“His spleen ruptured,” Zora explained. “Either we had to take it out or he would have bled to death, so we did. Other than that, he has a couple broken ribs and a bruised liver.”
“And his face?” Rox asked, feeling stupid.
“Thought you said he was a lawyer.”
“He is.”
“So he’s not an actor or a model or anything.”
“That’s always a risk in California, huh?” Rox actually chuckled a little.
“Oh, Lord. You would not believe some of the things that people do to get a nose job, although this seems a little more extreme than normal.”
“He’s just, well,” Rox paused, not wanting to use words like vain or obsessed, “he’s got issues.”
“Again, we’re in California. Everyone has issues. He’ll probably want some plastic surgery on that cut on his face in a few weeks or so.”
“Yeah,” Rox said. “But he’ll be okay?”
“As okay as anyone ever is around here, sugar.”
Yeah. Good point.
Rox waited in Cash’s room until supper time, scanning yet more of Valerie’s contracts on her laptop so she wouldn’t have to think.
Just before she thought that she really should get some delivery or pick something up, Cash cleared his throat.
“Cash?” She was up, standing beside him, afraid to touch him because she wasn’t sure where the bruises or broken bones might hurt him. “Cash? Honey?”
“Ouch,” he muttered.
“I’ll bet. I’ll call the doctor. They said that you already had something for the pain but that you could have more. I’ll call her.”
“No drugs. Phone?” he whispered.
An orderly had dropped off the stuff that had been in his car, including his phone and his briefcase. “It’s here. You want to talk to someone?”
He cracked open his swollen, bruise-stained eyes. “Call my sister.”
“You have a sister? Is she your next of kin?”
“Tell the hospital that you and I are married,” he whispered.
Rox shook her head. “That ship has sailed, honey. I already told them we weren’t.”
“Damn.” He swallowed hard and moved his tongue in his mouth.
“Ice?” Rox asked, desperate to do something to help him. “You can have ice chips. You want ice?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. “The damn ice.”
Rox pinched a sliver of ice out of the bowl that the nurse had left and poked it between his puffy lips. His teeth looked okay.
Cash sucked on the ice, and the tightness around his eyes eased. “Need you to call my sister.”
Rox fumbled in his bag of his clothes and other things from his car to find his phone. “I don’t know her name. What’s it under?”
“Ana.”
What the hell was Rox going to say to his sister?
She found a contact for Ana van Amsberg—there were no other contacts called Ana in his list, and she had his last name—and dialed without making him talk any more.
She really hoped that Ana was just his sister, even though she shouldn’t.
He sucked on the ice.
After a long pause and a few rings, a woman’s voice started speaking rapid-fire in a language that sounded like German but kind of English-ish.
“I’m sorry. I don’t speak Dutch,” Rox guessed. “Do you speak English?”
“How did you get this phone?” the woman demanded.
“I’m here with Cash van Amsberg. He’s going to be all right, but he’s been in a car accident. He asked me to call his sister. Is this Ana?”
A gasp. “This is Ana, his sister. Is he very hurt?” Her accent wasn’t British at all, more like German.
“He’s going to be all right. He’s pretty banged up, and he had to have his spleen taken out. He broke a couple ribs. They’ll let him out of the hospital in a few days.”
Ana said, “Thank you for calling. Is he conscious?”
“Yes, but he’s having problems talking. He just woke up.”
“He will be all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. They said you can live just fine without a spleen. He’s awfully banged up.”
“Is his face damaged?” Ana asked.
Again, the emphasis on his face. Maybe he was secretly a model in Europe or something. “Um, we won’t be sure what’s going on until the bruises go down.”
“Oh, Lord. Poor Casimir. Could you put me on speaker, if you please?”
Rox liked Ana. She had nice manners. “Of course.”
Ana asked, “Before you do, who are you, please?”
“I’m Roxanne Neil. I work with Cash at the law firm.”
“And are you,” a very suspicious pause, “dating?”