Chapter 21
Twenty-One
N oah sat with his back pressed against the rough brick wall of the steakhouse. It was solid, a reassuring barrier behind him as he carefully cradled Ruth’s head in his lap, shielding her from further harm. Smoke thickened the air, and the roar of flames devouring the wreckage of her car and others sounded deafening, but he forced himself to focus.
His phone was already in his hand, fingers trembling slightly as he punched in Alex’s number. The line rang twice before Alex’s voice came through, calm and familiar, though a bit muffled by background noise and his still-ringing ears. “Noah? What’s going on? I’m at dinner with?—”
“Alex,” Noah cut him off, his voice tight. “Someone just tried to blow us up. Ruth’s car—her car is gone. She’s hurt. Unconscious. I need you to get here.”
The noise on the other end stopped instantly. Then Alex’s voice sharpened, clipped and deadly serious. “What? Where are you?”
“Brayburn’s. The steakhouse in Pierre,” Noah said quickly, his eyes sweeping the smoke-filled parking lot. The sirens were louder now, and the flashing red-and-blue lights illuminated his strained face. “Police and ambulances are just now showing up. They’ll probably take her to Pierre Trauma Center.”
“Jesus,” Alex muttered under his breath, the sound of a chair scraping audible over the phone. “I’m on the other side of town at Walden’s. I’m at dinner with Charlotte and Isobel. Brad Killian’s here too. We’re fifteen minutes from the hospital.”
Noah froze momentarily at the names, but Alex didn’t pause to explain further. “I’ll bring them with me to the hospital.”
“Good,” Noah said sharply, glancing at Ruth again as he gently brushed an ash-streaked lock of hair from her face. “We’ll meet you there.”
“We’re leaving now,” Alex replied, his tone resolute. “Hang in there, Noah. And watch your back.”
The call ended, and Noah shoved the phone into his pocket.
The first ambulance screeched to a halt nearby, followed closely by a firetruck. Noah waved the paramedics over as they spilled from the ambulance, their medical kits in hand. A female paramedic with short, dark hair reached him first, crouching beside him with calm, professional urgency.
“Sir, are you injured?” she asked, her voice steady but firm.
“Not me—her,” Noah said sharply, gesturing to Ruth. “Her car exploded. She was thrown by the blast. She’s breathing, but she’s been out cold.”
Her partner, a tall man with graying hair, immediately knelt on Ruth’s other side, beginning a quick but thorough assessment. “Airway open. Breathing shallow and rapid. Pulse is weak and irregular. We need to stabilize her spine before we move her. Then we can complete the assessment. Get me a small collar.”
“Okay, sir,” the female paramedic said, glancing up at Noah. “We’re going to take care of her now. You need to let us work.”
Noah hesitated, his muscles tensing as if he could somehow protect Ruth through sheer willpower. “Be careful,” he said quietly, his voice edged with both warning and pleading.
“We will.” Her expression softened briefly before she turned back to her work.
Noah watched as they slipped a cervical collar carefully around Ruth’s neck, securing her spine. Every movement was precise and measured as they prepared her for the backboard. The older paramedic spoke quietly to his partner, directing the care. Blood tinged the one medic’s gloves.
Noah knelt nearby, refusing to move more than a few feet away as they rolled Ruth gently onto the backboard. His ribs throbbed with each breath, but he ignored the pain.
The paramedic with the short hair turned toward him again. “Sir, you’ve got injuries too. You’re breathing like you’ve taken a hit to the chest. Let me check you out.”
“No,” Noah said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “She’s the priority. I’m fine.”
The woman sighed, clearly accustomed to stubborn people. “Adrenaline can hide worse injuries, sir. I strongly recommend?—”
“I said no,” Noah snapped, though his voice softened after a beat. “Just… get her to the hospital. I’m not leaving her.”
The paramedics exchanged a glance but didn’t argue further. They secured Ruth on the stretcher, rolling her toward the ambulance as Noah fell into step beside them. He climbed in without hesitation, his presence silent but unyielding as he sat across from her.
The ambulance jolted into motion, the siren wailing as they sped toward Pierre Trauma Center. The female paramedic assessed Ruth for further injuries, starting at her head. “Small dent,” she noted.
As she lifted her hands free, there was more blood on her gloves. “Light bleeding, back of the head.” She continued the exam, uncovering and recovering her to protect her modesty and from the cold. She gently pressed her fingertips against the edge of Ruth’s ribs, gauging for fractures or swelling.
The male paramedic monitored Ruth closely, checking her vitals as the vehicle rocked with each turn. “You her family?” he asked softly, glancing at Noah.
“No,” Noah said after a pause, his eyes fixed on Ruth’s pale face. “I’m… her partner.”
The paramedic nodded once, understanding in his gaze. “She’s stable for now. I’ve notified the hospital of her medical situation. We’ll get her the care she needs.”
Noah didn’t respond. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the tension in his shoulders never easing. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ruth’s face, watching for any flicker of movement, any sign of consciousness.
The distant echo of the explosion still rang in his ears. Whoever did this had gone after him—after both of them. And now Ruth was here, vulnerable and unconscious because of him.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing against the edge of her hand. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, as if she could hear him through the haze. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
As the ambulance sped toward the hospital, Noah’s mind raced. Alex and Brad were on their way, and answers would come. But until then, all he could do was sit here, a silent promise in every beat of his pulse. Whoever did this would regret it.
The ambulance rocked sharply, sirens wailing and red lights flickering across Ruth’s pale face. Inside, the tight compartment buzzed with tense urgency. The paramedics worked methodically—oxygen, blood pressure, an ECG, and IV, as Noah sat rigidly across from them, his green eyes locked on Ruth.
