Chapter Eighteen
Garrett picked me up from the hospital after my arm was stitched closed. He drove me home, very quietly, eyes forward, fingers gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hadn't said a word about Maddox, or Solomon, and I figured he might explode soon. He just hadn’t decided on whom to explode yet. I was glad I wasn't playing baseball with him and the guys at their regular weekend game. With Garrett's temper simmering just below the surface, it had the potential to get brutal. At least Vincent Marciano’s arrest had assuaged some of his anger.
“You could have been killed,” he said quietly, after settling me on the couch.
The weight of his comment lay heavily on my chest. “I know,” I said simply because there was nothing else to say. “But I’m here.”
“You’re not indestructible,” Garrett pointed out. He took my overnight bag to my bedroom and came back, looking down at me. I leaned against the back of the couch and took a deep breath, waiting for the lecture about safety, why you should never trust an accountant, and how to avoid getting shot at. Instead, he surprised me. “As soon as your arm is healed, we’re going to the range,” he told me.