Southern Heat by Natasha Madison

Chapter 7

Quinn

I walk out of the room before I snap at her. Reining it in, I watch her through the window. My whole body shakes with anger as I watch Doris with her.

She looks at Doris and then looks at me, her eyes flying away from mine when she sees me looking at her. I take the phone out of my pocket and call the only person I know who can help me right now.

"Hey," my father says after half of a ring.

"Hey," I say back. “Her name is Willow." Her name falls off my lips like I’ve been saying it my whole life.

"Is she awake?" he asks, and I hear him moving around.

"She is." I look back at her and see her close her eyes and put her head back on the pillow.

"Did she give you a last name?" he asks.

"No, and I didn’t ask her, to be honest." I look around to see if anyone else is in the hallway.

"What else did she say?" he asks.

"Not much. She asked if Chelsea was okay." I swallow. “She said she tried to warn her. But …" I swallow down the rage coming right through me. “But he caught her before she could warn us."

"Fuck," he hisses and says the same thing I was thinking when I heard it. Actually, when I heard her say that, I thought it was a good thing he was dead because I would find him and finish the job.

"She also didn’t know he was dead,” I say.

"Do you think they were working together?" he asks, and just the thought makes my skin crawl. "Step out of the bubble for a minute,” he says. “Do you think she was working with him?"

"No," I answer him honestly, and then I close my eyes and pray I’m not wrong. "Not with the way she is acting. She is too jumpy to be in on it. Besides, her injuries tell us a different story."

"But did you ask her?" he asks, and I wish I had another answer for him.

"I didn’t have a chance to." I stop talking as I look at her smile for the first time. Not a whole smile, but a small side smile. Her green eyes light up just a touch. Unlike when she gets into her head, and she’s alone with her thoughts. Then they get so clouded over.

"What is it?" my father asks, his voice low and calm but also full of worry.

"She’s in fucking pain,” I say through clenched teeth, my voice as low as it can go. “Fucking pain and she refuses to admit it."

"Quinn," he says my name, and I’m not sure if it’s a warning or not. "Why don’t I send someone to take your place for a couple of hours? You can go and get some sleep."

I ignore what he just said. “Dad, she is in so much pain her body shakes, and she doesn’t even notice it." My stomach turns over as I look back into the room and see her eyes are still closed. "She is in so much pain that she holds her breath as she fights through it. She is in a fuck ton of pain, and she is jumpy and scared shitless." I don’t tell him that she looks around every five seconds to make sure she knows where the exits are. I don’t tell him that I have a feeling if she is left alone, she will try to run. I don’t know her, but I feel it in my bones that she isn’t going to stick around.

"Maybe it’s you,” he says, and I look down at the floor as I listen to him. “Maybe it’s the fact you’re a man, and she isn’t comfortable with men. I could send in Amelia,” he says. “See if she talks to her."

"No," I say. “Right now, she knows I’m here and not leaving. Sooner or later, she’ll trust me."

"But what if she doesn’t?” I close my eyes, not willing to think about that. "We don’t know anything about her."

"We know she tried to get to Chelsea to help her, and we know that he left her for fucking dead." My voice goes lower. “If she was in on it, why would he leave her for dead?" I ask him the same question my head has been asking me. “Why hide her under a fucking bed?"

"I have no idea," my father huffs. “There are so many questions still unanswered."

"Well"—I look over at the woman in the bed—“all the answers are there." I look down and then up again, not adding that she just has to give them to us.

"I’m going to ask her more when she is up to it,” I say. “In the meantime, see if anyone has mentioned her name anywhere."

"I’ll send it to Derek." My father mentions his second-in-command. “If anyone can find out who she is, he can."

"I’ll check on my end also,” I say. “I’ll let you know."

"Quinn," he says. “What is going on here?" he asks me. "You find this girl, and then you stick by her like glue."

"She has no one," I remind him.

"This isn’t one of the horses you rescue," he says. “Not all of them can be saved."

"This isn’t that,” I say, and he laughs.

"Son, you are talking to someone who has known you your whole life,” he says. “You are the most nurturing soul I know. You see the wounded, and all you want to do is make it better."

"This isn’t like that,” I say, but even I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

"I’ll let you know what I find out on my end,” he says, not willing to have this conversation with me right now. “Let me know how things go on your end."

