Page 85 of Reckless Woman

I know a sly challenge when I hear one. Whoever this Roman guy is, he has the measure of Santiago.

There’s the sound of a cell ringing.

“It’s him,” says the man.

Dante curses again. “You know you’re just as irritating as your father was.”

“You have no idea,” comes the chilly riposte.

The voices are fading now.

Does he pick up the call, or not?

* * *

I finally wake to darkness.

What an irony after dwelling in the darkness for so long.

Irony.

The word reminds me of a conversation I had with Eve a couple of weeks ago by a pool in paradise and my lips start to tic. There’s sound and movement next to my head. Harsh, steady beeping is accompanied by a small figure leaning over to adjust something attached to my neck.

Everything aches.

This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had.

There’s a band of blazing fire across my middle.

“Welcome back, Anna,” comes a soft voice with a dancing Irish lilt. It makes me think of emerald bunting and Guinness in the center of Chicago on St Patrick’s Day. My mother took me there once, not long before she was diagnosed. “Just take it easy, okay? You’ve been out for nearly a week.”

“Night,” I whisper.

“Yes, it’s nighttime. Eleven p.m., to be exact,”

“Joseph,” I rasp, my fingers fluttering up to my chest.What’s wrong with my voice?

“You’ve had a tube down your throat, Anna. That’s why you’re sounding all croaky.”

“Joseph,” I rasp again.

“Your husband had to step away. He’ll be back shortly.”

“I’m here,” says a familiar drawl from somewhere near the foot of the bed. He’s a blur.A shadow.“Is she awake?” He sounds breathless, like he just ran up ten flights of stairs.

The nurse must have given him a cue, because he’s cursing in relief and covering my hand with his warmth.

“Anna, can you hear me?”

He leans over the bed, too—a dirty blond blur now—and my breath hikes sharply. Blood and death are clinging to his skin like jagged spikes.

What have you done, Joseph? Where have you been?

“Anna?” The nurse edges into my blurred vision, and I much prefer her scent. It’s soft and round with notes of citrus. “You’re on a lot of meds, sweetheart, but we can adjust them accordingly. Can you give me a score of your pain from one to ten?”

“Stomach.” My fingers drift there next and encounter cold plastic.

There’s a freaking tube in mystomach?