Ms.Patti burst into tears, and Douglas pulled her against his chest.Dane sank back into his chair, his head in his hands.Chance let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a sob.
“Can I see her?”Gabe asked, his voice hoarse.
“She’s being moved to recovery now.Give us about thirty minutes to get her settled, and then immediate family can visit.Two at a time, and only for a few minutes.”
As the surgeon walked away, the family began talking in relieved tones, voices overlapping.Plans were made for who would stay the night, who would call the rest of her brothers, who would bring clothes and toiletries.
But Gabe found himself stepping away from the group, his mind already racing ahead to what came next.Nica was alive, but the threat wasn’t over.Things had escalated to the point he would no longer sit back, no longer wait for his tormentor to make the next move.
And now Gabe knew exactly how far the man was willing to go.
Mike appeared at his elbow.“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking this ends now,” Gabe said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest.“No more running, no more hoping he’ll just go away.He tried to kill my wife, Mike.He’s not going to get another chance.”
“Gabe—”
“I mean it.”He turned to face his friend, and Mike must have seen something in his expression that made him take a step back.“Do your job.Get the profile done, and hope it gives us a clue as to who we might be looking for.But I’m done sitting back, waiting for him to make his move.Whatever it takes, however far I must go, this ends now.I won’t lose her.I can’t.”
The fluorescent lights continued their monotonous buzzing overhead, and somewhere down the hall, his wife was fighting her way back to consciousness.Fighting her way back to him.
He’d failed to protect her once.He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The world wasslow to return—shadows at first, bleeding into shape, then sound.A monitor beeped, steady but too loud, and somewhere beyond the curtain of sleep, she heard someone breathe.
Nica blinked against the glare above her, her lashes too heavy, her eyes burning.The ceiling was sterile white, blurred at the edges, and the air carried that sharp antiseptic scent she’d always hated.Something tugged in her side when she tried to move, pain lighting up her chest like a match struck too close to kindling.
She gasped, the noise escaping her throat raw and panicked.
A shape moved—fast, urgent.A hand touched hers.Warm.Familiar.
“Nica.”
Gabe.
Her vision sharpened, the fuzziness clearing enough to bring his face into focus—her husband, with stubble shadowing his jaw and dark eyes rimmed with exhaustion.His blue button-down shirt was wrinkled.Her pristine, doctor who rarely had a hair out of place, looked mussed and sloppy.
What happened?Why couldn’t she remember?The incessant beeping and the fact she could see the line in her arm told her she was in the hospital.She hated hospitals.Why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here?
“Hey, sweetheart, I’m here.”His voice cracked at the end.He pressed his lips to her fingertips.“You’re okay now.You’re safe.”
But that wasn’t true.Not really.
She tried to speak, her throat dry as the Sahara.Gabe leaned over her quickly, lifting a cup with a straw.She sipped, every swallow scraping against soreness.Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
“You…” She stopped.Tried again.“You look awful.”
A sound escaped him—half a laugh, half a sob—and he pressed his forehead to her hand.“My precious Nica.I thought I lost you.”
Flashes sparked behind her eyes.A diner booth.Daisy’s Diner, it had to be.Her mother grabbing for her daddy’s hand.Dane cracking a joke about Destiny not throwing up at the dinner table.She remembered standing, reaching to grab her purse and go to the bathroom and then—nothing.No warning.Just the punch of fire through her ribs and the screams as she started to fall.
Dane—her brother, Dane—had caught her before she hit the ground.
She remembered calling for Gabe, wanting him with every ounce of her being.Knowing she had to tell him she was sorry, so sorry, that she hadn’t told him she loved him that morning when they’d talked.She’d made herself a promise when they’d gotten married, that she’d never let a day go by that she didn’t tell him she loved him—and she’d missed telling him that morning.
“It was your lung,” Gabe said softly, not lifting his head.“The bullet hit the lower lobe and nicked an artery.You lost a lot of blood.You had surgery to repair the damage and suture the artery.You’re going to be fine.”