"I will,” I say, hanging up and looking over to see Mayson standing there talking to the nurse.

Looking into the room, I see her eyes are still closed, and Doris comes out of the room. “How is she doing?"

"She’s a fighter,” she says, looking back into the room and seeing her eyes are closed. “I just upped her pain meds."

"Did she ask for it?" I ask Doris, and she just looks at me.

"She said she was fine,” she says. “But then you saw her erratic heartbeat every time she felt pain."

"How long is she going to be out?" I ask Doris.

"She should be out for about four hours,” she says and walks away from me, going over to the whiteboard and writing numbers on it.

"Her name is Willow," I tell Doris, and she looks over her shoulder at me. “You can change the Jane Doe." I point at the top of her column. With a smile, she erases Jane Doe and replaces it with Willow.

"She has a name?" Mayson says from beside me.

"She does,” I say. “How is Chelsea?"

"She thinks she is leaving tomorrow." He shakes his head.

"Do you know her?" I ask him. To be honest, things between Mayson and me have not always been smooth. I didn’t trust him when he first got here, and I still don’t trust him. But, and there is a huge but, Chelsea has chosen him. So I have to respect her and accept him, if for no one else but her.

"Never seen her in my life,” he says, looking into the room again.

"When you were held captive"—I look at him to see if his eyes flicker—“do you think she was there?"

He looks at me, his eyes hard as he folds his arms across his chest. “I was tied to a tree,” he says, his voice tight.

"Did you see her maybe in the cabin?" I ask.

"I didn’t see anyone but my father,” he says, “but that isn’t to say she wasn’t there."

"She said she tried to run away and warn Chelsea," I start to tell him, “and then he caught her."

He shakes his head. “Nothing you say will surprise me."

"There you are." I look to the right and see Chelsea walking toward us very slowly.

“What are you doing out of bed?" Mayson asks, looking around to see if there is a wheelchair he can grab.

"I’m tired of lying around doing nothing,” she huffs out. “I’m fine. I can lie in bed at home." She looks at me. “You look like shit."

"Right back at you,” I say, and she laughs. She comes over to me, and I hug her.

"Watch her shoulder," Mayson tells me, and I just look at him. Chelsea, Amelia, and I grew up together, almost like triplets. In school, it was always the three of us. They are my best friends; they know me better than I know myself.

"Did she wake up?" Chelsea asks, looking into the room where Willow sleeps.

"For a bit," I tell her. “Her name is Willow,” I say, and she looks over at the chart on the wall.

"Her heartbeat is all over the place. She must be in pain," Chelsea says, her medical training kicking in. "They upped her pain meds but not by much."

"She says she’s fine,” I say, and she looks at me with her mouth open.

"They drilled a hole in her head to reduce the swelling. I can confirm with you from other patients that I've had that she is in a fuck ton of pain. That isn’t even counting all her other injuries."

"Did you see her?" Mayson asks Chelsea. “At the cabin."

"No." She shakes her head. “I told you, I told Uncle Casey, and I’ve told Uncle Jacob over and over again. He was alone. Drove the car alone. Carried me alone. In the cabin, he was alone. I had no idea she was even there."

"We should get you into bed," Mayson says, and she tries to pretend she isn’t tired, but the yawn that escapes her tells us otherwise.

"Go rest. I’ll come and get you tomorrow when she gets up, and we can hear her story,” I say. “Maybe she can answer our questions."

"Well, the other person is sitting on ice in the morgue,” Mayson says.

"It’s a good thing,” I say. “Because if he wasn’t, I don’t know what I would do."

Chelsea looks over at me, and her eyebrows pinch together. I know she wants to ask me questions, but she doesn’t. I also know she is saving it for another day when she can sit down with me and see if I’m lying to her. It was something we did when we were kids, and as we grew, we were able to see when someone was lying to us. "I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and Mayson holds her hand as they walk back to her room.

I walk back into the room, stopping at the foot of her bed to look at her. The monitor shows her heart is beating steadily. She lies there so peaceful with her chest moving up and down rhythmically.

Making my way over to the chair beside her bed, I reach out and grab her hand. It’s small and fragile and cold. I put my other hand on it to warm her up. One hand holds her while I use the other one to rub her finger. My index finger rubbing hers, I’m tempted to bring her hand to my lips and softly kiss it. “Willow,” I say her name softly. “What secrets are you keeping?” I ask.