Page 7 of Serve ’N’ Protect

For literally the third time since they’d met, she worried he was a wanted criminal. True, he might have a perfectly non-felonious reason for not wanting anyone to see his face, such as being a disgraced ex-contestant on Survivor or some other reality TV show. But still…

That’s it, her mind screamed. Stick to your guns. Drop him off, make sure he has money for a taxi or an Uber, then leave. After that, she could lock Ghost up somewhere safe in John’s house and get back to work.

Two hours later, Cassidy still sat in the waiting room, fidgeting with her zipper. People came and went, most with sad expressions, and her heart went out to them. Markus was somewhere in the bowels of the ER, being examined, or stitched up, or X-rayed, or one of a thousand other horrible things that went on here. Sadly, she knew more about being in a hospital than most people ever would.

With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. I can’t do it. That was exactly why she could never leave Markus here alone, no matter who he was. The man was physically strong, that much was obvious from all those muscles she’d glimpsed back at John’s house. Sometimes, physical fitness wasn’t enough. Sometimes, all it took was another car jumping the divider to shatter a person’s world and leave them as helpless as a newborn baby.

But there was no need to be naive. How did she even know for sure that Markus hadn’t broken into John’s house and was freeloading while he recovered? Stupidly, she’d completely forgotten to grill him about how he came to be staying next door, or if he even knew who John was.

Cassidy cued up John Freeman’s number and hit the call button. Chances were he wouldn’t answer, but he always got back to her. To her surprise, he picked up. “John, it’s Cassidy,” she said. “I need to ask you some questions about the guy staying in your house.”

Chapter Four

“You’re where?” Captain McMurray’s bellow was so loud, it went straight through one ear and headed directly through his brain to the other.

He eyed the young Latina doctor who was examining his stitches. Dr. Martinez, her badge said. If she or the assisting nurse, Amani, had heard the captain, they didn’t let on. He lowered the volume on the phone just in case.

“St. Mary’s Hospital in Leonardtown.” Going to the hospital—any hospital—directly contradicted McMurray’s orders. Defying those orders meant Markus had just put himself at the top of the man’s shit list.

The captain of the U.S. Secret Service’s Uniformed Division had a legendary temper, which made itself known by the string of innovative curse words Markus heard in the background. Despite his temper, McMurray’s dedication to the men and women working under him was unquestioned. Markus would walk through fire for the man. They all would.

“What name did you give them?” McMurray asked.

“The one we agreed on,” he said. In one of his jacket pockets were his real creds. The other pocket contained a wallet crammed with a full set of ID in the name Alex Adessio, including a valid credit card. The chief would shit a brick when he got the hospital bill. “I should be out of here in about half an hour.”

“How did you get to the hospital?” McMurray asked. “I hope to God you didn’t call an ambulance.”

There was no avoiding it. Markus would get verbally whiplashed for what he was about to say next. “My next-door neighbor drove me.”

“Your what?” Despite having lowered the volume, Markus jerked the phone from his ear so both his eardrums wouldn’t get shredded.

Dr. Martinez arched a brow but kept stitching him up with the precision of a seasoned quilter.

“She found me passed out cold on the floor.” His father would have berated him six ways from sundown and told him in no uncertain terms that he was weak and stupid for putting himself in that position. Bastard that Steven was, even Markus had to agree. “If I hadn’t let her take me to the hospital, she would have called 911.”

McMurray let loose with another string of invective colorful enough to make a sea captain blush. “How much does she know?”

“Nothing.” For her safety, he planned on keeping it that way.

“Good. I’m leaving D.C. now,” McMurray warned. “I’ll meet you at the house. Make damn sure you’re there by the time I arrive. We’ll figure out whether we have to move you.”

McMurray hung up.

F. Bomb. Markus’s entire body felt as if it had been run over by an Abrams tank, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He didn’t relish relocating. He’d only just gotten comfortable in his friend’s house.

Dr. Martinez arched that eyebrow again. “Half an hour is a bit premature. You need to stay here until we get those images back. I won’t discharge you until I’m sure you didn’t tear open anything internally.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Markus lied, having no intention of sticking around that long.

The meds he’d taken were finally wearing off and he could see without a gray film clouding his vision. As for internal damage, he’d been hurt on the job before and knew his own body well enough that he was reasonably certain he hadn’t ripped his guts open. As soon as the doctor added a few stitches to replace the ones he’d busted, sayonara.

He wasn’t sure if the woman who’d driven him to the hospital—Cassidy—had actually waited for him. Then again, his K-9 was still in the back of her tiny tin can of a car, and he got the distinct impression that she liked dogs. Given how protective Ghost was of him, it was a miracle his dog hadn’t sunk his teeth into her.

The doctor deftly tied off the last new stitch in his abdomen. Unfortunately, on a scale of one to ten, the soreness and achiness in his gut was a solid eight.

He clenched his fist, still angry as hell that he’d been so completely taken off guard like a first-year rookie. That had never happened to him before. And never will again. When he found the guy who had done this to him and murdered Jack Barnes, he’d annihilate him.

“What’s with all the reporters?” he asked, checking his phone when it vibrated with an incoming call. John Freeman. He let it go to voicemail. Getting past those reporters again without being seen wouldn’t be easy. He could only hope they hadn’t picked up on his identity on the way in. If they had, things would only go from bad to worse. And McMurray would skin him alive.