Chapter Five

Nick sat in the hospital E.R., wondering for about the hundredth time just why the actual hell he was sitting in the hospital E.R. His part in this whole damn mess was – for all intents and purposes – over now.

He had stayed with the woman, holding her and trying to get her warm, until the ambulance arrived. The attendants took over, and Nick had stepped to one side with no regrets. When Adam came back, the two of them had pulled the dickhead out of the trunk – much to the surprise of the ambulance guys – and practically sat on top of him until the cops came. And that, Nick had thought, was it. The woman was off to the hospital, the cops would take the dickhead. End of story.

It had suddenly occurred to Nick, though, that the woman’s friends might be interested in what had happened to her, and they would want to go to the hospital with her. He went back to the club and looked around, his heart sinking. They were gone. He did two laps, even had Farrah check the ladies’ bathroom, but no luck. They had moved on.

He returned to the side street where the cops had the asshole in handcuffs and were questioning him. He had a huge bump on his head, and his chin was already turning a satisfying dark purple. Remembering what this prick had been in the process of doing to the woman when Nick had found him, Nick glowered, and didn't care who saw his anger.

“Hey!” the dickhead whined. “This is the guy who hit me! I want to press charges!”

The one cop rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah… he assaulted me!”

Nick smirked, remembering how easy the guy had gone down with barely a tap.

“Any luck with her friends?” asked the second cop.

“Nope." Nick ran his hands through his hair. "They’re gone.”

“Damn. Do you know her?”

“No. I served her exactly one drink tonight, and it was a glass of juice. We barely spoke.”

“So you don’t know her name?”

Nick blinked. “No. Where’s her ID?”

“In her purse, I imagine. And we can’t find that anywhere.”

Nick looked down at the woman lying on the stretcher, and felt a tug in his chest. She was drugged and unconscious, nameless, all alone. She was going to come to in the hospital, and she’d be in pain, and have a stitched-up head, and be completely terrified. And what would she do after? No purse meant no phone, no money, no house keys. How was she going to get home? Who was going to help her?

Goddammit.

“OK, look." Nick crossed his arms. "I’ll go back to the club and ask the staff to look for her purse… maybe she dropped it when he was dragging her out. And I’ll go to the hospital and wait with her there.”

The female cop raised her eyebrows at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I feel kind of responsible for her. I mean, this asshole drugged her right in front of me, and I totally missed it.”

“OK. And if the purse turns up, let us know, OK?” The woman handed him a card.

“Sure.” He pocketed the card, and headed back to the club to tell his boss what was going on, wondering just why the hell he gave a damn what happened to this woman.

And now here he sat in the E.R., waiting on news about a total stranger, a woman he had held against his chest and whispered to as he'd stroked her face; he had comforted her and been worried about her. He realized that those few minutes alone in the back seat of the car had somehow connected him to her, and he had to see this through.

This was very unusual for him: Nick Spencer never connected to any woman. And he certainly never saw anything through that involved any woman. Quick, casual, easy fuck, gone with the sunrise – that was his life. That was how he liked it. He’d make sure this woman got home safely, and then she’d be gone for good.

He settled down to wait for the doctor.