More Than Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker #2) (6 page)

Startled once again, I actually snorted a laugh. This kid cracked me up. “I don’t have a little brother.”

“Little?” Teddy cringed again. “I didn’t say anything about little. Do I really remind you of a little brother? Please say no.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course you don’t remind me of a little brother.”

“Of course,” Teddy replied dryly.

“I think you’re more like…”

Teddy braced himself as he waited for what he thought would be a dooming analogy.

“You’re like the witty, lovable, sidekick, best friend.” Teddy looked appalled, so I added, “In a completely hot, bad boy, evil genius kind of way?”

“Now you’re talking.” Teddy finally managed to laugh. “Thank you. I appreciate the lie, outrageous as it is.”

I laughed again and nudged Teddy’s shoulder with mine. “You’re funny.”

“Funny enough to steal you from your too nice, too good-looking, too perfect boyfriend?”

“Ha! Nobody’s
that
funny.”

Teddy released a long, exaggerated sigh and I laughed again. I gave his arm a supportive pat. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem landing a girlfriend.”

“Aw, well, thank you for that. And on that gracious lie, I suppose I should get going before Dr. Chang misses his badge.”

Teddy got up, stretched his lanky arms, ran a hand through his hair, and made his way to the door. “It was good to see you again, Jamie.”

“You too,” I admitted. “And Teddy? You’re a good guy. I wasn’t lying about the girlfriend thing.” I even had the perfect one in mind.

Teddy met my eyes for a moment, flashed those dimples again, and then he was gone. I smiled at the empty hallway. He was surprisingly nice, funny, and very easy to talk to.

“What do you think?” I asked Mike suddenly. “He seems like he might be exactly the kind of guy Becky needs.” I snorted when I realized whose advice I was soliciting. “Like I should be talking to you about what’s best for Becky.”

I waited for the familiar wave of hate to wash over me that I always felt when I thought about what Mike did to Becky, but it didn’t come. I couldn’t muster an ounce of anger as I looked down at his bruised and broken body.

“I guess this makes us even, huh? It doesn’t make you even with Becky—nothing could do that—but
I
can’t really stay mad at you for hurting my friend after I let you get hurt like this. We’re both jerks.”

I let out a long breath. There wasn’t really anything else to say, but for some reason my feet wouldn’t carry me away. I just stood there. As if staring at him might somehow fix everything.

The walls in the room started to close in on me as the silence swelled in the small space. My eyes filled with tears again. I didn’t know if I was crying for Mike, myself, my long lost boyfriend Derek, or all three of us.

A soft knock came at the open door behind me. “Excuse me, miss; it’s after visiting hours.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was just leaving.”

Wiping my eyes, I turned to face my intruder. He was a tall, red-headed man— skinny, pale as the moon, and covered with so many freckles he looked splotchy. He wore a long white lab coat and stared at me with curious eyes.

I knew I should leave before the guy questioned more than just the late hour, but I didn’t go. “Doctor?” I asked, unable to help myself. “Is he going to be all right?”

The guy took a minute to form his reply, which, if you ask me, only meant he was hiding something. Like very bleak news.

“We’ll know more once he wakes up, but the fact that he made it through the first twenty-four hours has to be a good sign, right?”

Right. A sign? Some medical opinion. “Will he wake up?”

The doctor looked me over from head to toe and then offered a gentle smile. “With a pretty thing like you sitting at his bedside? He’d be a fool not to.”

Oh, Mike was definitely a fool, but I wasn’t. Something in the doctor’s statement sounded off. “This is the ICU, Doc,” I said lightly. “Immediate family only, and all that. I don’t think he cares how pretty I am.”

The man smiled. “And that would make you his sister? Twins, is it?”

I returned his smirk. “Identical. Can’t you tell?”

The doctor seemed to like my banter. He took a step into the room and shut the door most of the way behind him, as if trying not to disturb the other patients on the floor. “What’s your name, sweetheart? What’s your association with this boy? Girlfriend? I’m guessing girlfriend.”

Something about this didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t like his questions. I didn’t like how close he suddenly was to me, and I really didn’t like the phony smile plastered on his face.

“What’s your association with him,
Doc
?” I asked. “What’s
your
name? How about some ID?”

I surprised him with my questions, but my suspicion only made him look more eager. “My badge was stolen,” he said wryly. “Perhaps
you
have an idea where it might have gone, Miss…?”

Fishing for a name? My suspicions were confirmed and I took a wide stance, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can call me Ice Queen,” I said. “Tell me who you work for.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What despicable rag do you work for?” I hissed through gritted teeth. “If you were a doctor you would have checked your patient’s vitals by now, but you’re more interested in me.”

I looked him over again, this time taking in the details with my supersenses, and there it was—the tiny little hum I’d been expecting to hear. It was coming from the breast pocket of his JCPenney brand dress shirt beneath his stolen lab coat.

Too fast for him to stop me, I grabbed the tiny device from his pocket. He gasped and demanded I give it back, but I ignored him.

