The sterile scent of the hospital clung to the back of Alexa's throat. She lay in the narrow bed looking like an artful wreck. Her hair was brushed but slightly disheveled and her mascara was smudged just enough to look authentic, with a thin blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. The cut on her cheek was an angry red, framed by faint bruising she hadn't bothered to hide.
It was almost perfect.
The phone was heavy in her hand. She'd practiced the tremble in her voice twice before dialing.
When Tommy picked up, she let her breath hitch audibly before speaking.
"Tommy?"
"What's going on?" His tone was sharp, all business.
She swallowed hard, making sure it caught on the line. "We were attacked. Me and my assistant, Mallory. She's in surgery right now… they said she might not—" Her voice cracked, dissolving into a small, stifled sob. "I thought—"
"Where are you?" Urgency had entered his voice.
Perfect.
