Chapter 17 #2
“We know. You’re stupid in love with her.” Dalton helped him onto the bed. “Have faith. She’s a fighter — has to be if she’s gonna hang around with you for the next fifty years. So, breathe. We’ll get you cleaned up and your ass in a hard, vinyl chair in no time.”
Nick stared at Dalton. This was why he’d moved to Oregon.
Not for the reduced stress or the sounds of the ocean.
But because of his teammates. Men he trusted with more than just his life — men he trusted with hers.
Who he knew would fight to the death to save her because she was an extension of him.
Family.
The clock on the wall clicked over, time morphing into an elastic, agonizing blur as he waited for the doctor to treat him, before heading up to the third floor — planting his ass in a chair, Dalton at his side.
An ever-present shadow Nick couldn’t shake.
Though, having someone else sharing the same space eased the panicked beat of his heart.
Calmed the voices in his head that didn’t share Nick’s optimism.
The ones that pointed out how she’d taken the hit for him.
That if she died, it was his fault.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, every move tugging on stitches, the graze across his thigh a constant, fiery ache when the far doors slid open, a man in scrubs walking toward them.
Nick stood, ignored how he needed Dalton’s hand on his shoulder to keep him from tripping onto his ass, as he met the doctor’s guarded gaze. “How is she?”
The guy blew out a harsh breath, looking as bad as Nick felt.
“The blade missed the major arteries by millimeters, but it nicked her spleen and diaphragm. Another ten minutes, and it would have been too late. I’ve got her in a medically induced coma for the next day or so…
give the repair a chance to hold before she’s up kicking someone’s ass. But I’m optimistic she’ll be fine.”
The news hit him like a wall, Dalton the only reason he didn’t crumple to the floor. Nick shook the man’s hand. “Can I see her?”
The doctor glanced at Dalton, then back to him.
“We’re moving her to the ICU for the next twenty-four hours.
You can camp out in her room. Once we’re satisfied with her progress, we’ll move her to our…
remote wing until she’s stable enough you can arrange for other accommodations.
Just don’t piss off the nurses, or it won’t matter what agency you both work for. ”
Dalton snorted, looking at Nick as if he might not last ten minutes before being tossed out, then followed behind him. The doctor led them to a glass room, much like the one where they’d found Kessler, and waved them ahead.
Nick stepped through the doors, heart hammering like a seismograph, hands slick with sweat before stopping.
Face pale, eyes closed, she looked insanely small against the crisp white sheets, the monitors looming behind her.
A steady beep filled the background, her chest rising and falling rhythmically in her sleep.
Dalton scraped a couple of chairs closer to the bed, taking the one farthest away as Nick moved over to her side, took her hand in his. He planted a kiss on the back, then sank into the chair, her fingers cupped in his.
The hours slipped away, that annoying beep keeping him sane as he drifted in and out of sleep, finally moving with her to the isolation wing.
Bodie stopped in, leaned against the door. “How is she?”
Nick raked his hand through his hair. “Still unconscious.”
“They just took her off the meds, Colter. Give the girl a moment.”
“Would you give Rowan a moment?”
Bodie laughed. “Point noted. How are you?”
“Breathing and awake, so… Kessler?”
“If Tierney doesn’t kill him for just being in her space, he’ll be fine. Buck’s running interference. The guy finally gave up his stash. Tierney’s downloading it in protected packets. Should have it all shortly. We’ll set up another safehouse if needed, but for now, they’re good.”
Nick stood, paced across the room, then back. “Which means, you’ve got other news.”
“Have I ever told you this operative thing you never turn off can be incredibly annoying?”
“All the time. So… spill. I assume it’s bad.”
“You assume everything’s bad.”
“I worked for the CIA. It’s usually bad.”
Bodie laughed. “And that’s why we love you, brother.
” He shifted, and Nick knew he’d been right.
“Tierney’s been using some old Interpol connections to poke around those financial ledgers Sloane mentioned, and it seems that Hill’s backtracked on directive seven.
He’s also gone dark on all official searches involving you and Sloane. ”
Nick’s heart skipped, a cold sweat slicking the back of his neck. “Shit.”
“I assume that means something different to you? Because it sounds like he’s turning tail.”
“The only reason Hill would cancel the directive is if he’s catching too much heat, and he’s decided his only recourse is to send his own shadow team.
And these guys won’t be amateurs. Your run-of-the-mill mercenaries.
They’ll be the most highly trained tier-one assholes he can find, whose allegiance lives and dies with how much Hill’s paying them.
And trust me, it’s all that bounty money and then some. ”
“So, this isn’t over.”
Nick glanced at Sloane, gaze darting to the monitor — to the rhythmic beat that had been his sanity backdrop for the past thirty-six hours.
“The merger’s less than two weeks away. Hill’s running out of time.
As soon as Sloane’s strong enough to move, I’ll have her ass in a safehouse even Tierney wouldn’t be able to track down. Then, I’ll deal with Kessler and Hill.”