The male paramedic leaned over Ruth, one hand adjusting the oxygen mask secured to her face while the other rechecked her pulse and blood pressure. He glanced at the monitor, where a soft, rhythmic beep filled the silence between the bumps in the road.
“Heart rate’s falling,” he murmured to his partner.
“Systolic blood pressure rising. Pupils were reactive at the scene; now they’re sluggish. She has significant head trauma from the impact,” she said, her voice clinical. She turned toward Noah briefly, as though remembering he was there. “Sir, what exactly happened before the blast? Was she hit or thrown far?”
“She was thrown,” Noah said quietly, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. “The explosion hit fast and hard. She landed on her back, hit her head on the pavement. I… I didn’t see her move after that.”
The female paramedic gave a slight nod and refocused on Ruth, checking her abdomen for any signs of internal bleeding. “We’re looking for bruising or rigidity that might signal internal injuries. Right now, we don’t have any obvious signs, but the doctors will confirm once we get her there. Would you let me at least bandage your hands? They’re bleeding.”
He nodded and let the paramedic wrap his unnoticed bleeding fingers, but Noah’s gaze never left Ruth. He watched the faint rise and fall of her chest beneath the heavy wool blanket, her coat in shreds from where the paramedics cut it free. Every slow, fragile breath she took seemed both a relief and a torment. The oxygen mask hissed softly, and the monitor continued its rhythmic beep, both sounds reverberating in his ears like a drumbeat counting down seconds he couldn’t afford to lose.
It was then he remembered what he did for a living. “Bag her coat in a paper bag if you have it; otherwise, wrap it in a sterile sheet. It’s evidence.”
As she did as he asked, the female paramedic turned her attention back to him. “You said you were close to the explosion?”
“Yeah.” Noah glanced at her, his brow furrowing, warning her not to redirect concern toward him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re favoring your ribs,” she said bluntly, giving him a quick once-over. “If you were close enough to be knocked back, you’ve got injuries too, even if you can’t feel them right now.”
Noah’s jaw tightened. “I said I’m fine.” His voice was a low growl—measured but not unkind. “Focus on her.”
The paramedic sighed, clearly accustomed to stubborn men refusing help. She muttered something under her breath to her partner, then turned back to Ruth, wiping the ash smudges gently from her pale cheek. “You’re lucky you were wearing a wool coat.” The male paramedic tucked another blanket around Ruth’s body. “That blast wave could’ve burned you badly otherwise.”
The ambulance jolted hard over a bump in the road, and Noah’s instincts flared. He reached forward, his hand pressing lightly against Ruth’s blanket-covered arm to steady her. “Watch it,” he snapped at no one in particular, his voice sharp with protectiveness.
“She’s secure,” the female paramedic assured him calmly, meeting his intense stare. “We’ve got her.”
Noah swallowed hard and leaned back slightly, though his muscles remained taut as a bowstring. His fingers itched to do something, anything to help. But this wasn’t a fight he could win with his fists or his instincts.
“Her name’s Ruth Everhart,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, like saying her name might ground him.
The female paramedic softened. “She’s lucky to have someone like you watching out for her.”
Noah didn’t answer. Lucky? She wouldn’t have been here, unconscious and broken, if it weren’t for him. A flare of guilt burned through him, sharper than the ache in his ribs, but he pushed it down, burying it.
He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he watched Ruth’s still face. He could see a faint smear of ash beneath her nose, a bruise beginning to darken along her temple. He remembered the way she’d laughed at dinner, her eyes bright, teasing him without hesitation. That version of her felt a lifetime away from this fragile, still one lying in front of him.
The ambulance slowed as they neared the hospital, the sirens blaring louder in the confined space. The male paramedic glanced back at Noah. “We’re pulling in now. Trauma team will meet us at the bay. You coming in with us?”
Noah’s gaze snapped up. “Try to stop me.”
The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flying open as a team of doctors and nurses waited with their own stretcher, their movements brisk and deliberate.
“We’ve got a female, late twenties,” the male paramedic said as they unloaded Ruth, his voice loud and direct as he rattled off details. “Blast exposure, probable skull fracture, possible bleed. Pulse slowing, BP rising, pupils equal but sluggish. Watch for internal injuries. Casted right forearm.”
Noah climbed out after them, ignoring the sharp protest from his ribs. He followed closely, his presence a silent, immovable force as Ruth was wheeled into the trauma center. The bright lights of the ER cut through the night, harsh and glaring, but Noah barely registered it.
“Sir, you need to step back,” one of the nurses said firmly as the trauma team clustered around Ruth, assessing her condition.
Noah planted his feet. “I’m not leaving.”
“Sir—”
“Noah!”
A familiar voice cut through the noise, sharp and steady. Noah turned to see Alex striding toward him, his face tight with both concern and urgency. Beside him, Brad Killian, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a no-nonsense demeanor, walked in step. Charlotte and Isobel followed.
“Where is she?” Alex asked, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Ruth’s stretcher.
Noah’s voice was low but steady as he pointed toward her. “We just got here now. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
Alex cursed softly under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he turned to Brad. “Find out what the hell happened and who did this.”
Brad nodded, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll start making calls.”
Alex turned back to Noah, his gaze narrowing as he took in the soot on his face, the way he cradled his chest. “You look like hell.”
“I’m fine,” Noah said automatically. His voice had that same dangerous edge, the one that advised no argument. “She’s the only one who matters right now.”
Alex stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Alright. But you’re not doing this alone. We’re going to find out who did this, Noah. You have my word.”
Noah didn’t respond, his focus drifting back to Ruth as the trauma team wheeled her through the double doors. Charlotte and Isobel moved to the sides of her stretcher. The last thing he saw was her face, pale but peaceful, as they disappeared from view. And then the waiting began.