Page 19 of Inexplicable

Okay, maybe his team would be in Michigan with him, but were they really going to stay with Brock twenty-four seven?

He didn’t have the use of his dominant arm right now.

“And if Brock doesn’t want that?” Marshall questioned as he cocked a brow. “He has his entire team close by in Michigan.”

“Then I guess I’ll just go home,” I said. “But I’m hoping he’ll decide to be reasonable.”

“And you think you’re well enough to help him?” Marshall questioned.

“I’m fine,” I said firmly. “They’re getting ready to discharge me. Brock and I are both supposed to go home tomorrow.”

I was hydrated, and the injury on my head was stapled. Luckily, my head injury hadn’t been anything serious. Just a bad headache and a concussion. I had a cracked rib, but it would heal without any intervention. I looked bad with all my bruises, but I had the use of both of my arms and I was mobile. Ibuprofen was a lifesaver for the pain and inflammation, and being well-fed had done a lot to help my weakness.

I was lucky, considering the situation.

Brock hadn’t been so lucky.

He’d needed surgery to take the bullet out of his shoulder, and it would take a while until he could use his right arm. Right now, it was in a sling, and he was right-handed.

The next week or two was probably going to suck for him.

“I guess I could send the rest of the team home if you’re planning on going with Brock,” Marshall mused. “Jax can send you and Brock in his jet when he’s ready for discharge.”

I didn’t have to ask who Jax was. Marshall had filled me in on his entire team of billionaires who helped him run Last Hope from the headquarters here in San Diego.

I’d also met the members of Brock’s team, the men who were responsible for physically getting me out of Mexico.

“I’ll take care of him,” I promised.

Every survival instinct I had was screaming at me to simply thank Brock Miller and go home to my little house in Los Angeles.

It would be the safest thing to do.

My actions were so out of character for me, but something inside me was pushing me to make sure that Brock was going to be okay.

For some reason, I couldn’t seem to ignore that instinct, no matter how unusual my actions were for me.

“You’re going to need some things from your place in Los Angeles,” he told me. “If you give me a list, my wife and I can go and pack some stuff for you.”

“I’ll give you my keys,” I agreed readily.

Luckily, I’d gotten my purse back. I’d left it in my vehicle, and my car had been recovered in Mexico before I’d even been rescued.

Strangely, the only thing that had been missing was my driver’s license, which I assumed had been taken by the Mexican police.

Marshall had taken care of everything, and my vehicle was currently in my garage at home.

I had no idea how he’d cut through all the red tape to get my vehicle home so easily, but he was the founder of a very complicated and mysterious rescue operation.

He’d replaced my lost phone yesterday, and he’d spent hours explaining how Last Hope had been formed and what it did.

I had a feeling I’d only been told what I really needed to know about Last Hope, but even the basic facts seemed pretty extraordinary.

Last Hope was a civilian team that specialized in hostage rescue.

All volunteers and almost everyone involved were previous special forces.

Apparently, they had a large network of people who volunteered around the world, but Marshall said they called on Brock’s team a lot because they were all previous Delta Force and incredibly experienced.