Tucker Page 18

  Not yet.

  “Can I get any of you coffee or tea?” Mr. Sanchez asked.

  “No,” Jack said, stepping forward. “Maybe some water?”

  “Of course. I will have some brought to you.” Mr. Sanchez turned to Tucker. “Let’s go, yes?”

  They walked in silence and took an elevator up and exited on the fourth floor. “Is she here?” Tucker asked.

  “Please come,” Sanchez said, and Tucker could do nothing but follow in the man’s footsteps, aware that were many eyes on him.

  Mr. Sanchez stopped at a door several feet from the nurses’ station and gave a quick knock before entering, gesturing for Tucker to follow. It was a small room with dull grey on the walls and a large fake palm tree in the corner. A framed photo of a boat was the only splash of color in the room.

  Behind the desk sat a man, eyes glued to a computer screen. Large wire-framed glasses magnified his eyes, but with his thick dark hair, Tucker was guessing he wasn’t much older than himself.

  When Tucker entered the office, the man pushed back out of his seat and hastily made his way around the desk to shake Tucker’s hand.

  “Mr. Simon. I’m Doctor Garcia. I have some things that I need you to look at.”

  Tucker waited while the doctor opened a cabinet beneath the window and retrieved a plastic bag. Carefully, he opened it and laid out the items on his desk.

  “Do these belong to your wife?”

  Tucker moved closer, mouth clamped together so tight that pain radiated up his jaw.

  There was a navy satchel, a bit worn around the edges with a broken clasp, and a long strap that was frayed. There was pink brush, missing some of its teeth, and still holding on to a few long strands of blond hair. A tube of clear lip gloss. A box of tissues. A box of surgical gloves. And a battered, worn-out, black leather wallet.

  And a long, thin gold chain from which dangled a platinum wedding band. It was plain. Unassuming. Kind of like its owner.

  The sight of it made his blood run cold.

  “Jesus,” he whispered moving closer.

  The wallet was open and the ID plain and visible. Marley stared back at him, her DMV photo unsmiling, which was pretty much what his looked like. Hell, they used to joke that she looked like a prisoner of war and that he looked like a terrorist.

  Jesus. Christ. This was Marley’s.

  “Where is she?” His voice was harsh as he looked up at the men. “Where is my wife?”

  Mr. Sanchez spoke, his voice calm and reassuring. “So you can confirm that these are your wife’s belongings?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Yes. But I don’t understand.” Christ, that was an understatement. “None of this makes sense. Where is she and what the hell happened to her? Where are the people that she was with? Where’s the goddamn plane?”

  “Mr. Simon.” It was Sanchez speaking now. “Your wife came to us less than a week ago. She was hit by a vehicle here in Havana and brought in. Unconscious, with multiple injuries. We were only able to ID her because of these items.”

  None of what he was hearing made any kind of sense. “I need to see her.” He tried to push past Mr. Sanchez, but the doctor’s words stopped him.

  “Mr. Simon. Your wife has had some serious trauma. You must be prepared.”

  “What kind of trauma?”

  “There was some swelling on the brain, so we had to cut into her skull to alleviate the pressure. We’ve put her in a protective coma, a…a drug induced coma, and we are very excited at how she’s responding. The swelling has gone down, and we feel that we will be able to bring her out of this coma state very soon, but…”

  This was killing him. “But?”

  The doctor moved toward the door. “Come with me. But please be prepared. There is swelling and bruising and bandages—“

  “I understand,” Tucker interrupted.

  He followed the men up one more flight of stairs to the ICU, and they didn’t stop until they reached the last room at the end of a narrow hall. Mr. Sanchez nodded. “Please. You can go.”

  Tucker didn’t wait. He pushed open the door and nodded to the nurse near the bed. She glanced behind him and then moved out of the way, disappearing into the hall and leaving him alone.

  Tucker stared at the woman on the bed. God, she looked so small. So alone. He stared at her for so long that his eyes burned. He should feel something. Something. Shouldn’t he?

