Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) (23 page)

Pocketing Viola’s beloved watch, Sam re-locked the cabinet and put the key back in its rightful place. Breathing shallowly, he opened the door and peeked out into the hallway, making sure the security guards weren’t returning from their call. Even though there were about ten or fifteen guards on at one time, most of them were stationed separately throughout the hospital—in the ER, on certain high-risk patients, etc—but when a code was called, they tended to converge. Still, you never knew when one of them would decide to return to the roost.

Slipping out the door, Sam forced himself to walk calmly through the labyrinth and into the main hallway. When he reached the security elevator that led up to Psych, he calmly scanned his new badge and stepped inside. When the doors closed around him, he finally let his breath out in one long, shaky sigh of relief. So far, so good. His phone buzzed again, and he jumped.

Pulling it from his pocket, Sam braced himself for bad news. But it was just another text from Brady.
It is done.

Apparently, Sam was supposed to take that to mean that all had gone according to plan. After dropping Sam’s gym bag in an inconspicuous area of the lobby, Brady had picked up one of the courtesy phones and—in Dr. Bel-Air’s voice, no doubt—had reported a suspicious and unattended package to security, or in other words, a code yellow. As per protocol, the guards would rush to the area, and inspect said suspicious package before they took further steps. Like calling in a bomb squad, for example.

To keep anything that drastic from happening, Brady was supposed to wait out of sight until the security guards showed up, and then walk back into the lobby with a stupid expression on his face. Walking through the guards to pick up ‘his’ bag, he’d probably said something super obvious, like, “I can’t believe I left this here. What a random thing for me to accidentally do.”

Normally, if anyone else had done the same thing, it would have raised a ton of suspicion. But even after less than a year at Our Lady of Mercy, Brady already had a reputation for being a guy that did a lot of stupid shit. Hence, he was the perfect scapegoat. With his record, chances were the security guards wouldn’t even bother to look in the bag.

Thanks
, Sam texted back, grateful that phase one of the plan had gone so smoothly, even as he shook with dread over how wrong things might have gone.
I owe you so many beers.

Hell yes you do
, Brady replied, almost instantly. Then,
Give her hell, Samwise
.

Sam’s relief was destined to be short-lived, though. The moment the elevator doors opened into Psych, he immediately snapped back into stealth mode—which was extra ridiculous, considering that his street clothing made him stick out like a sore thumb. Luckily, the few people he passed in the hallway seemed to be patients, either headed to or from the cafeteria for dinner. Reaching the door to Viola’s room, Sam glanced at his watch. It was 6:49 PM. He couldn’t believe how quickly he’d just gone from law-abiding citizen to reckless felon. But at that moment, imagining the look on Viola’s face when he handed back her most prized possession, it felt worth it.

Pushing the door open, Sam felt his heart sink to his knees.

The room was empty. Dark, except for the yellow glow of a streetlamp from outside the window. Both beds had been stripped. The only thing left was a small stack of hard-cover books on the windowsill.

Sam went over and sat down on the bed, palming his face in defeat.

Viola was gone—probably moved to an outside psychiatric facility by now. Or hell, maybe she’d just requested another room, with an alias. Whatever it took to keep herself away from her psychotic doctor, who had apparently misconstrued her kiss as something it absolutely wasn’t. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sam looked over at the stack of books on the window. Apparently, she’d learned everything from these that she needed. As he reached for the book on top of the stack, which was a leather-bound copy of
Wuthering Heights
, the door creaked open.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“A woman should soften but not weaken a man.” –Sigmund Freud

Viola had started planning her escape five days ago, but even after Sam had sent word about the three-day letter, she’d soon discovered that getting out of the psych ward would only be the first step toward freedom. Once she was finally outside the walls of the hospital, all bets would be off.

Yesterday, by illegally borrowing Kevin’s cell phone, she’d discovered that all of her credit cards had been flagged by her father’s company, so that whenever she used any of them, an alert e-mail would be sent to the main Bellerose Co. address. Which now, only Jacques had access to. That was just one of the many ways Viola feared her ‘uncle’ planned to keep tabs on her, tracking her whereabouts, spending habits and—worst case scenario—having her followed. Worse than that, she supposed, he could decide to send someone after her, to get her out of the way for good. Viola didn’t think he’d do it himself. Not in person. Not to her face. The direct approach just wasn’t Jacques’ style.

