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I look up at the nurse examining my wrists. "Only when I move them. Or remember how I got them."

She gives me a sympathetic smile before checking the swelling around my left shoulder. I've already had my blood pressure taken, my pupils checked, and my bruises photographed. Apparently, being kidnapped comes with almost as much paperwork as purchasing a house.

The paramedics brought me here from the docks after the police arrived. I've given an initial account of what happened, but the detective handling the kidnapping wants another statement once I've had some rest.

At this rate, I should ask whether the department offers a frequent-visitor discount.

Enzo stands near the door, watching the examination with an expression that makes me wonder whether the poor nurse needs protection. His expensive suit is wrinkled, there's a scrape across his knuckles, and he hasn't taken his eyes off me for more than thirty seconds since we left the warehouse.

"She'll be sore for a few days," the nurse explains. "The doctor doesn't see any indication of a serious injury, but she'll need to take it easy. If the headache gets worse or she develops any new symptoms, bring her back."

"I can bring myself back," I point out.

The nurse smiles.

Enzo looks at me, then nods. "Of course you can."

Well, there's a first.

After she leaves with the discharge paperwork, Enzo approaches the bed. "Come home with me, sweetheart. You can rest at the penthouse."

I look at him, and something must show on my face because he stops before reaching for my hand.

"Or wherever you want," he adds. "Tell me what you need, Bridget."

It's such a small thing, asking instead of deciding, but after everything that's happened, it means more than another expensive gift ever could.

"I want to go home. My home. I need to see my cats."

"Then that's where we'll go."

"And I need to call Elise. She's probably losing her mind."

He immediately hands me his phone because mine is still somewhere beneath my couch, assuming Murder Mittens hasn't eaten it.

Elise answers on the second ring.

"Bridget? Where the hell are you? Daniel called because you never showed up, and I've been trying to reach you!"

I close my eyes. Of course Daniel called her. The poor man probably thinks I've stood him up.

"I'm okay, Elise. Mostly."

"Mostly? What does that mean?"

"I got kidnapped."

There's a silence long enough to make me check whether the call disconnected. Then my best friend says several words that would get her permanently banned from most respectable establishments.

"Where are you? I'm coming to get you."

"I'm at the hospital, but I'm being discharged. The doctor says I'll be fine."

"Hospital?" Her voice rises. "Bridget Collins, I swear to God, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to start calling every police station in Los Angeles."

"Please don't. I think I've met enough cops this month."

That gets a strangled laugh out of her, followed by a sniffle. I explain enough to reassure her that Valentina's men are no longer holding me, the police are involved, and nobody needs to start organizing a rescue mission.