Chapter 27
The ER doctor pressed two fingers into Jen’s ribs, making her flinch.
“Bruised but not broken.” He was young, efficient, and already moving to the next assessment. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
On the other side of the ER curtain, someone was arguing with a nurse about discharge paperwork. A phone rang. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
“You’re lucky.” He clicked his pen and scribbled some notes on her chart. “Considering what you’ve been through, this is minor. Rest. Fluids. Ibuprofen for the pain. Follow up with your regular physician in a week.”
Lucky.
Sure.
He left, and the curtain swished closed behind him.
She’d already given an initial statement to the FBI, and for now she could breathe, although she knew there would be many questions to come.
She sat alone in the sterile space and tucked her hands under her arms to stop the shaking. It didn’t work. Her body was still on the rig, counting seconds, waiting for something else to go wrong.
And her mind was stuck in a loop. Where was Wyatt? Getting stitched up somewhere in this same building? The knife wound to his thigh needed proper medical attention. Was he okay? The need to know wouldn’t let up.
The curtain tugged, and an older nurse with kind eyes appeared. “Your friend is asking for you. In room 214. Down the hall, take a left.”
Her heart skipped. “Wyatt?”
The woman shook her head. “Woman. Caro. She’s resting but asking for you.”
Oh.
“Caro. That’s great. Thank you for letting me know.”
Jen slid off the bed. Her legs were unsteady, and the hospital scrubs they’d given her were too big, the fabric bunching at her waist. Everything she’d been wearing on the rig had been bagged as evidence or thrown away as biohazard.
She hesitated at the edge of the curtain, one hand on the fabric, then pulled it back.
Two police officers, with their backs to her, turned. “Ma’am.”
“Hi. Can I go see my friend?”
One nodded, and she headed off through an ER room filled with as much law enforcement as doctors. Even the local sheriff was here—a tall blonde with high cheekbones and eyes that reminded Jen of someone she couldn’t place. The woman was giving two FBI agents serious grief about jurisdiction.
Jen was glad she wasn’t on the end of that one.
She hurried past and down to room 214, where she found the door partially open.
Caro lay in the bed, an IV line trailing from her arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside her.
Her face was pale against the white pillow, but her eyes were open. A TV burbled high on the wall.
Jen knocked softly and pushed through. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey yourself.” Caro turned to face her. “They told me you were okay?”
“Bruised ribs. Nothing serious.” Jen crossed to the chair beside the bed. “What about you?”
“Fainted in the ER.” Caro gestured weakly at the IV. “Apparently my body decided enough was enough and just checked out. They want to keep me overnight. Make sure it’s just exhaustion, and not something worse.”
“That’s good they’re taking good care of you.” Jen took hold of Caro’s fingers and gave them a squeeze.
“I’ll be fine.” Caro’s smile was wan. “Just need fluids and twelve hours of unconsciousness after I’ve watched a few episodes of Dr. Kildare back to back. I should be discharged tomorrow.”
“What about Max?” Jen asked. “Have you heard anything?”
“Saw him on the way in.” Caro’s smile warmed. “Stitched up and already sweet-talking the nurses. He said to tell you, and I quote, ‘the Chief saved my arse with a fire extinguisher, and I’ll never let her forget it.’”
Jen exhaled. Max was okay. One more weight lifted.
Quiet fell between them.
“We made it,” Caro murmured.
“Yeah.” Jen’s throat was tight. “We did.”
“That man of yours is intense,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded.
Jen’s head snapped up. “He’s not—”
“Please.” Caro opened her eyes fully. “I saw that kiss.”
Heat crept up Jen’s neck. She didn’t have a rebuttal for that. Because Caro was right.
The door opened.
Wyatt.
Air caught in her throat, her vision blurring. He’s okay.
“Caro doing okay?” He stepped fully into the room.
This was the first time she’d seen him without adrenaline screaming through her veins, bullets flying, or time collapsing around them.
He’d cleaned up and somehow he wasn’t in hospital scrubs like she was. His brothers must have brought him fresh clothes because he’d changed—dark jeans and a gray henley that stretched across his shoulders. His hair was damp, pushed back from his forehead.
But it was his eyes that held her.
The same eyes that had found hers through scratched acrylic. The same ones that had stayed on her when he offered himself in her place.