No, if he was going to come after her, Viola reasoned, he’d start by taking away her freedom. First, physically, with this attempt to have her committed. Eventually, he’d have her declared ‘mentally unfit,’ so he could use his power of attorney to transfer ownership of Bellerose Co. into his name. He’d take away her name, her financial freedom. No one would bother to listen to her after that. She’d be nobody.

Of course, if that didn’t work, he could probably have her killed. According to the research Viola had done into inheritance law, Jacques would only gain uncontested control of the company if there were no survivors with the Bellerose family name. It would take time and a lot of lawyers, but it could be done.

At any rate, as the last Bellerose standing in his way, Viola knew that her days were numbered. Unless she could strike first and prove that Jacques had conspired to kill her parents.

Unfortunately, before she could prove anything, she needed money, and a place to stay. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Viola finished her cup of tapioca pudding—because hey, it was actually kind of good once you got used to it—and headed back to her room for the last time. As she passed the windowed-in nurse’s station, she tapped lightly on the glass.

From behind the desk, Kevin looked up at her and smiled.

“I’ll meet you in five minutes, up at the front desk,” she told him, putting up five fingers just in case he hadn’t heard her. Then she moved her fingers up to her hear in the international ‘phone’ symbol. “Don’t forget to write down those phone numbers for me, okay?”

Kevin nodded. “I’ll call down to security and have them bring up the rest of your stuff.”

Viola nodded. “Thanks, Kevin.”

She’d already decided to hand over her one-carat diamond earrings to Kevin, as a thank-you for all his help, before she left. He’d probably try to refuse, but eventually he’d break down and take them. Viola knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the thought of giving them to his grandmother as a Mother’s Day gift.

When she made her way back through the hallway, Viola smiled or nodded at most of the patients she passed, even Naked Ronald. She wasn’t afraid of them anymore, just as she was no longer afraid that her mind was playing tricks on her. For the first time since she’d woken from the coma, she felt like she was back in control of her body.

Now, all that was left for her to do was take back control of her life.

As she went through the next few steps of the plan in her head, Viola found herself stuttering over step three. Maybe because it involved trusting someone else, which she’d always hated doing. More likely, it was because as things stood between then now, she still didn’t know whether or not the person she needed to trust would even want to help her.

For the past three days, she’d tried to give him space, tried to create a bit of distance in his mind between the Viola who had lost control and attacked him—which had probably just proved how unstable she was, at least in his mind—and the Viola she was now. Cool. Calm. Collected. And completely sane. It was so important for her to turn over a new leaf, to show Sam the side of her that he’d never seen. The kind of girl who could take care of herself.

Of course, even the most self-sufficient girl needed to ask for a favor, once in a while. Right? That was another reason she hadn’t let him come to see her. As cruel as it seemed to keep him wondering, she didn’t want to risk his coming to her with yet another apology and a guilty conscience, before she was ready to tell him what she needed. When it came to her endgame, even guilt-tripping Sam into helping her seemed a worthwhile price to pay.

When she opened the door to her now empty room, Viola froze in her tracks. All thoughts of planning went out of her head, as she saw a dark shape sitting hunched over on her bed. The first thought that skittered across her consciousness was one of fear.

Oh, God, she thought. I was wrong. Jacques isn’t going to wait until I’m free. He’s going to have me killed right now. Tonight.

But Viola wasn’t the kind of girl to quaver in the face of death. Not anymore, not after all she’d survived. Instead, she drew herself up to her full height and asked, in her sternest voice, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Slowly and silently, the dark shape unraveled itself, until it was standing tall in front of her empty bed. Very tall. In spite of her fear, Viola’s heart gave a tiny leap of hope.

“Sam?”

“I thought you were gone.”

