Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 727(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Finally Browning got up and went into the hall. Nathaniel heard his strident tone through the wood, but he couldn't understand Browning's words. Towns watched his partner closely when Browning returned, and Browning answered by scribbling a note on Towns' clipboard. Nathaniel resisted the temptation to throw his thin pillow at them and eased onto his back again instead.
They didn't say anything else to him, so Nathaniel let his thoughts drift. The hours to his discharge stretched endless and miserable. When the doctor stopped by to give him advice about how to treat his injuries, Nathaniel cut her off with a rude, "I don't need your help."
The doctor, likely used to ornery patients, signed the bottom of Nathaniel's chart without another word. She looked to the agents and said, "They can sign you out at the desk down the hall. They'll have his medicine ready for you."
Browning nodded but waited for the doctor to leave before unlocking the handcuff that bound Nathaniel to the bed. He and Towns put the rail down so Nathaniel could slide off the mattress. Towns handed over a bag, and Nathaniel dumped a set of dark sweats onto the bed.
"Where are my clothes?" Nathaniel asked.
"Taken as evidence," Towns said.
Towns went to stand by the door. Browning stayed close, but he half-turned away from Nathaniel. If Nathaniel tried anything, he'd see it in his peripheral vision, but it was still a smidgen of privacy. The hospital gown Nathaniel wore was unfastened, which he was immensely grateful for. He didn't think he could deal with knots and strings until his hands were better. He shrugged the gown off and eased into his new clothes as carefully as he could. His hands were burning by the time he was done. He held them close to his stomach, knowing it wouldn't help at all but needing to try and quench that fire somehow.
Browning cuffed his hands in front of him, then pulled his hood down over his face. "Thanks to your father's neighbors, the press knows someone was taken from Nathan's house last night. The major channels don't have a name yet, but they won't need it. You've spent too much time on TV this last year. People will recognize your face the second they get a glimpse of it."
"Is there enough of it left to recognize?" Nathaniel asked.
"There's a mirror around here somewhere if you want to see."
"I'd settle for your opinion," Nathaniel said.
"It'll heal eventually," Browning said, which was neither here nor there.
They led him down the hall. Towns signed them out and picked up a white bag that rattled. Painkillers and antibiotics, Nathaniel assumed. Burn cream if he was lucky. Towns gave it to him to carry, and they took an elevator down. Browning called ahead as they reached the ground floor and got an all-clear. Nathaniel didn't look up to see if there were reporters lurking around for photographs. He kept his head tilted as far down as he could and hoped the hood was bulky enough to shield his face.
An SUV idled at the curb. The back door opened at their approach and Nathaniel climbed in. Towns got in the far back, so Browning took the seat at Nathaniel's side. Browning slammed the door and made a short call from his phone just to say, "We're on the way. Get it out of sight before we get there."
The woman in the passenger seat flicked Nathaniel a curious look over her shoulder. He slid his gaze away and stared out the tinted windows. He recognized streets and buildings as they drove. In a terrible, impossible way, this somehow felt like home. Nathaniel wanted to claw that feeling out of himself and burn it. The Foxhole Court was the only home he needed; the Foxes were his family. He didn't want any of this to have a hold on him anymore. How sad, how strange, how stupid, that he could run so far and still end up back here in the end. He couldn't stand the sight of the city, so he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
He couldn't sleep, but at least he could daydream his father's death over and over again. That was almost enough to make him smile, and eventually it thawed the chill from his veins.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nathaniel expected to be carted straight to their office for questioning, but the SUV turned into a hotel parking lot. The place was crawling with feds. Men stood on the sidewalk, smoking and attempting to look casual, but Nathaniel's skin crawled at the sight of them. The ladies sunning by the pool were equally offensive despite their attempt to be inconspicuous. The woman by the vending machine was a toss-up, but Nathaniel was inclined to think badly of everyone in his sights.
As soon as the car stopped Nathaniel turned an expectant look on Browning. Browning put a finger in his face. "You have twenty minutes or until they throw you out of their lives, whichever comes first. Then you are coming with us and you are going to tell us everything we want to know. Do I make myself clear?"
"They," Nathaniel said. "They're here? I don't see the bus."
"I don't want the press seeing it here and putting it all together yet, so I had your coach move it. I said, are we clear?"
"Clear," Nathaniel said, and pulled the hood down over his face again. "Get out."
"Your winning personality makes me rethink this entire thing," Browning said, but he got out of the car.
They took him up rickety metal stairs to the second floor. A woman lounged against the balcony railing with a cellphone to her ear. She pushed her hair over her shoulder and flicked her fingers in the same move. Browning guided Nathaniel to the appropriate door and knocked. The door opened half a foot, but Nathaniel couldn't see anything past a hefty suited body. The man standing guard scowled down at Nathaniel before turning an annoyed look on Browning.
"I don't like it."