He looked unreal. Like someone she’d imagined under pressure and wasn’t sure she was allowed to have in real life.
“I’m good,” Caro said. Her voice carried a smile. “Thanks to you two.”
Wyatt’s gaze landed on Jen.
She cleared her throat, re-engaged her brain. “How’s the leg?”
“Twelve stitches. Turns out industrial glue isn’t hospital protocol.” A faint smile. “But it worked. Kept me alive until I could get proper medical attention.”
Something fierce lit through her. Her superglue hack had kept him alive. He winced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Got a nice tetanus booster in the ass too. You?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” His gaze lingered on her for a beat, then he took hold of the rail at the foot of Caro’s bed. “Are they treating you okay?”
“Like royalty.” Caro gestured at the TV and the jug of water next to her bed. “Fluids, rest, and strict orders not to save any more rigs for at least a month.”
“Sounds about right.” His smile was wide and unguarded—the first real one she’d seen from him. “I checked up on your medevac. He’s in intensive care but stable.”
“Stoller. Thanks.”
A nurse bustled into the room.
“Visiting hours are over. She needs rest.”
Wyatt headed toward the door. “Get some sleep, Caro.”
“I will.”
Jen stood up. “Text me tomorrow when they discharge you.”
“Will do.” Caro’s eyes were already drifting closed. “Thanks for not letting me die in a vent shaft.”
“Thanks for not letting me die everywhere else.”
Caro chuckled, but her eyes didn’t open.
Jen followed Wyatt into the corridor, away from the police guard stationed outside Caro’s door. Two agents with clipped haircuts and neutral smiles hovered outside. One offered a gaunt smile. “Ah, Ms. James—”
Wyatt immediately blocked their view of her. “She’s not talking to anyone else without a lawyer and some goddamn rest.”
He took a gentle hold of her elbow, steering her away from the men and down the corridor.
The hospital moved around them. Nurses at stations. Doctors conferring in low voices with dark-suited FBI agents. Police everywhere. The beep and hum of machines. But it felt distant. Muted.
“Well, I should…” She gestured toward the public phone on the wall.
“Should what?” A frown marred his face.
“Um. Get a ride to a hotel.”
His hand closed over hers, warm and solid. “No.”
“Wyatt—”
“No. You’re not going to a hotel.” His eyes held hers. “Not tonight. You’re coming home with me.”
Her pulse stumbled. “I can’t just—”
“Yeah. You can. I need to know you’re safe. I’m not doing that from across town while you’re alone in some hotel room after everything that just happened.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and part of her bristled at the certainty in his voice. But a bigger part was bone-deep relieved she didn’t have to decide anything tonight.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles, and a muscle in his temple blipped. “Please.”
She should say no, insist on a hotel, on being fine. But God, she was tired of being brave. And he looked just as wrecked as she was.
“I’d love that. Thank you.” Heat spread from her cheeks, everywhere.
“Come on.” He released her hand, but his eyes stayed on her face. “My brother Ryder’s giving us a ride.”
Wyatt’s brother Ryder met them in the lobby. He pulled Wyatt into a brief hug, then turned and hugged her too. The contact startled her—and then, unexpectedly, calmed her. Comfort from a stranger, but it counted.
Ryder released her, and his attention shifted back to Wyatt. “I just heard from Sarah. One of the SEAL platoons was already running a training op out of Kodiak—they were airborne when the alert went up. Shaved almost two hours off the response time.”
“Our sister Sarah is sheriff,” Wyatt explained.
Oh. “I saw her grilling the FBI—”
“Sounds about right.” Ryder grinned. “Akilov is in federal custody. You two did good.”
Wyatt’s hand found the small of her back. “It’s over.”
Jen tried to believe it.
It’s over.
“Come on,” Ryder said. “Let’s get you out of this place.”
His truck was large, ancient and roomy. Strapped into the back seat was a pink princess car seat, a small stuffed unicorn wedged in the cup holder.
Ryder caught her looking as he helped her up into the cab and grinned. “My Ellie’s three, going on thirty-five.”
Twelve hours ago she’d been fighting to stay alive. Now, a stuffed unicorn stared at her with glittery plastic eyes. The world was absurd.
Wyatt climbed up next to her while Ryder swung into the driver’s seat.
Jen found herself in the middle of the bench, pressed between the two brothers. Wyatt’s shoulder bumped hers, the heat of him seeping through the thin hospital scrubs.
