“He's in the ambulance behind us,” the officer replies.
I look through the back windows, watching the blue lights against the pitch-black sky. I suppose that’s sensible given the bloody great gash on his head, but being without him feels strange. And if this woman doesn’t stop jabbing and poking me, I’m likely to let something out of my mouth that she doesn’t deserve.
My foot kicks the wall in protest, part to stop me kicking her instead, and I knock over something that could be important. “I need to call my brother,” I grouse, looking over her body for a phone. She ignores me and looks at the officer behind her. “Any hope I can use my one call? Not that I’m under arrest, but he’s also my lawyer, and I think—”
“You’ll be able to contact him at the hospital. Just stay calm and let the paramedic do her job, Miss Broderick.”
Frustrated, my eyes close, and I flop back down on the trolley, exhausted by this day. I really have had enough. First, a training session from hell, then abducted by a couple of oddballs who possibly wanted to kill me, and now a nurse shoving needles in me and wrenching around on a knee that’s damn painful? Add in Blake going all hot commando mode and telling me his secrets, and I’m about ready for my bed, let alone any more thoughts about what the hell is happening in my life.
“You just wait till my brother turns up,” I mutter at both of them. “None of this is procedural.” Not that I know if it is or not, but I need some control here.
Thankfully, the journey doesn’t take too long because of the armed escort leading the way, and we arrive at an A&E reasonably quickly. It isn’t until I’m wheeled out the back of the ambulance and into the hospital, more doctors and nurses flanking me, that I realise Blake is nowhere to be seen.
My head cranes around, body trying to get off the trolley whizzing along the corridors. “Where’s Blake?” I ask, anyone. No one answers, so I look the other way as I’m pushed into a room, searching for someone who will answer. A new police officer stands in the room I’m in, his body blocking the door we just came through. “Seriously, where’s Blake Rhodes?”
“I’m afraid you’ll be kept separate until we can assess the situation, Miss Broderick.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.” I try to move again, only to see a doctor walk into the room and come over to me.
“Miss Broderick, do you mind if I call you Ivy?”
“No, but I need to—”
“Let’s have a look at these wounds,” he says, as he starts faffing around with my leg. The nurse in the room starts reading off a clipboard, apparently detailing everything the paramedic must have noted down. I don’t care.
“Is Blake alright?” The doctor looks confused. “The man I came in with? He had a large wound on the back of his head, said he felt weird.” He looks over at the policeman, a brow raised as if he’s asking permission for something. My stomach drops, sudden fear taking over that Blake is not alright at all, and I jump down from the bed. If no one’s going to talk to me, I’ll damn well find out myself.
I walk straight to the doorway, no intention of staying here unless I’m in the know about things that concern me.
“I’m afraid you can’t—”
I cut the officer off. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, but—”
“Then get out of my bloody way. Believe me, I know my rights.” I move past him and out into the corridor, immediately looking for another emergency room or some evidence that Blake might be here. There’s nothing that I can see. I’m in a quiet area, but that doesn’t stop me heading straight for an empty reception desk and picking up a phone. Thankfully, for once in his fucking life, a gruff sounding Landon answers after six rings.
“Ivy? It’s four in the morn—”
“I’m at A&E.We were abducted, and Blake shot people, and now I can’t find him, and I don’t know what to do, and I need you here.”
“What?” Does he need a fucking repeat? “Slow down and say that again. Who’s Blake?”
“Blake Rhodes. Honestly, I don't know what the hell is going on, but the moment I start looking into dead authors, I'm kidnapped?” He's quiet on the line. Thinking presumably. I don't want to think. I want to do. “And there’s an idiot police officer following me around trying to tell me what to do and where I can and can't go. And I swear to God, if I don’t find Blake, I might do something I regret.”
“You're alright, though?”
“Of course, I'm alright. Do I sound not alright?”
“Questionable. As usual.”
“Oh, sod off. Just get down here. And get someone to fetch my car. It’s at the Bickerton car park outside of Epping Forest, the one next to the old pub. If it's still in one piece after a night on its own.”
“Where exactly is here?”
I look around the desk, searching for headed paper. “Princess Alexandra. Harlow.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
