The Fall of East: Book 3 in the Hear No Evil Trilogy, Malone, Nana [inspiring books for teens txt] 📗

her lips nervously. "I know it's a bit untoward and seems odd, but honestly, I don't have many friends here. And I like you. I know my fiancé is a twat to you sometimes. But regardless of that, I like you a lot, and I was distressed to hear that you'd been shot. If it's possible, I would like us to be friends."

"You're asking me that when I'm flat on my back?"

She laughed. "Well, it's not like you can go anywhere."

I coughed a laugh. "That would be accurate. So what, I guess we're friends now?"

East popped his head in. "Over my dead body. I need to do a security background check on you for Nyla’s protection."

Hazel's eyes went wide, and I shook my head at her. "Don't mind him. He's just being obsessive."

Hazel's brows furrowed. "Should we call the police?"

I shook my head. "I am the police. And to be frank, he has a really nice ass. So I might keep him. But right now, he has pissed me off beyond recognition, so I'm not sure if I can ever forgive him."

East chimed in again from the hallway. “You know I can hear you, right?”

Hazel just laughed. "Oh, girl talk. I love this. I must say, he does have nice buns."

I coughed a laugh, wondering just how in the world Hazel and I had become friends. Amelia, on the other hand, studied her with an inscrutable face from her position outside my door. She didn’t trust Hazel, and she didn't think I should either.

I was glad to know she was always looking out for me. Because after the shooting, I wasn’t sure who I could trust.

* * *

Nyla

I woke up to a shadow in my room. Someone stood in the corner, dark and looming. It took all of two seconds to realize I was awake, and that it was not, in fact, a dream.

Automatically, I reached under my pillow for a weapon. I always kept a weapon under my pillow. Sometimes an extendable baton, sometimes a knife. Something. Except I found nothing.

Because you’re still in the hospital, remember?

Oh, excellent. So there I was with no weapon, and someone had come to kill me. Bloody fantastic. Things were just looking better and better.

“Your nurses quite resemble Attila the Hun.”

I marginally relaxed when I realized I knew that voice. “Theroux. What are you doing here?”

“What, I can't check on you? After all, the word is you have been shot.”

Just thinking about who shot me and how the hell I ended up there ticked me off even more. “Wow, you really take this partnership seriously. Maybe you could do me the service of handcuffing yourself to me then calling in the Interpol agents out in the hall. It would be a brilliant way to get the collar.”

He chuckled softly. “Don't be like that. I brought you a present.”

I groaned. “I really don't need one. As you can see, I already have so many damn flowers that my room resembles a mortuary.”

“I see that. You can rest assured it's not flowers. Look to your left.”

My brows furrowed as I leaned down to find a smallish box of files. “What is this?”

“Agent Kincade, I'm starting to think you don't listen. It's a present. Something you've probably been looking for and didn't even know it.”

“Oh, so we're back to riddles, are we?”

He sighed. “I'm not trying to make things difficult for you. But this is one of those things you'll need to learn for yourself. You need to pull on that little string and unravel it yourself. Because if I just tell you, you won't believe me.”

“Try me.”

“If you want to talk after you’ve looked at it, you know how to reach me.”

“How? I don’t have your number.”

He grinned. “No, you don’t. But I’ll reach out to you. How’s that?”

Before I could think of anything else to say, he stalked calmly out of my room as if he wasn’t one of the most wanted men in the whole world.

* * *

East

To be fair, I hadn't really thought it through when I told Nyla I was the one who was going to be taking care of her. The taking-care-of-her part wasn't hard. I wanted to take care of her. And it went far beyond guilt or concern. I was pretty certain I loved her. I didn't want anyone else being the one to help her get better.

No. What I’d underestimated was Nyla's pure stubbornness.

But you knew she was stubborn.

I did, but not like this. For starters, I couldn't keep her in bed.

Every time I turned around, there she was, climbing out of bed because she needed something, or she wanted her laptop, or she couldn't find her phone and maybe it was out in the living room, or she was bored by staying in the bedroom.

And it was only day three. She'd been discharged two days after the surgery, and she was already doing much better. We only really needed to change her bandages and make sure she wasn’t overdoing it. Another few days, and we wouldn't need to do that anymore. But she did have to go back to the hospital to get her stitches out. So far, she'd managed with a sponge bath and a soak to keep everything nice and dry, but I could tell she was desperate for a shower because she kept looking longingly at the showerhead every time I helped her into the loo.

The latest point of contention was when I came out of my office to find her trying to climb up onto the countertop to reach something. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I want a bowl."

"Yes, the bowls are right there. At reachable levels."

She frowned. "I want a big bowl for popcorn."

I stared at her. "Popcorn?"

She nodded. "You know, you can make it on the stove or in the microwave. It's delicious."

I sighed and glared at her. "Is there a reason you didn't call me?"

"Well, I figured you were busy. Plus, I can reach it. It's