Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

2. attorney-client privilege

Time passed on a continuum.

Some days felt like decades and some hours diminished as mere minutes.

I memorized the faces of the Marine rotation.

I dozed in and out of sleep, occasionally succumbing to the fatigue that accompanied my injuries.

Nighttime had become my sole respite from the humdrum of chatty family members and the sharp-eyed medical team. Specialists had persuaded my sister that a car crash had left me with a partially collapsed lung and a rib fracture – both highly plausible outcomes of a vehicular collision.

The bullet had entered and exited, leaving, in its path, a clean singular fracture to the rib and a minimally deflated lung. The B605 beating looked bad but left me with mostly superficial wounds. Friedman had fractured another two ribs, but they would heal in a month or so.

I was lucky and would heal in no time – it's what my nurses kept repeating like some mantra.

I didn't feel lucky.

I, certainly, felt no closer to wholeness.

I often wept and dreamt of wooden decks and choppy waters. The sounds of singular gunshots scored every nightmare. The sounds of singular gunshots soundtracked the petulant daymares.

But more than anything, I was restless, itching – fiending – to get out. I yearned to understand. I longed for the sheer solitude that would enable me to exercise the muscles in my brain that would lead me closer to the truth.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" My sister was disconcerted.

"I really don't feel comfortable leaving you here by yourself," Sadie crossed her arms over her chest. She abandoned her nurturing tone for an irritated one.

"Sadie. I won't be by myself. I'm going to sleep, and when I wake up, you'll be here," I smiled at her even though it hurt like hell.

My sister had driven me home upon my release after Dr. Foster had convinced her that I wouldn't need any special caretaking. Before my family's arrival, I had reminded the doctor of whose employ I was under and asked that she assure my family that all was well. Several questions and a little attitude later, my parents were lowering their dukes.

"Are you sure? I can call Mom."

"God, no. Mom is going to annoy the heck out of me. You know how she gets," I gave her a knowing look, and she nodded.

"Alright, fine. I'll be back tonight then. And don't try to get rid of me. I'm spending the night, and I don't wanna hear a peep out of you about it," she pursed her lips and raised her brows like the sassy older sister she was.

I shrugged my good shoulder, "Fine."

"Fine," she was retreating from the porch, "What do you want for dinner?"

"Whatever Alex is making." Her husband was a notoriously good cook.

She smiled, "He'll be happy to hear that. Okay, I'm leaving. Text or call for anything."

"I know," my voice singsonged.

She unlocked her car as it sat parked in my driveway, and I waved her off for good measure.

She hadn't been gone for two minutes before I hobbled my way to the couch, grateful not to perform a sweep of my home. Terra had sent someone over twice already. She'd even had my fridge and linen closet stocked with food and medical supplies, respectively.

I dug into the duffel Sadie had brought me so that I was safe from carrying my belongings out in a standard translucent hospital bag. Stowed inside was a copy of the operation report Giuseppe had delivered to my room. Before perusing the document, I used an old-school recorder to archive my own version of events; I didn't want anyone else's account to taint my own.