osé
takes my hand.
“Hell, Ana, you’re freezing.”
Mr. Rodriguez inches forward and takes my other hand in his one good hand.
“Ana, I am so sorry.”
“Mr. Rodriguez, please. It was an accident . . .” My voice fades to a whisper.
“Call me José,” he corrects me. I give him a weak smile, because that’s all I
can manage. I shiver once more.
“The police took the asshole into custody. Seven in the morning and the guy
was out of his skull,” José hisses in disgust. 332 | P a g e
E L JAMES
Sawyer reenters, bearing a paper cup of hot water and a separate teabag.
He knows how I take my tea! I’m surprised, and glad for the distraction. Mr.
Rodriguez and José release my hands as I take the cup gratefully from
Sawyer.
“Do you . . . ?” Sawyer asks Mr. Rodriguez and José. They both shake their
heads, and Sawyer resumes his seat in the corner. I dunk my teabag in the
water and, rising shakily, dispose of the used bag in a small trashcan.
“What’s taking them so long?” I mutter to no one in particular as I take a sip.
Daddy . . . Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
“We’ll know soon enough, Ana,” José says gently. I nod and take another sip.
I take my seat again beside him. We wait . . . and wait. Mr. Rodriguez with
his eyes closed, praying I think, and José holding my hand and squeezing it
every now and then. I slowly sip my tea. It’s not Twinings, but some cheap
and nasty brand, and it tastes disgusting. I remember the last time I waited
for news. The last time I thought all was lost when Charlie Tango went
missing. Closing my eyes, I offer up a silent prayer for the safe passage of
my husband. I glance at my watch: 2:15 p.m. He should be here soon. My tea
is cold . . . Ugh!
I stand up and pace then sit down again. Why ha一ven’t the doctors been to
see me? I take José’s hand, and he gives mine another reassuring squeeze.
Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay. Time crawls so slowly.
Suddenly the door opens, and we all glance up expectantly, my stomach
knotting. Is this
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