything out of the ordinary from that night, or remember seeing someone there who usually doesn’t go to the Road Reapers, let me know.” Razor pulled out his business card and handed it to Cynthia.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“Thank you for answering my questions, Cynthia,” Razor said. He was really pouring on the charm and Spade wanted to tell him to cut it out. “I will do my best to find out who did this to you.” She nodded and lay back in her bed. Spade could tell that having to answer Razor’s questions had really taken a toll.
“I’ll walk you out,” Spade offered. “I won’t be long,” he promised Cynthia. They walked into the hallway and Razor turned around and smiled at him. Spade could tell that he had wanted to give him shit the whole time they were in the hospitalroom. He knew that he was watching Cynthia like a hawk watching its prey, and Razor would notice that too. There wasn’t much that the guy missed—that’s what made him a damn good cop.
“Tell me that you’re not going to just take her home and drop her off when she gets out of here,” Razor insisted.
“I can’t demand that she come back to my place, but I’m going to try like hell to make that happen,” Spade said. “If someone did this to her on purpose, they’ll be waiting for her if she goes home.”
“Agreed,” Razor said. “You really like her, don’t you?” His old partner knew him better than most people. Razor usually pried into his private life, and Spade didn’t mind—most of the time. But he didn’t want to jinx things with Cynthia by saying out loud that he liked her. Instead, he just stood and stared down Razor, hoping that he’d forget all about his question.
Razor chuckled and shook his head. “You just answered my question, man,” he said. “I’ll let you know if there are any updates in the case. You’ll do the same, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” Spade agreed. Razor clapped him on the shoulder and walked down the hallway to the elevators. Spade watched him go and when he stepped on and the doors closed, Spade blew out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Yeah, he liked Cynthia, but that was something that he planned on keeping to himself.
Cynthia
Spade walked into her hospital room, toting her overnight bag that Charlie had picked up at her place and brought over to her, and a wheelchair. “The nurse is right behind me with your discharge papers. You ready to get out of here?” He asked.
“More than you know,” she breathed.
“I feel the same way. If I never see that damn chair again, it will be too soon,” he looked over at the chair in the corner of the room as though it had offended him in some way. Cynthia felt bad about not sharing her bed, but she knew that if she let that happen, she’d want more from Spade. He was helping out of the kindness of his heart, and after the way that she had treated him, she wouldn’t blame him for dumping her off at her apartment and running as fast as he could to get away from her.
“I’m sorry that you had to sleep in that chair,” she said. “I should have let you sleep in the bed, but I—” She was going to admit that she wanted him and that she knew that them landing in the same bed together would be a problem. Maybe not for her, but for him. Spade had made it clear that he got her message loud and clear when she admitted that she had madeup a boyfriend to get him to stop asking her out. God, she was an idiot for trying to push him off and spending two days in the hospital with him had shown her that. Spade hadn’t left her side the entire time she was there, and she knew that Eric would never have done the same. Maybe pushing Spade away was her defense mechanism, to keep her heart from being hurt again, but what if he turned out to be the one—the guy she had been hoping to meet her whole life, but was too stubborn to give him a chance?
“No need to explain,” he insisted. Spade rubbed his back dramatically, making her smile. “I’m sure that this kink in my back will go away at some point.”
“You do have a way of making a girl feel better,” she teased, rolling her eyes at him.
“How about you come back to my place with me?” he asked. She wasn’t sure that she had heard him correctly. They were just joking around and then he asked her to live with him. Was that right?
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“Come back to my place,” he said. This time, he wasn’t asking. “Listen, you’re still a bit out of it from the drugs. I’d like to keep an eye on you, to make sure that you’re okay, and to make sure that whoever drugged you doesn’t come back to do it again.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” she insisted. “I think that I’ll be fine back at my apartment.”
“Okay, then, let me stay there with you until we know that you’re fine,” he said. Again, it didn’t sound like he was asking her permission and Cynthia had a feeling that he’d give her a fight if she refused. Plus, she kind of liked having the big biker around. She felt safer knowing that he was in the room with her at night, not that she’d admit that to him.
“I only have a one-bedroom apartment,” she said. “You’d end up sleeping on the sofa, and I’m afraid that isn’t more comfortable than the chair.” She nodded to the chair that he was just complaining about in the corner of the room.
