Page 21 of Deacon

When I looked at him, he was already taking in the room with one of his quick, incisive glances, coffee in one hand and trouble curling through his grin. Beneath the performance, I caught the real reason he had come upstairs in the brief look he gave me, a quiet warning tucked under all that easy charm.

Wonderful.

“Oh hey.” Evan glanced between Priest and the tattooed man. “You again.”

“Evan,” I said, already tired.

“President biker guy is back,” he announced cheerfully, nodding toward Priest before turning toward the stranger, “and he brought hunky tattooed biker guy with him.”

The tattooed man went still, his scarred brow lifting by a fraction. I stared at Evan. “Please stop talking.”

He ignored me completely. “Quick question. Are you guys here to say goodbye, or threaten him back to consciousness?”

A strangled sound escaped the tattooed man before he caught it. I seized Evan’s sleeve. “Behave. You are in front of bikers and a coma patient.”

Priest gave a short snort, which only made Evan look more pleased with himself. I tightened my grip and pulled him toward the door. “We’re going to be late.”

He allowed me to drag him away without argument. At the threshold, he looked over his shoulder and gave the men a bright little wave. “Bye.”

The door slid shut behind us. The moment we entered the hallway, I released his sleeve and turned on him. “What is it?”

His grin faded enough for the concern beneath it to show. “Blue sent me to come get you.”

I blew out a breath and pressed the elevator button. Evan fell into step beside me, mercifully quiet until the doors closed and I folded my arms across my chest.

“What exactly am I walking into?”

He leaned against the wall, coffee still balanced in one hand as the last of his playfulness left his expression. “Your favorite admirer is downstairs.”

I stared at him.

“Blue spotted him about two minutes after you went upstairs,” he continued, lifting his brows. “She sent me to warn you before he started hovering around the desk asking questions nobody wanted to answer.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Of course he did.”

“On the bright side, I’m deeply prepared to be rude on your behalf.”

“That is not the bright side you think it is.”

“It absolutely is.”

The corner of my mouth twitched, but the knot in my stomach remained. Jude was the kind of man who mistook persistence for charm, and I had grown tired of both.

“I can handle him,” I said.

“I know.” Evan’s answer came easily, stripped of teasing. “That doesn’t mean you should have to.”

The elevator jolted softly as it reached the ER floor. I straightened my shoulders and exhaled. “Fine. But no theatrics.”

He looked offended. “You wound me.”

The doors opened, and there Jude stood near the desk as though he had every right to occupy the space.Dark hair swept neatly back from a clean-cut face, his jaw shadowed just enough to soften the polished-cop look without making him seem approachable. His uniform fit too well across his shoulders, his badge catching the fluorescent light as he pushed away from the counter. A smile slid into place the moment he saw me, and he approached with the loose confidence men like him always carried, as though a no from me marked the beginning of negotiations instead of the end.

“Lila,” he said warmly, like we were old friends rather than two people caught in a conversation I had avoided for weeks. “There you are.”

I kept walking. “Jude.” My tone was polite, clipped and final, years of professional restraint doing the heavy lifting.

He either failed to hear it or chose not to. “I was hoping I’d catch you.” His gaze traveled over me and lingered long enough to ignite a hot spark of irritation. “I was thinking maybe you’d let me take you out Saturday. Dinner. Drinks. Something better than hospital coffee and fluorescent lighting.”