Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(53)
Author: Jen Frederick

“Guy attacked her. She fell down the stairs and he hit her a few more times before I could get to her.” Steve pauses. “Sorry, man. Parked too far away. She vomited when I tried to sit her upright. Probably has a small concussion.”

“Where is he?” Ian growls, like a feral animal. The harshness in his voice is in direct contradiction to the tender way he’s holding me. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Mate, we need to move her soon.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Get his details. I’m coming back once I have Tiny squared away.”

“Don’t go to sleep, Tiny.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of me again. When I have the energy I’m breaking those digits off so he can’t snap them again.

Ian shifts me higher in his arms. “Where’s the car?”

Steve must’ve gestured because I don’t hear any verbal response. “What car today?” I ask because I don’t feel like pulling my head out of the nice little nest on his shoulder. If I place my nose is the right spot, I get a whiff of lemon from his shaving cream. And the lemon scent makes me think of how great the morning started with Ian heavy between my legs before I came out here to this quiet family neighborhood and got the crap beaten out of me.

“Things went to hell in a hurry this morning,” I murmur into his collarbone.

“Should never have left you,” he replies tersely. When we’re at the car, Ian settles me against the side of the vehicle as he opens the car door.

“We should get a minivan,” I tell him. “In the commercials, the doors open and close with a push of a button.”

“I don’t think anyone in the city owns a minivan.” He sounds amused.

“We’ll need it for our kids.”

He sucks in a breath and then hugs me tight as he puts me into the back of the Bentley. I stretch out on the soft leather and fall into a light sleep. It’s not even sleep because I can hear Steve climb in and then another car door open and shut.

“Should we take her to the hospital?”

Ian replies, “We can’t. They’d be bound to report an assault and Tiny’s got the packages on her. Let’s go to the warehouse.”

As Steve takes off smoothly, Ian plucks a phone out of his pocket with one free hand. The other is pressing me against his chest. “Roger, Ian Kerr here . . . Great. I’m glad that investment worked for you. Hey, I’ve got a friend who had a little run-in. Need her checked out . . . Yep, my place over on Hudson. See you in thirty minutes.”

I doze in and out of consciousness on the ride to Ian’s loft. “What were you thinking that day?” I ask during one of my lucid moments.

“Which day, bunny?” He’s holding me on his lap with one hand propped against my head and the other running lightly over my outer thigh. It’s really nice.

“When your snake camera was looking at me. It scared me.”

“I was thinking that you looked regretful that you were leaving the box and about how much I’d enjoy bringing it back to you.”

“You’re always so sure of yourself,” I whisper.

“Yes, but you are too, Tiny, or we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Right,” I nod and then stop because that hurts. “You want to think for me. Sounds like a great plan.”

“Let’s wait to have this discussion when your head isn’t banged up, because you’re saying things right now that you might regret.”

“You’re big on the no regrets thing.”

“When it matters.”

I don’t remember being carried up the stairs and into the loft, but a bright light in my eyes wakes me up.

“Ow.” The pinpoint light is directed right at my eyeballs. I bat at it but someone takes my hands and folds them in his.

“Tiny,” Ian says. “There’s a doctor here. He’s checking you out.”

“Does he have to blind me while he’s at it? I thought they took an oath to do no harm.” He doesn’t resist when I pull my hands down, but I don’t try to hit the doctor either. Not even when he presses into my ribs, causing a hiss of pain to release.

“Okay, that hurts,” I tell the doctor whose face looks like a big, black dot. “You don’t have to press so hard.”

He continues his palpation of all my sore spots until I feel like I’m one big ache. Thanks for nothing, doc.

“I don’t think she has any broken ribs. The swelling in her face should subside in a day, although if it doesn’t you should take her in. The helmet did a good job of protecting her, but she might have a concussion since you said she was in and out of consciousness and had vomiting and nausea. Time is your best treatment. My recommendation is for her to stay in bed for a day and then take it easy for the next week.”

“A week?” I yelp. “There’s no way.”

I struggle upright, fighting off the pain in my head and the nausea in my belly.

“Watch for increased head pain, drowsiness, or more vomiting. Anything like that.”

“Do I need to wake her every two hours?” Ian asks, completely ignoring me.

“No. Monitor the symptoms. We’re looking for a worsening condition and if that happens, we should bring her in for testing.”

“Thanks, Roger.” Ian shows him toward the door.

I fall into a restless sleep, and when I wake up I see Steve leaning against a long, low console table snugged up against the wall.

“You got a phone?” I ask him. A giant television hangs behind him. The ticker at the bottom of the news channel he was watching says I’ve slept for three hours. He looks at me like I’m crazy, but I don’t see a phone in here. There’s got to be a landline in this joint someplace. Ever since 9/11 and the overwhelmed cell towers, people in the city scrambled to install landlines. I can’t see Ian not having one.

I stagger toward the door where Ian and the doctor have disappeared. Outside runs a long hallway and a glass railing that overlooks the main floor where I first laid eyes on Ian Kerr. Steve trails behind me, not stopping me but not letting me out of his sight either. There appear to be other rooms on this level, so I wander down the hall. The next doorway opens into an office and in it is a phone. Bingo.

Swiftly I enter the room, barely making note of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on one side and the multiple television monitors on the other showing stock tickers from all over the world. The phone at my work rings twice when my boss answers, “Neil’s Delivery Service, timely and discreet courier services for all your city needs, can I help you?”