The detective takes it upon himself to answer. “Because it gave him access to you.”
“Exactly,” Kayden confirms, offering no apology or explanation.
He doesn’t need to, and yet I want more. More what, though? I don’t know. Just . . . more.
“At least he put you up in the ritzy end of the hospital,” the detective points out, demanding the attention again, and making a big show of glancing around the room. And as obviously intended, I follow his lead, and for the first time since I’ve been lucid, I look at it, as well. Really look at it—and realize it’s larger than expected, with a sitting area to the left and a mini kitchen.
I look at Kayden in shock. “How much is this costing? I don’t even know if I have a bank account, let alone money to pay for this!”
“Don’t worry about money. I have this,” he says softly.
“You mean you’re paying my bills. Kayden, I can’t let you do that. I don’t know if I can pay you back.”
“Let him pay,” the detective interjects. “He’s got a boatload of cash. But I do have to say, his registering you under a fake name, on top of the upgraded security in this wing of the building, does make it damn hard for anyone looking for you to find you.”
“The staff know to direct any inquiries that might fit your description to me,” Kayden assures me, flicking the detective an irritated look. “Obviously—since you found her.”
“I found you, not her.” He looks at me again. “And I’d ask for your real name to connect a few dots, but I understand that you don’t remember it.”
“That’s right,” I confirm, resisting the urge to fidget, like I have something to hide, when I don’t. Do I?
“What do you remember?” he asks.
“Nothing before the moment I woke up here.”
He arches a brow. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even the actual attack?”
I shake my head.
“I see,” he says, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “I was hoping the actual attack wasn’t a part of your memory loss.”
“I’m completely blank, Detective, and it’s really quite terrifying to think about being in that alleyway, passed out and alone. I’m thankful Kayden was there to get me help.”
“Right.” His hand leaves his face, and he grips the railing at the foot of the bed. “That was lucky.” His gaze lands on Kayden. “Not often a real hero comes along.”
“If you have something to say to me, Gallo,” Kayden says calmly, “then say it and let’s move on.”
The detective’s steely eyes fix on Kayden, and the hate radiating off him is so fierce. I’m clearly in the center of something very personal, and very bitter.
“Detective—” I say, intending to ask for the help he swears he’s here to give me.
“You and I need to chat for a few moments alone,” he says, his hard stare returning to me.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Gallo,” Kayden interjects. “You’re here to badger me by badgering her, and I’m not going to let that happen. Especially while she’s fragile.”
“I’m not fragile,” I insist.
“I can assure you,” the detective replies, ignoring me, “this is about her, not you.”
“If ‘her’ is me,” I say, certain this one-on-one is going to happen, “I’ll talk with you alone.” I glance at Kayden. “I get that there are two agendas here. I can handle it. I just need to solve the mystery of who I am.”
The detective’s approving gaze falls on me. “At least two of us are on the same page.”
Kayden’s lips thin, but he accepts my answer. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”