“So, hotel, then your place, Wyatt?” Ryder glanced at his brother.
“No, just my place.”
A beat.
“Okay.” Ryder started the engine. It sputtered several times before catching.
“This truck is a hazard.” Wyatt pointed to the check engine light glowing cheerfully on the dashboard.
Ryder patted the dash affectionately. “It’s got character. Your Volvo’s a bore.”
“It’s reliable.” Wyatt sighed as they swung out of the parking lot past patrol cars, blue lights bleeding into the night.
“It’s Swedish and judgey.” Ryder’s headlights sliced through the darkness. “All that safety. It’s like driving a therapist.”
“The Volvo has excellent crash-test ratings.”
“Of course it does.” Ryder made eye contact with Jen. His eyes crinkled at the corners with warmth. “Don’t let him fool you. He alphabetizes his glove box.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
Jen bit back a smile. The normalcy of it—two brothers giving each other shit—felt surreal after the rig. After gunfire and explosions and dark, hungry water.
“How’s Ivy?” Wyatt asked.
Ryder’s grin widened. “Good. Great, actually. Planning the wedding is making her slightly insane, but in a cute way.”
“You set a date yet?”
“June. Assuming I survive the seating chart negotiations.”
The truck climbed out of Aurora Cove proper and into the mountains. The road narrowed, and dense forest pressed in on both sides. Wyatt must live in the middle of nowhere.
“So. Jen.” Ryder’s voice was casual. “Wyatt tells me you’re chief engineer on NORPAC-7.”
“Yes.” She huffed a breath. “Although I don’t think there’s much left to engineer after tonight.”
“Fair point.” He navigated a sharp curve. “Do you live nearby?”
Wyatt leaned forward to make eye contact with his brother, but Ryder kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Uh, no. My contract was just about up. I have an apartment in San Diego.”
“What’s next for you?”
Good question.
She had no idea.
Her life—what little of it existed outside work—was in San Diego. But the thought of going back felt wrong.
“I don’t know yet,” she said honestly.
Wyatt shifted beside her, his thigh pressing against hers. She was acutely aware of every point of contact. His shoulder. His leg. The warmth radiating from him in the truck cab.
“You’re welcome to stay in Aurora Cove as long as you need,” Ryder said. “We take care of our own here.”
Our own.
As if she already belonged.
The truck climbed higher. The trees grew denser, and snow began to fall. Fat flakes that caught in the headlights and disappeared against the windshield.
Wyatt’s hand found hers in the darkness between them, his fingers closing as if he wasn’t letting go again. It was all she could do to breathe.
“Here we are.” Ryder steered off the road and up a track.
The truck rounded a final curve, and the trees opened up. A sleek house of timber and glass rose from the snow-covered landscape. Floor-to-ceiling windows glowing with warm light. The structure seemed to grow from the mountain itself.
“Holy shit,” Jen whispered.
“Yeah.” Ryder pulled into the driveway and jammed his truck into park. “Wyatt’s got good taste in bolt holes.”
Wyatt released her hand and opened his door. Cold air rushed into the cab.
Ryder reached across and gave her hand a squeeze. “Take care of yourself. And him.”
She smiled. “I will. And thank you for the lift.”
“My pleasure.” He straightened. “Call me if you need anything. And for God’s sake, Wyatt, call Mom tomorrow or she’ll drive up here herself.”
“Copy that.” Wyatt helped Jen down from the truck.
Her feet hit fresh powder. Snow fell around them in the darkness, cloaking them in silence.
Ryder reversed the truck, and with a wave, he disappeared down the mountain road.
And then it was just the two of them.
“Come.” Wyatt took hold of her hand and guided her up the front steps of the house. “Let’s get you inside.”
Up close, it wasn’t just beautiful, it was solid, as if it had weathered life. He pressed his palm against a silver panel set into the wall. Blue light flashed and heavy deadbolts retracted with a solid thunk.
The door swung open, and warm golden light spilled out. Beyond it—she glimpsed white walls and vibrant color.
Her world balanced between one breath and the next.
Behind her was Seven. Akilov. Dark water, explosions, and screaming alarms.
Ahead was warmth. Light. This man who’d stayed with her in the dark. Who’d chosen her.
Jen took a breath. The air was cold and clean and smelled of pine. Holding his hand, she stepped inside.