Chapter 31
Thirty-One
T he storm raged outside, wind howling through the trees like a warning. But to Noah, it was protection. No one would come for them in this weather. No one could.
Neither man slept. Noah had stopped counting the hours and checking the time. Time didn’t matter when every second felt like a war. Ruth lay in the bed, too still, her skin pale, her breaths shallow. He forced himself to stop counting each one. He had to do something else. Anything. So, he worked.
His fingers moved steadily over the keyboard, his mind forcing itself to focus on cracking the rest of the files. He couldn't sit there helpless. He couldn’t just watch.
Paul worked too. The small makeshift lab was scattered across the kitchen table, test tubes, chemicals, and medical kits spread in a desperate attempt to figure out why Ruth wasn’t responding. He muttered under his breath, going through differential diagnoses, ruling things out, checking, rechecking. Every possibility was worse than the last.
Noah watched him. If Ruth died, deep down, he knew he would blame himself. Because he had gotten her into this. Because she was suffering, and he couldn’t stop it. If she died—he’d never forgive himself.
A gust of wind slammed against the cabin. The fire crackled in the hearth. Ruth’s breath hitched slightly. Noah’s heart clenched.
Paul’s head snapped up, eyes sharp, scanning the monitors. Noah didn’t breathe.
Waiting. Hoping.
Paul’s jaw tightened. His voice was hoarse. “She’s still with us.”
Noah exhaled slowly. The storm outside raged on.
Noah barely blinked as he stared at the screen of his laptop, his fingers moving steadily over the keyboard. The thumb drive sat connected to the computer, the small black device he hoped held the answers he desperately needed. The encryption was military-grade, and it wasn’t budging easily. But he had been breaking through defenses his entire career. He just needed time. Time that Ruth might not have.
Behind him, Paul sat at Ruth’s bedside, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had spent the last hour running tests, checking vitals, searching for what was making her decline. Noah could feel the tension rolling off him. Something was wrong.
Paul muttered a curse under his breath.
Noah’s fingers paused over the keyboard. “What is it?”
Paul didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gently pushed down Ruth’s covers and lowered her gown. As he stared at her, exposed, his jaw tightened.
Noah stood, moving closer. “Paul?”
Paul exhaled sharply. “Petechiae.”
Noah frowned. “Come again?”
Paul turned to him. “Tiny red spots under the skin. They’re a sign of internal bleeding.”
Noah’s stomach dropped. Bleeding? From what?
Paul ran a hand down his face. “She’s seriously anemic. Her body isn’t clotting properly. That means one of two things—DIC or an anticoagulant.”
“What’s that?”
Paul sighed. “DIC, it’s the body losing the ability to clot. Or it’s a drug in her body. The first option—she won’t survive.”
Noah’s pulse kicked up. “The fake nurse.”
Paul nodded grimly. “Yeah. Sad to say, but that’s the better choice. She didn’t just try to inject something into her IV. She actually got to her.”
Noah clenched his fists. “How?”
Paul’s gaze scanned every inch of Ruth’s fragile frame, searching for something—anything. Then, suddenly, his eyes locked onto the cast protecting her fractured wrist.
Noah saw it too. And realization hit.
Paul’s expression darkened. “I need a saw.”
Noah moved fast, grabbing a small medical saw from the supply kit. Paul worked carefully but quickly, cutting along the length of the fiberglass cast encasing Ruth’s arm.
Noah stood tense beside him, his heart hammering.
A few minutes later, Paul pried the cast apart. Noah inhaled sharply. Inside, embedded against her skin, was a tiny plastic barrel.
He cursed, “Son of a—” He ripped it free, his jaw clenched. “This is how she did it.” He held up the device. It was filled with tiny pellets.
Noah’s fingers curled into fists. The fake nurse had hidden it in Ruth’s cast—where no one would think to check. A slow release of anticoagulants, poisoning her little by little. He exhaled sharply. “Can you fix it?”
Paul was already moving. “I have to. I just hope she’s not already bleeding heavily in her brain. The confusion…it’s not a good sign.”
Noah’s stomach twisted as Paul pulled a syringe from the kit, filling it with a reversal agent. “This is vitamin K, the antidote for warfarin.” He carefully injected it into Ruth’s IV, then stepped back, watching. Waiting.
Noah couldn’t breathe.
Paul ran a hand over his face. “Now, we wait. And hope it’s not too late.”
The cabin was silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the rhythmic hum of Ruth’s oxygen. Noah stood near the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists.
He hated waiting. Every instinct told him to do something. Break another code. Find another lead. Hunt down the bastard responsible for this. But none of that would help Ruth right now. He needed her to wake up. To fight.
Paul sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving Ruth. He had bandaged her arm where he removed the plastic barrel, but the bruising around the area was deep. “She’s got a long way to go.” He hung a bag of IV fluids and a unit of blood and let it run wide open. He took her blood pressure every fifteen minutes. In between, he ran the ultrasound probe over her chest and abdomen looking for bleeding.
Noah exhaled sharply. “Will she make it?”
Paul sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “If the anticoagulant was in her system for too long, the antidote won’t be able to stop the bleeding that’s already happening. If it reached her brain, we won’t know until it’s too late. And if it’s not warfarin, if it’s a newer drug without a reversal agent…”
Noah’s stomach turned. “She’ll be okay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Paul.
Paul didn’t answer. He just leaned forward, pressing his fingers against Ruth’s pulse. Checking, monitoring, waiting.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then another hour.
Noah didn’t move from his chair. Neither did Paul.
Then—a sound. A soft, shaky inhale.
Noah sat up straight. So did Paul.
Ruth’s fingers twitched against the blanket. “Noah?”
Noah exhaled sharply, relief hitting him like a punch. “I’m here.”
Paul let out a slow breath. “Her pulse is stronger.”
Noah ignored him, leaning closer. “Rae? Can you hear me?”
Her blind eyes fluttered open. She looked… confused. Tired. But alive. Noah gritted his teeth to keep his emotions in check.
Paul pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Ruth?”
She blinked slowly. “Paul?”
Paul smirked. “Good. You remember me.”
Ruth let out a breath, a flicker of a tired smile on her lips. “I’m still here.” Noah squeezed her cold fingers.
Paul stood, stretching. “She needs fluids. Rest. We’ll keep monitoring her, but the fact that she’s talking is a damn good sign.”
Noah nodded, his fingers still wrapped around hers.
Paul sighed. “I’ll give you two a minute.” He left the room, closing the door behind him as Noah turned back to Ruth.
She licked her lips, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was dying.”
Noah swallowed hard. So did I. Instead, he leaned in, his voice steady. “Not on my watch.”
Her weak smile widened slightly. She squeezed his hand, barely there—but there.
Noah exhaled. She was fighting.