“Just a couple of times.” In the last two hours, she silently added. In all, she’d pestered the nurses at least six or seven times. “I’d like to go see him.”
He didn’t know what a visit to the hospital would accomplish, but Michael could see how important it was to her, so he didn’t argue. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“You will? Thank you. I don’t know anything about Detective Walsh except that he came to Boston from Miami. Why was he here and what was he doing on that street? He had a reason, and by now Detective Samuel should know what it was.”
“You shouldn’t worry about this. You aren’t part of the investigation now. You just happened to be on the street when the gunman tried to kill Walsh. You saved his life, Isabel, and you should be proud of that.”
“I did stroll right into the middle of it, didn’t I?” she asked, and before he could respond she said,
“Aren’t you at all curious to know what Detective Walsh was up to?”
“Eventually we’ll find out. After Samuel finishes his investigation, he’ll tell us.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“I know Walsh is still unconscious. I just wish I could grab him by his shoulders and shake him until he wakes up.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he said. Then he asked, “What else is on your mind?”
“A couple of things. I won’t bore you with the details.”
“Go ahead. Bore me.” He took the room card she handed him and opened the door.
Isabel walked in ahead of him, and as the door closed behind them they stood facing each other in the alcove. It was dark, but neither one of them reached to turn on the lights. Her back was against the wall, and he was close enough for her to feel his heat.
“Isabel?”
She realized she’d zoned out and said the first thing that popped into her head before he could tell her to focus on the task at hand. That seemed to be one of his favorite expressions. “I wish I weren’t a video on YouTube.”
“The singing or the shooting video?”
Startled, she asked, “What did you say? The video of me shooting that man is on YouTube for everyone to see?” She felt a sudden chill down her spine.
“Yes, but—”
“Oh my God . . . People see me killing a man . . . and with all that blood . . .”
“Your name isn’t attached. No one knows who you are.”
“Yet,” she said. “They’ll find out.”
She took a shaky breath, and when she tried to take her room card from him, Michael saw her hands were trembling again. He reached for her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. Isabel put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him.
Intense sensations began to course through Michael’s body. He knew he needed to put a stop to them before things got out of hand and it was too late to turn back. Gently letting go of her, he lifted her chin to look at him.
“Nick is getting it taken down,” he promised.
“You also saw the video of me singing? I don’t suppose you can take that down, too? I didn’t intend for lots of people to see that, but someone posted it.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that one,” he said. “Once it’s gone viral, you can’t take it back. You were wonderful, Isabel.”
Embarrassed by the compliment, she said, “I was drunk.”
“You were wonderful,” he repeated. “Now you say, ‘Thank you.’？”
“Thank you.”
“Who was the guy with his arm around you, pushing people out of the way to get you across the floor after you sang? The guy with the blond hair. Did you know him?”
“That was Damon. He’s a good friend.”
Friend. Not likely. Whoever filmed the video had scanned the audience, and Michael noticed the look on good old Damon’s face as they crossed the room.
“How good a friend?” he asked.
“He’s like a brother to me.”
He must love that, Michael thought.
Something about this Damon fellow annoyed him. But why did he care if the guy wanted her? And from the look on his face while she was singing, it was obvious that he did. Michael felt a hint of resentment beginning to swell up inside him. What was wrong with him? That was probably the tenth time he’d asked himself that question, and he still hadn’t come up with an answer.
The temptation to pull her into his arms again was becoming almost impossible to fight, and damn it, there was a bed just a couple of feet away. He wasn’t made of iron, for God’s sake. Didn’t she understand that?