  Slowly, he made his way closer, noticing the tube in her arm and a long thicker tube in her mouth. Beside her were several machines, one that allowed her to breathe and one that monitored her heart rate…or maybe her brainwaves.

  Shit, did any of that matter?

  Tucker took that last step until he was standing over the bed and for a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing out heavily as his brain caught up to what his eyes could see.

  Part of her head was heavily bandaged, while the other part of her skull had been shaved and cut open. The bruising along her jaw and neck was pretty graphic, and her nose was broken as well. The swelling still pretty substantial.

  On first glance, Tucker couldn’t tell if this was Marley or not. And Jesus, why the hell wasn’t he feeling something? Some spark? What the hell was wrong with him?

  Running his hands through stubble on his jaw he spoke.

  “Marley.”

  Just one word. One word that echoed in the room and sounded so loud that he glanced around.

  Tucker stood there for so long that his legs began to cramp. The doctor finally came in, his eyes gentle as he reached for the chart at the end of the bed. Beside him, the nurse moved to the other side of the bed and gingerly lifted Marley’s hand so that she could re-arrange the—

  Wait.

  Tucker leaned in closer, his heart starting to pound and roar in his ears. “Hold on,” he said to the startled nurse. Moving around the bed so that he could stand beside her, he glanced down at the limp hand and he didn’t know what he felt. He only knew that…

  “This isn’t my wife.”

  Shaking his head, he looked at the doctor. “Please. This isn’t my…this isn’t Marley.”

  “Sir,” the doctor began, his voice still calm. “I know it’s a shock for you to see her like this, but I promise as soon as we bring her out of the coma—“

  “No you don’t understand.” Tucker moved back. “My wife had a tattoo on her ring finger. It was a joke really, but it was there.”

  The doctor and the nurse watched him intently and he knew they were probably wondering if he was finally losing it.

  “You don’t understand. Marley’s job was….it could be messy. She worked with marine animals and most of the time, she didn’t wear her wedding ring while working. She wore her ring on a chain. I used to bug her about it, and one day she surprised me with this tattoo on her ring finger. Said that no one would ever think she didn’t belong to me.”

  Tucker paused as that memory washed over him and finally something sparked inside him. Deep, wrenching, sadness.

  “This woman isn’t Marley.” He pointed to her hand. “There’s no tattoo. It was pretty damn intricate and even if she had it removed, which she wouldn’t, there would be something there…some un-perfect piece of that tattoo. It’s just…It’s not her.”

  “I see,” the doctor said slowly.

  “Fuck if I do,” Tucker replied, more frustrated than ever. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  Jesus. Kate and Jason were going to be devastated all over again. With a ragged breath, he shook his head. “Who is this woman and how the hell did she end up with Marley’s stuff?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  By six o’clock, Abby was going crazy.

  “Let’s go to The Black Dog,” she said to Cooper. They’d played two games of scrabble, a round of Would You Rather (and lord, the things that Cooper Simon would rather do). Wow.

  And right about now, she was going to climb the goddamn walls. Abby pulled out her cell for what had to be the twentieth time and felt that now fa
miliar pain in her heart. There was nothing. No text message and no missed call.

  “He’ll call,” Cooper said.

  Abby glanced up. They were on the sofa, staring out across the darkness that coated Central Park like a blanket. Overhead, stars shone in a clear sky and in the distance, the lights of the city twinkled.

  “I know.”

  But she didn’t know. Abby was scared shitless, and right now she didn’t know anything. It was driving her crazy.

  Eden and Noah had called earlier—they were coming to New York tomorrow—but again, they knew nothing other than what Abby already knew. That Tucker had landed in Havana with his brothers and Marley’s parents.

  That was hours ago.

  She reached for the remote.

  “Don’t do it, Abigail,” Cooper made a grab for it, but she jumped up, hit the power button and held her breath when the news channel erupted onto the screen.

  “Oh God,” Abby wailed. But what had she expected? The Tucker Simon Missing Wife Saga as it was being called, was headline news.

