Witness Undercover

“They’re sore but I think fine.”

“No nausea or dizziness from your fall?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.” Laura hoped she wouldn’t suffer further ill effects. Time was short and her father didn’t need any delays.

Griffin searched her face. “You’ll let me know if anything changes? If your neck or your head gets worse?”

She nodded, stopping near the nurse’s station to leave her purse and coat in a visitor’s locker.

They reached her dad’s room and she paused, surprised at the flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with what had just happened in the ladies’ room.

Griffin stopped, too. “Are you afraid he’ll be worse off than you imagine?”

“What if he doesn’t want to see me at all?” There, she’d said it. To a near stranger.

“I’m sure seeing you will make his day.”

Laura hoped so, but after what she’d done, she wasn’t so sure. Squaring her shoulders, she glanced up, surprised to see encouragement in his blue-green eyes.

She wanted to study his face. Instead, she turned toward the door to Nolan’s hospital room, saying a quick prayer that things would go well. “This could take a while. He might not be awake and I’d like to wait until he is.”

“I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes.”

“I appreciate that.”

He nodded.

She donned the required paper mask and gown, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. She was glad to see the drapes were partially open and light spilled into the room. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she grazed the knot at her hairline. Hopefully, it wasn’t noticeably swollen yet and her dad wouldn’t ask about it.

Nolan lay unmoving as he had last night and now Laura noticed things she hadn’t been close enough to see when she’d looked in on him. Dark circles beneath his eyes, the parchment-thin appearance of his skin. There were still a few threads of black hair sprinkled among the thick whiteness.

Overhead she heard the muffled thwump-thwump of a helicopter. The silence of the room was broken only by the hum of machines. Because she knew Griffin would allow no one to get past him, she addressed her father as she wanted. “Dad?”

He opened his eyes, fixing his filmy blue gaze on her for a moment before recognition flared. “Laura?”

His voice was tentative, as if he didn’t believe she was real. “Yes, it’s me,” she choked out.

Her heart beat hard in her chest and she realized her palms were clammy.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

At his accusing tone, she stiffened, instantly defensive.

“Aunt Joy tracked me down. She told me you were ill.”

“And you came.”

“Yes.” Was he glad? Angry? She could tell nothing from his flat brittle voice.

He blinked slowly, almost as if he was too groggy to stay awake. Laura moved up the side of the bed. If he told her to leave, she wouldn’t do it. This might be her only chance—their only chance—to make any inroads. “I know this is probably the worst time to talk, but I really think we should.”

“We should.”

Relief flooded her.

Nolan peered hard at her. “What happened to your head?”

“Just bumped it. I’m fine.”

After a long moment, he labored out, “How did Joy find you?”

“She had someone track me down.”

“Someone from that agency of hers,” her father guessed.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Griffin Devaney.”

“Good man.” Nolan’s eyes fluttered as if it cost too much energy to keep them open, but he did. “Did you come so you could be tested as a donor?”

“Yes, and I’ve been cleared to be your donor, but that isn’t the only reason I came. I want to ask your forgiveness.”

“No.” He shifted on the bed, wincing.

Her heart sank, but she wasn’t leaving until she’d said what she needed to. “At least hear me out.”

“Not...what I meant.” Slowly, he lifted a hand and made a feeble gesture for her to come closer.

She moved up beside him, catching a faint whiff of his Old Spice aftershave mixed with the zing of antiseptic. His usually smiling face was haggard and wan, fatigue marking his mouth and eyes. The realization of just how ill he was shook her once more.

He grasped her hand, his grip weak. “I’m the one...who should...ask forgiveness.”

He seemed barely able to speak. Tears blurred her vision and she carefully squeezed his fingers.

“I never should’ve let you go,” he rasped.

“I left you.”

“Still, I should’ve kept trying to see you.” His voice grew faint.

“Don’t strain yourself. Let me do the talking, okay?”

“I...I have things to say, too.”

She smiled. “I know, but I don’t want you to overdo it.”