Chapter Twenty-Three
I Have Rights, Asshole
Waking after a fitful night’s rest, I'm arguing with my assigned doctor and nurse that I won't submit to more than a general exam. They're trying to insist on a full panel of bloodwork and a rape kit. I refuse, explaining I'd rather go to my own doctor after I get home.
"Miss Jones, it's protocol in this situation to perform a full battery of tests." The middle-aged pleasant looking female doctor is losing patience after being called in by the nursing staff when I declined— repeatedly— to get into a gown or let them draw blood.
"I don't give a rat’s ass what your protocol is. I'm an American citizen with rights. One of those rights is to make my own medical decisions unless I've been deemed incompetent by a judge. If you don't have the document stating that, then I suggest you discharge me."
The doctor walks out, trailed by the nurse, lips pursed in disapproval.
I take the chance to walk out and find someone in charge that can tell me exactly why I'm not being let go. I'm a goddamned victim not a fucking criminal. Which is what I scream at the guard who tries to block me from leaving the medical facility— right before I cold-cock him and drop him on his ass for touching me.
“Well, I guess it was true when I was told you're a scrappy little hellcat that can hold her own." I whirl at the masculine voice behind me, prepared to further defend myself if necessary. "I come in peace— but please tell me it's true you actually threw batteries and smacked folks around with a whip. The reports coming across my desk are gruesome, and your shenanigans have at least been some comic relief in the sad story that is the Vitti empire.
Done with Mr. Suave and Disarming— who apparently knows a lot more about me than I do him— I carefully edge my way until my back is against the hallway wall, and I don't have to take my eyes off him or the dazed guard.
"I'd say it's nice to meet you, except it's not, and you haven't bothered to introduce yourself. Kindly, go fuck yourself— I'm leaving."
Mr. Suave chuckles, but his joviality isn't hiding the shrewdness in his dark eyes. His salt and pepper hair and slight paunch won't make me hesitate to smack him if he touches me. I've had enough of being touched.
"Please, excuse my rudeness, I'm Assistant Director Chappel of the FBI, ma'am. If I could just take a moment of your time to get a signature, I can get you on your way real quick like." He aims what he probably thinks is a disarming smile at me.
Fuck you, buddy.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. Feel free to mail it and I'll return it. Buh-bye now." It's unsurprising when I don't get very far, but hey, it was worth a shot.
He finally drops the good ole' boy routine, letting some steel enter his tone. "Miss Jones, I'm going to have to insist. If you'd please accompany me. Or I can call for assistance as you're obviously still under some strain. Maybe a sedative and some more rest would be beneficial—"
I cut him off. "You son of a bitch. I fucking dare you. I'll have your ass slapped with lawsuits from now until the next decade, and it's self-defense if I damage any of your 'personnel'. Get me someone I know. Preferably, three someones, and I'm sure you can figure out who they are considering you're the big man on campus." I take a breath and continue my tirade. "Not one person has bothered to give me any information. Not even the fucking date. I was kept in captivity with a very loose sense of time. I'd imagine it's a weekday with all the personnel swarming over this place, except it's got to be the bust of your career, and I'm sure it's all hands on deck."
I'm unsure what exactly my rights are in this situation, but they can't just hold me indefinitely while treating me like a damn criminal lab rat.
Seeming to relent, the man reaches for a radio clipped to a belt under his jacket. "Get me Agents Baelor and Lancer in my office immediately, please. Oh, and send someone to assist the guard at the East exit in the medical ward." A voice responds in the affirmative, and the Assistant Director clips the radio back in its place. Offering his arm with a "Walk with me?" he waits expectantly.
I decline the arm but walk toward him until we're even with as much of the hall between us as I can get. I follow him down the corridor and past the nurses’ station where the disapproving doctor and nurse stand watching with matching lemon sucking expressions. Bet the bitches tattled on me. I flip them off before we pass through the double doors into another corridor.
"Well, now, that wasn't polite."
"You really going tell me they didn't report me for being uncooperative?" His non answer is all I need for confirmation. "Thought so."
***
After a few more turns through cloned hallways, we finally stop at a door. Upon entering, I find myself in a reception room with Rex and Emmett standing at the secretary's desk. Emmett is watching the door while Rex appears to be chatting up the secretary.
Before the Assistant Director can stop me, I launch myself at Emmett. His arms are open before I even make it to him, and he scoops me up in a bear hug.
"Fuck, hellcat. They said you were okay, but it's good to see you in the flesh." I don't get a chance to ask for an explanation since the Assistant Director demands us to separate.
"Agent Lancer, if you would please remove yourself from Miss Jones, it would be much appreciated." Phrased prettily but not really a request.
Emmett reluctantly lets me go, and I move back to keep the empty corner of the room behind me. I ask my next question— well, demand is more like it.
"Where's Braeden?" Rex looks guilty. So does Emmett. I panic and yell at the Assistant Director, "Where the fuck is he?"
"Lark, baby, calm—"
"Miss Jones, in my office." Rex and his apparent boss speak at the same time.