  Abby’s photo was plastered across the television. She blinked her eyes, hating the sight of such a private moment caught on film, but it did nothing. The image didn’t magically disappear.

  She saw her red coat. Her red boots. Her special Valentine’s Day outfit. The one she’d put together for what was supposed to be a special night. Had it been only a few days?

  Someone had snapped the photo when she’d arrived in the lobby of the hotel. When Tucker had turned to her and scooped her up into his arms. She couldn’t see his face, but oh, the pain on hers was unmistakable and Abby felt all those emotions all over again.

  Her throat closed up and she couldn’t swallow.

  The news anchor was talking—Abby had the television on mute—and then Abby’s photo disappeared, replaced with a smiling shot of Tucker and Marley on their wedding day.

  It was a beautiful picture, and it crushed Abby’s heart.

  Oh, God. I can’t do this.

  She was about to turn away when new footage appeared. Footage she was hungry for, and instead, she clutched the remote to her chest, biting her bottom lip in an effort to quiet the pain she felt as she watched grainy video of Tucker exiting a van, accompanied by Jack, Teague, and Marley’s parents.

  God, he looked so damn tired—even with his aviators on, she could tell. It was in the way his mouth was tight—the way he kept rubbing his chin and tugging on the long ends of his hair.

  “Oh, Tucker,” she murmured, near tears. She wanted to be there with him. God, how she needed to touch him.

  “Hey,” Cooper said quietly. “Give me that.”

  Abby let him take the remote, though her fingers shook so badly she was barely able to hand it off. She turned away from the television, once more eyes drawn to the blackness outside.

  “So,” Cooper said. “Your family bar sounds pretty damn good right about now. Let’s go.”

  She shrugged and didn’t say anything, because she wasn’t sure she could talk. Abby wanted to crawl into bed and cry her eyes out. She wanted to bury her nose in the sheets and inhale Tucker’s scent. Maybe then she would feel close to him. Maybe then she could feel some kind of peace.

  “I think you should make me a drink,” he said.

  “Cooper, I don’t know.”

  “I do,” he said. “A Mathews special.”

  She thought back to the wedding. To that first time she met him and a small smile crept over her face. “A Martini?”

  “Nah. I’m more of a Slippery Nipple kind of guy.”

  “Why am I not surprised? But that’s a shooter.”

  “Huh.” He winked. “Well, I’d like a Slippery Nipple and then you can give me some Sex on the Beach.”

  “Sex on the Beach is hard to come by in New York City in the middle of February, but I supposed we could try.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Abby exhaled a long shuddering breath and whispered. “Thanks for being here, Cooper.”

  He bowed his head. “No problem.”

  “You’re a good guy. You know that, right?”

  “Don’t be spreading that around.”

  Abby sighed. “Why do you want people thinking you’re a dick? Why do you hide behind that?”

  Cooper was silent for a few moments, and then he shrugged. “When they think you’re a dick, they usually assume you’re shallow as well. Dick and shallow kind of go hand in hand. That’s a lot of layers of bullshit for someone to peel back, and most people don’t have the time.”

  “Would that be so wrong, Cooper? To let someone in?”

  Cooper looked irritated, but for whatever reason, Abby wasn’t giving this up. “I mean it Cooper. What are you afraid of?”

  He shrugged but said nothing.

  Abby gave him a hug and whispered. “One day some woman is going to peel back those layers of bullshit and—“

  “And what?”

  “And you’re going let her.”

  “That’s pretty damn optimistic,” Cooper said.

  “I think it’s inevitable.”

  “You know what I think is inevitable? Our date. You going to take me to this famous Black Dog pub or what?”

  Abby glanced around the empty apartment. Everywhere she looked, she saw Tucker. And as much as that made her feel closer to him, it also was driving her bat shit crazy.

  “Okay,” she conceded. “Let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later, they hopped in a taxi, both of them avoiding the paparazzi waiting outside of The Essex House.

  “How are you doing, Miss?”