At the familiar sound of his voice, Viola’s muscles relaxed and her skin warmed. She stepped toward him, her feet seeming to move of their own accord. As she got closer, she noticed that he was holding something. Her fingers tensed, automatically going to the bulge in the front of her jacket—the notebook was still with her. Sam was only holding one of her other books.

“You got here just in time,” she told him. “In a few more minutes, I will be.”

Sam made a sound, and Viola tilted her head to look up at his face. His jaw was clenched, and there was something about the way he was looking at her that made a chill run through her body.

For the first time, they were standing on even ground, so to speak. Viola found herself wishing for the added advantage of a pair of Christian Louboutin stilettos, instead of the ballet flats she was wearing. His height had never seemed like it could be threatening, until now.

“Were you even going to say goodbye?” he asked, taking another step toward her. “Were you even going to tell me where you were going?”

“Actually,” Viola licked her lips, suddenly nervous. “I had planned on calling you right after I left the hospital. I was going to ask you…something. But I wanted to wait until I wasn’t your patient anymore.”

Sam reached a hand toward her, and in the shadows of his face, Viola thought she saw the hint of a smile. But not his usual smile. Something darker.

“You haven’t been my patient for going on a week now.”

“Oh,” she sucked in a breath as his hand brushed against the side of her face. “Well, I suppose that’s…technically true.”

“Your speech is almost perfect.”

Viola’s heart skipped. Did he know what she was planning? But no, he was talking about her aphasia—her ability to speak properly.

“Thanks, I’ve been working on visualization….” She blushed, grateful that the lights weren’t on. “You know, picturing myself at a podium, talking to a room full of people…and all that. It’s basically the opposite of what you’d want to do, if you were afraid of crowds instead of words.”

The self-directed courtesy laugh died in her throat as Sam’s fingers circled around to the back of her neck, and his thumb began tracing her jaw line.

“What were you going to ask me?”

“What?” Viola was having trouble remembering her name, let alone the very intricate plan she’d spent almost a week building. She couldn’t bear to ask him. Not yet. What if he said no?

“Oh, right. I uh... I don’t want to get you into any kind of trouble, so I thought I’d wait until I was out of the hospital.”

Sam’s laugh was deep and sinister. It caught her off guard, and she took a step back.

“I think it’s far too late for that,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Warily, Viola followed the silhouette of his other hand as it reached into the pocket of his...jeans? He wasn’t even wearing his hospital scrubs. Based on her intimate experience with hospital policy, she was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be there, especially not off duty and out of uniform. The small finger of fear once again slid down her spine, warning her that Sam wasn’t above being manipulated into betraying her. It had happened before. Hadn’t it?

But when his hand leveled out in front of her eyes, Viola was staring at her watch.

“How?” She reached out, running her fingers over the cool, familiar metal—and yes, a bit of his hand too, while she was at it. Just to make sure they were both real. “Where did you get this?”

“I stole it,” he said. “It was supposed to be my proof. That I was sorry.”

“Oh.” Viola couldn’t look him in the eye. Not while her face was burning up with embarrassment. She still couldn’t believe how rough she’d been with him, how easy it had felt to abandon control, right before she’d said that.
Prove it
. Forcing herself to smile—because this was
so
not the time or the place to explain what she’d really meant, that she’d wanted him to stop being so damn disconnected, physically—she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Why Sam, you shouldn’t have.”

“But I did.”

Moving his free hand to take hers, Sam pulled her arm toward him and slid the watch around her wrist, clasping it shut.

“So,” he said, as he continued to pull on her arm, bringing her closer. “Do you accept my apology?”

Viola opened her mouth to say not yet,’ because she couldn’t afford to give up the power she currently held over him.

That was when he kissed her.

Unlike the other times, when he’d responded to her spontaneous assaults on his mouth with all the exuberance of a granite statue, this time Sam took control. His arms felt surprisingly hard and well-muscled when they wrapped around her, especially now that they weren’t hidden underneath a starched white coat. His lips were soft, but demanding. Raising a hand to his face, Viola delighted in the feeling of strong jaw muscles working underneath satiny skin as his mouth urged hers open, as his tongue pushed its way roughly between her lips.