“You mean we’ll deal with Kessler and Hill, because we’re a team, Colter.
Doesn’t matter that the water’s too hot to swim in, we’re still going to have your back, so…
” Bodie pushed off the wall. “Make your plans, but make them for all of us. We’ll ensure Sloane’s got a wall of security around her, but Dalton’s your shadow. Period.”
Nick grunted, had a thousand reasons lined up to counter Bodie’s orders, when Sloane’s voice whispered behind him.
“Stop… being… an ass, Nick. Accept… the help.”
He jerked around, crossed the few steps to her side and took her hand in his. He rested his forehead on hers, the world fading into the press of her skin on his, the soft caress of her breath across his cheek. “About damn time you woke up.”
She squeezed his fingers. “And I thought… Prague was bad.”
He laughed. “See? Told you it’s better when I’m the brawn and you’re the brain.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. Soft. Telling. “Never do that to me, again.”
“Only if you promise… the same.”
“Always a counteroffer with you.”
Bodie cleared his throat, grinning like an idiot at the door.
“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Glad to see you’re back amongst the living, Sloane.
Nick, Dalton’s just gone for coffee. He told me to let you know, until this is over, he’s not leaving your side, again.
And we’ll increase security until we can move you, but it’s been quiet. ”
“Quiet’s never a good sign.”
“Noted. Hang tight. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“In my experience, it’s generally a runaway train.”
Bodie shook his head, his footsteps tapping down the hallway, slowing fading into the increased rhythm of Sloane’s heartbeat, beeping across the monitor. Nick turned, got lost in her eyes for a moment until her eyelids fluttered.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, holding it close as he leaned in. “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
She blinked herself back, smiled up at him. “Because you’re never leaving me again, right?”
“If that’s your attempt to scare me by showing you remember what I said on that rooftop, you’ll have to try something else because I meant every damn word.”
Her eyes widened, a glimpse of fire raging in the green depths as she palmed his jaw. “Then, I guess it’s my turn to keep my promise.” She licked her lips, faded, then surged back. “I—”
Footsteps.
Right outside the entrance.
Nick had his Sig in his hand, the muzzle zeroed in on the door when a nurse dressed in green scrubs bustled in, tray in her hands.
She gasped, pushed up against the wall, the tray rattling in her grip.
Nick recognized her from that first day in the ER, though she’d only been up to the room a few times since then.
He lowered his weapon, motioned for her to come closer. “I thought the next check-in wasn’t for another thirty minutes?”
The nurse — Cartwright based on her name tag — inched closer, face slightly paled, hands still shaking. “I… Your friend mentioned Ms. Hart had regained consciousness. That warrants a visit. The doctor will be along shortly.”
“Of course.”
He shoved his weapon into his holster, still holding Sloane’s hand as the nurse placed the tray on the table beside the bed. She turned, started messing with a syringe she’d brought, occasionally glancing over at him. Not overtly, more like a quick side eye.
Those voices in his head started chattering, the hairs on his neck prickling. He inched closer, noting the dots of sweat along her temple, how she kept the drug vile angled away. She turned, smiled at him, then reached for Sloane’s IV.
Nick grabbed her wrist, ignoring the way she jumped. “What’s in the syringe?”
The woman pulled against his hold, glancing toward the door, then back. “Just some antibiotics.”
“She’s already had her shot today.”
“This is to prevent her from catching anything she might pick up here.”
Nick frowned. “Then, show me the vial.”
“I…”
She moved. Used Nick’s grip on her wrist to yank him in close — headbutt him across the nose. Pain exploded behind his eyes, pinpricks of light stabbing at his vision as she pulled free — stepped back.
Nick reacted. Grabbed Sloane’s bed and shoved it. Hard. It squeaked across the floor. Not much, the brakes fighting any kind of motion, but enough it knocked the woman off-balance as she fired a suppressed round — punched a hole in the wall.
Nick vaulted over the bed, ribs and thigh protesting as he landed on the other side, deflected the strike she aimed at his throat before knocking the pistol free. It clattered to the floor, slid under the gurney, close but unattainable.
She countered with a couple strong hooks, aimed the next at his head when Sloane rose behind her, smashed the tray over the woman’s head. She dropped, hit her temple on the rail on the way down, stilled the second she hit the floor.
Nick had some spare tubing from one of the drawers wrapped around her wrists a second later, more around her ankles. He shifted over to Sloane, praying she hadn’t pulled out her stitches, when the lights winked out.
No flickering.
No loud humming.
Just the lights gleaming overhead, then utter darkness.
Sloane grunted, holding her ribs as Nick helped her lean against the headboard. Her eyelids fluttered, her head bobbing a bit before she drew herself up — looked him in the eyes. “What the hell?”
“Hill killed the directive.”
Sloane inhaled, whimpered from apparent pain, then cursed. “But… He’d only do that if he’s sending a shadow team, instead.”
Nick nodded, grabbed a wheelchair from behind the monitors and snugged it up to the bed. “And they’re already here.”