I chuckled. It was cute she thought I needed to lie down. A naughty comeback surfaced on the tip of my tongue about where I wanted to lie down, but I kept it in. I didn’t think her father would appreciate my impure thoughts.
“They released me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “They’re making me stay overnight.”
From the foot of the bed, Mr. Shaw cleared his throat. “Do you need anything, honey? Should I get the nurse?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Have you been sleeping in the chair?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to stay. It’s so late. I know you must have a million things to do.”
“Nothing as important as you.”
Was it possible to be jealous of a parent? It seemed wrong to be mad about the way she smiled tenderly at him. Knowing that being jealous was stupid didn’t make me feel it any less.
“Taylor, honey, do you mind if I just step out to get some coffee? Make a call?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
Mr. Shaw glanced at me.
“Oh,” Taylor said, looking between us. “I didn’t introduce you. Dad, this is Brody West. He was the police officer who bandaged my wound and pretty much kept me alive.” She turned to me. “Brody, this is my dad, Edward Shaw.”
“I know who he is,” Edward replied.
“Dad,” she groaned. “Really?”
He stepped around me to kiss the top of Taylor’s head and then turned to me. I could see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to ask me, but at the same time he didn’t want to.
“I’ll stay until you come back.” I offered, giving the man a break. His kid was in the hospital after all.
He nodded once and exited the room quietly.
I looked down to see her fingers spider-crawling across the crappy hospital blanket toward mine. She hesitated, but then a single finger stretched out toward where mine rested on the mattress. I met her halfway, slipping my fingers between hers.
“Are you really okay?” she asked, staring at our joined hands.
I caught the leg of the chair her father had been sitting in and dragged it closer, pulling it up right beside the bed to sit down. Before I lowered myself, I lifted up the torn and bloody shirt and showed her the fresh, clean bandage wrapped around my waist. “The bullet just grazed me.”
She blew out a breath like she had been nervous.
“How about you?” I asked, sitting down but keeping hold of her hand. I liked the way it felt in mine.
“The doctors were really impressed with your stitch job. They didn’t even redo it. They re-bandaged it, gave me a couple more shots…” She paused to stick out her tongue. “And strapped me in this sling.”
I glanced at the white sling holding her arm against her body. “They give you any good meds?”
She giggled and I took that as a yes. “Where else are you hurt?” I asked, concerned. I hadn’t been gentle when I threw her onto those stairs when we were being shot at. I knew I probably hurt her, but I couldn’t be sorry.
“Nothing major. A couple cuts and bruises.”
“Like this one,” I said, pulling my hand away from hers and lightly touching the side of her cheek where Snake hit her at the bank.
He was still at large. The police had an APB out for his arrest.
“Nothing a little makeup won’t fix.” Taylor pulled my hand away from the bruise and threaded her fingers through mine once more. “You’re a good hand holder.”
I grinned. “You think so?”
She nodded. “You fold your fingers around mine, like really tangle us together. It’s like you want to touch me.”
I did want to touch her. I wanted to touch more than just her hand. “Isn’t this the way everyone holds hands?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Every other guy I dated never intertwined our fingers. He always just kind of cupped my hand in his.” She made a face. “It was lame.”
“Sounds like you’ve dated a lot of guys,” I said, irritation clouding my tone. I didn’t want to think of anyone else’s hands on her.
“Not really. A few. My father runs most of them off.”
Suddenly her father didn’t annoy me as much.
She made a little sound. “I didn’t mean to imply that we’re dating,” her cheeks flamed a shade that matched her hair. “Obviously, we aren’t… I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” I grinned. I liked seeing her flustered.
“Will you hand me that water?” she asked, pulling back her hand.
I gave her the cup and watched her lips wrap around the striped straw. Once she had her fill, she lowered it and studied me. “Did they catch him?”
I knew she was asking about Snake. “No. He disappeared. But they’re still looking.”
Fear clouded her eyes.
“You’re safe,” I told her, taking the cup and setting it aside. I didn’t want her to be afraid. “They’ll get him soon.”
“So what now?” She leaned her head back against the pillow and looked at me.
“You get some rest and I get to do paperwork.”
“How long have you been a police officer?”
“About six years.”
“You’ve been in lots of dangerous situations before?”
“A few.” I hedged. My entire career was pretty much one big dangerous situation, but whatever.
“That tattoo,” she began. “The one on your back. It marks you as part of a gang?”
“Yeah. It was part of my cover for the last case I worked on.”
“Seems extreme to have to carry around a gang symbol for life for a temporary job.”
I shrugged. “The job might have been temporary, but it’s part of me now. Besides, I earned that tattoo.”
She nodded. I don’t think she knew what to say to that. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was proud of things I’d done to get this tattoo… Of course, I wasn’t ashamed either. I wasn’t like the men she was probably used to. I wasn’t black or white. I was the kind of guy who existed in the gray area of life… in between the bad and the good, kind of stuck being pulled in both directions.
She yawned, revealing her little pink tongue, and my blood pressure started to rise. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” I told her gruffly, remembering the way it felt to invade her mouth with mine.