“Lucky son-of-a-bitch will be sore as hell for a couple of days. But all in all, for someone who parasailed a dirt bike off a cliff without a chute, he’s fine. Heart rate and blood pressure are good. Respiration rate and oxygen levels within normal. No cognitive impairments presenting. No issues with speech, motor, or sensory skills. I gave him a shot of morphine to help with the shoulder pain, so he’ll probably sleep through the night, which is the best thing for him. Eve will do a physical therapy assessment in the morning and set him up with a rehabilitation plan.”
Adam nodded sharply. Once. “Good. And the other two?”
“Madelyn’s still in recovery. Last I checked, there were no indications of post-surgical infection, and the chest tube is functioning effectively with appropriate drainage. Her blood oxygen saturation levels were slightly below optimal range, so she’s getting supplemental oxygen via a mask for adequate respiratory support. Eve’s monitoring her vitals for a couple of hours while I sleep. She’ll wake me if anything changes.”
“And Grant?”
Jamie shrugged a shoulder, and Becca could feel his frustration. “He’s being a dickhead pain in the ass.”
Adam huffed and shook his head. “So what else is new? Anything we need to worry about recovery-wise?”
“Right now, we’re dealing with typical concussion symptoms. Headache, dizziness, difficulty concentrating, and mood changes. He needs rest and recovery time for his brain to heal. How long? Who knows? But I can tell you this. Any more hits to the head, and he’ll be at risk of wearing a hockey helmet to eat porridge in his old age.”
“Where is he now?” Adam’s creased brow and slight frown telegraphed his concern for the soldier who’d saved Jay’s life, and Becca was surprised by his quiet intensity and the emotion he did his best to hide in the depths of his eyes. Not the detachment of a killer, but the weight of someone who’d seen too much and still gave a damn.
“With Madelyn. He’s refusing to leave her side, and he’s passed out in a fucking chair. He’s grumpy, in pain, can barely move, and he’s making shit harder on himself than necessary. Final prognosis? He’ll live to tell the tale of his stupidity, provided Chase doesn’t murder him in his sleep.”
“Are they going to be a problem?”
“Yep. Chase is beyond pissed, and Grant can’t figure out why.”
“Great.” Adam shook his head. “Those two going at it is just what we need.”
“Trust me,” Jamie said. “The sooner they come to blows, the better for all of us.”
“So no point in talking to either one?”
“Nope.” Jamie shoved himself off the door frame. Arms bent and fingers entwined against the back of his head, he stretched his back and yawned at the same time. “I gotta get some sleep.” He dropped his arms to his sides like they were too heavy to hold. “You good here?” He looked from Adam to Becca, and she could see the bone-deep fatigue etched on his face.
“Yes, I’m good.” As much as she wanted him to stay, she didn’t have the heart to ask. Besides, he had other people to worry about. Patients, teammates, his wife and daughter. She didn’t want to be a burden.
“Okay. Remember what I said,” he jerked his head toward the island and walked her over while Adam followed behind. “You’re safe with us.” He pulled out a stool for her to sit. “But if you need anything, let me know.”
She nodded and watched his back until he reached the wide entry on the opposite side of the kitchen, where he paused to look over his shoulder. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Becca. Summer and Halia will be too—wait and see.”
He dipped his chin in farewell, and feeling like she’d met a true friend, she sent him off with a surprisingly easy smile in return.
“So, what’re you hungry for?” Adam asked, like he owned the kitchen, which she supposed he did.
She took a breath to steady her nerves and turned to face him. “Whatever’s cooking smells good.”
“Tomato soup.” He pointed to the stool. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you a bowl.”
“Tomato soup?” She repeated, sniffing the air as she plunked her ass down. “When did Campbell’s go gourmet?”
He snorted, the sound so unexpected from his tightly wound demeanor, she almost thought she’d imagined it. Until he grinned and his entire persona changed from contract killer to cocky big brother, and she could finally see the resemblance to his sister.
“The soup’s homemade. It’s one of Eve’s favorites. Any food allergies?” he asked. “I added cottage cheese to sneak in some protein for the guys.”
She shook her head, surprised by the thoughtful question from the gun-wearing chef. “No allergies.”
“Good.” He dropped the folder on the counter beside her, and it landed with a smack. “This is for you.” He jabbed his finger on the cover. “What you’re about to read is highly classified, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss it with anyone, especially Gray. She’s a nightmare when she knows too much.”
Without any further explanation, he left her to it, and unbuttoning the cuffs of his crisp gray shirt, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows as he rounded the island. With plenty of space between them, she looked down at the file and read the label on the tab.
Eidolon Protocol—Adam M. Grayson—1-AG1970GP13MDM0100-47.
Curiosity eating away at her, she flipped the cover open, and stapled to the left side, a five-by-seven photograph of a younger Adam in full military dress uniform drew her eyes. On the right, his personal stats spanned an entire page. Everything from his date of birth to his medical history to his rank as one of the elite operators in the Army’s super-secret Delta Force.