It wasn’t anything like the recording devices I’d seen Carter—Tabloid Scum Extraordinaire—use in the past. This was compact, sleek, near-silent, and very expensive-looking. Good. It’s so much more fun to destroy stuff when it’s nice.

I held the device up to my ear and shook it.

“Be careful with that!”

“What, this?” I closed my fist around the recorder and thanked the stars for my superstrength. The gadget was a heap of useless metal in no time. “My bad,” I said, letting the crumpled ball drop to the floor.

Slimeball Reporter gasped. He scrambled for what was left of his recorder and examined it with awe. “How did you do this?”

“You reporters make me sick. In what world do you think it’s cool to spy on people in the ICU? Are you seriously okay with ambushing some poor, unsuspecting, grieving girlfriend of a coma boy for a story?”

“Look, miss,” the man started to backpedal, “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Well, guess what? I’m not his grieving girlfriend, and you aren’t the first journalist I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.”

“Wait—you’re confused. I’m not a reporter.”

I took in his ginger hair and freckles again and remembered the name on the badge Teddy had stolen. “Right.” I laughed. “You’re
Dr. Chang
. Exactly how long were you spying on me? Long enough to hear my conversation with Teddy, obviously.”

“Teddy?”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but you will not be exploiting me or anyone else tonight. I suggest you leave right now, because I’m calling the cops in exactly five seconds.”

The man eyed the lump of metal in his hand again. “But—”

“Five.”

“What’s your name?”

“Four.”

“You won’t call the police. You’re not supposed to be here, either.”

“What are they going to do? Kick me out? Oh, no. I’m so scared. Three.”

I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the man.

“What are you doing?” the guy snapped, seriously annoyed that I’d taken his photo.

“Evidence,” I said. “For when the cops ask me what the creep reporter looked like, because I seriously doubt you’re going to stick around after I call them. Two.”

“All right!” the guy finally relented. “I’m going, all right? Let’s leave the cops out of this. I promise I’ll leave.”

“And you won’t come back here?”

“I won’t come back here,” he agreed.

“Good,” I said. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”

The man smiled grimly. “Well, you’re definitely as smart as you look. I never did catch your name.”

I smirked. “You first.” When he only glared at me, I laughed and pushed past him out the door. “Later,
Dr. Chang
.”

I’m used to people looking
at me. Not to sound full of myself or anything—one raging ego in a relationship is enough, and Ryan definitely has ours covered—but all my life I’ve been one of those girls that people watch. Growing up I was friendly, outgoing, athletic, and pretty. I wasn’t just a popular girl. I was
the
popular girl.

Then my accident happened, and everything changed. People still looked at me; they just stared for different reasons. The difference was, now I didn’t want them seeing me. Ironically, the less I wanted to be noticed, the more aware I became that everyone saw me. Now, I can always tell when I’m being watched.

It was Tuesday afternoon when I finally noticed my tails. I’d just finished a fantastically boring reading assignment in the library and was heading back to my dorm when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up—a surprisingly rare occurrence, considering my skin is practically made of static electricity.

I didn’t spot them at first, but I knew they were there, so I bent down—my shoe suddenly needed to be tied—to give myself a moment to find whomever it was without letting them know I was on to them.

There were two of them—a man and a woman, both around my parents’ ages sitting on a bench together, trying their hardest to blend in. They weren’t doing a good job.

The man had the chinos and penny loafers look right—a favorite among the Sac State professors, I’ve noticed—but he was reading a newspaper. Um, who does that anymore when you can get a live feed from any number of news sites on your mobile device of choice? And even if you are one of the old school guys who was somehow left behind by the digital age, you fold your paper into a manageable size. You don’t spread the whole thing out and hold it up in front of your face like you’re purposefully trying to hide behind it.

The woman had the opposite problem. She was typing something on some kind of tablet that looked way too technologically advanced to afford on a teacher’s salary, and her power suit and shark heels suggested a fashion sense that was way too trendy for someone from Sacramento—the city that style forgot.

The woman glanced up and flinched when she saw me looking at her. Amateur. Carter would be disgusted.

I quickly tied my shoe and started walking again, but I focused my ears on the pair as I left.

“Interesting,” the man said, with an undercurrent of excitement that made my stomach churn.

“Yes, quite,” the woman replied.

Great. They knew I’d spotted them. Worse, they were excited that I had. They’d wanted me to notice them. It had been a test. Here I thought they were the morons, but I’d just played right into their hands—only someone with something to hide would have noticed they were being followed.

But who were they, and what did they suspect?

I was just about to turn around and confront my stalkers when my phone buzzed, blasting my poor, superfocused ears and startling the living daylights out of me. If it had been anyone but Ryan, I wouldn’t have answered it. Instead, I picked it up and said, “Ryan, I’m being followed.”

Ryan chuckled. “Well hello to you, too, super hot girlfriend of mine.”

“I’m serious.”

“I can tell, but if anyone can scare off an adoring fan, it’s you. Ditch whoever’s bugging you and come see me. I have a surprise for you.”

“No, Ryan. I’m being
followed
. I ran into this reporter at the hospital Sunday evening.”

“The hospital?” I could hear the frown in Ryan’s voice. “You went back?”