  Surprised, Abby glanced up at the taxi driver, smiling wanly when she recognized him. His name was John and he’d taken her and Tucker out several times in the past.

  Of course he knew who she was. Who Tucker was. And by now, he sure as hell knew who Marley was.

  His eyes were kind and his concern genuine.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Less than twenty minutes later, they pulled up outside of The Black Dog. “Shit,” Cooper murmured, reaching into his jacket for the fare.

  “What’s going on?”

  “There are some photographers outside the bar. Are you sure you want to go inside? I mean, it might get crazy if word gets out that you’re here.”

  Something fired off inside Abby. Something hot and pissed off and fed up. “Let them get crazy. I don’t care. They haven’t met my brother Mick and I can guarantee he’s looking for an excuse to let off some steam.”

  Cooper chuckled. “Okay then.”

  They pushed past the crowd outside the bar and when one of the photographers tried to follow them inside, Cooper, shoved him back. While Abby wasn’t exactly sure what Cooper said to the guy, she knew it wasn’t polite and it sure as hell wasn’t nice. The photographer backed off, and the rest milled around but none of them tried to follow them inside the Black Dog.

  The first face she saw when her eyes adjusted to the lighting was Old Joe. His wrinkled, leathery face opened into a wide grin, and she walked up to him, accepting his hug and the kiss on her cheek.

  “There’s my girl,” Old Joe said.

  “Hey,” she murmured. “Are these guys looking after you?”

  “They’re not as pretty to look at, but they keep my mug full.”

  “You’re not on the schedule,” Mick said, resting his hip against the bar.

  “What can I say?” she replied. “I miss the place.”

  Mick and her younger brother Josh were behind the bar, while Lisa was pouring draft for a customer. Lisa glanced up and waved, mouthing, “I’ll just be a second,” before turning back to the guys sitting in front of her.

  Huh. Since when did Lisa sling beer at The Black Dog?

  “Besides, I’m not here to work,” Abby said, and then punched Cooper in the chest. “But I am here to make Coop a Slippery Nipple. I promised him the full Mathews treatment.”

  Mick didn’t bother glancing at Cooper. His dark eyes, so intense and full of
worry, settled on her.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Abs. I was coming over after my shift.”

  Abby slipped behind the bar. “Now you don’t have to.”

  Mick cracked a smile. “No. I don’t.” He tossed her a rag and then turned to Cooper, arms crossed over his chest. All business and gruff. “So, which one are you?”

  Cooper slid onto the only empty stool at the bar. “I’m the asshole.”

  “Huh,” Mick said, while Abby tried to hide a smile. “Good to know.”

  The next few hours flew by and there, surrounded by her friends and family, Abby was able to forget, if only for a little while, just how sucktastic her life had become. She made Cooper several Slippery Nipples and had more than a few herself. Sex on the Beach was epic, and then they moved onto Margaritas.

  By midnight she was flying high and feeling too damn good. So good in fact at first she didn’t feel her cell vibrate. More than a little drunk, it took some doing to dig it out of her front pocket.

  Abby stared at the name on the screen, blinking rapidly because it was blurred.

  Tucker.

  Shit, were those tears?

  Scrubbing at her face, she slid off the stool—nearly falling on her ass and headed toward the stock room. It would be quiet in there, and right now, she needed quiet. Right now she needed sober, but she was working on that.

  “Abby!” Her brother stared after her, his eyebrow raised in question. Cooper swiveled around on his stool and Abby held the cell up, mouthing, “Tucker.”

  They both nodded, and she hurried through the pool room, not stopping until she closed the door behind her and shut out the noise of the bar. She held the phone up to her ear and slid down the wall until she was on the floor.

  She was so scared her hands were shaking.

  “Hey,” she said voice scratchy, like she’d swallowed sandpaper.

  For a few scary seconds she couldn’t hear anything, and then he was there, in her head. She closed her eyes, felt his warmth and he was right there beside her.

  “Miss Mathews,” he said. “You sound like shit.”