tell her.
She digs into her backpack and pulls out her earbuds and phone. She sticks the earbuds in, puts on some music, and closes her eyes.
I turn forward in my seat, noting Miguel’s curious looks. “Music helps her block out the hallucinations.”
I’m furious that her bodyguard would let her consume that much sugar. No wonder her blood sugars plummeted dangerously overnight. She has a pump that injects insulin directly into her bloodstream as her blood sugar levels rise, but it’s not foolproof. Her levels still need to be closely monitored. That was Rob’s job, and he clearly fucked up. “Fucking incompetent prick,” I mutter.
Miguel shoots me a look.
“Her bodyguard. He was supposed to monitor her blood sugar levels in the night, and he fucked up.”
“Your sister needs a medically-trained bodyguard.”
“Is that a thing?”
“Sure, it is. We have bodyguards who are former paramedics. That’s what your sister needs. Tell your parents to call my boss, Shane McIntyre. Our guys would never fuck up like that.”
Miguel parks in the University of Chicago visitor lot, and we escort Layla across campus to her psych class. I can’t help noticing all the looks she gets from guys. They’re practically drooling. I guess I can’t blame them—she’s stunning, an exotic beauty who draws attention wherever she goes.
We reach her classroom with eight minutes to spare. Gratefully, she slips into the room and takes a seat near the back, close to the door.
Miguel and I stand guard outside Layla’s classroom as she takes her exam. It’s quiet in the room as all the students have their noses to their desks, pencils scribbling madly. Toward the end of the class period, students start filing out as they finish their tests.
Layla’s the last one out, but that’s not a surprise. It takes her longer to complete assignments because she has to fight to block out the auditory distractions. She’d qualify to have special testing conditions, because of her diagnosis, but she doesn’t want special treatment. She wants to be just like every other kid on campus.
“How’d you do?” I ask her.
She gives me a big grin. “I think I did well.”
I open my arms to her, and she steps close for a hug. “Good job, sis. Now let’s get you home before we get busted.”
Chapter 16
Ian Alexander
On the drive back to my townhouse, Miguel says, “Your sister needs a bodyguard just to keep the guys off her. She’s seriously gorgeous.”
He’s right, of course. In fact, she’s too attractive for her own good.
are way too intimidated by her looks to even approach her, let alone talk to her or ask her out. Instead, she tends to attract the attention of egotistical, narcissistic bastards who think they’re somehow entitled to her.
When we get back to the townhouse, I feel restless. Seeing my sister does that to me. I worry about her. Because of her health issues, both physical and mental, I worry because she’s at risk. I worry what will become of her if she doesn’t have good care. My parents worry, too. They provide her with everything she needs, but the incident last night with an incompetent bodyguard only highlights how fragile she is. All it takes is one fuck-up.
I do what I usually do when I’m worried about something—I head downstairs to the work-out room. Miguel comes with me, and he lifts weights while I run on the treadmill. Then we switch places, and I work on my shoulders and arms, while he runs. I do a little bit of abdominal work, too, because… well, you know… just in case. I can always dream of having a certain homicide detective’s hands on my body, can’t I?
* * *
That evening, while Miguel and I are playing a video game, my phone chimes with an incoming text.
I’d better see you at Diablo’s tonight, or I’m coming after you. – Chris
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Miguel asks.
“A friend of mine is threatening to come after me if I don’t come out clubbing tonight.”
Miguel frowns. “You’re supposed to stay away from the clubs.”
I shrug. “The suspect is cooling his jets in a prison cell right now. I don’t think I need to worry.”
“Ian, they have a suspect. That doesn’t mean he’s the suspect.”
“Tyler said he found incriminating evidence at Turner’s apartment. It’s practically a confession.” I look at the time. It’s already after nine. I set my game controller down and make a split decision. “I’m going out. You can come or stay, it’s your call.”
With a sigh, Miguel shuts the game down.