Chapter Twenty-Two
H e fucking hated hospitals and as of late, he seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in them. The tiny waiting area with its stark white walls and uncomfortable plastic chairs was still a claustrophobic torture chamber for him.
He’d felt that way when Seneca was poisoned.
And even when he tried to comfort Aja after Jackson’s shooting, the dread this room brought him was the scariest thing he’d ever encountered.
Knowing there was nothing you could do but sit in this damn room while your loved one’s life hung in the balance was a hellish way to spend hours of your time.
The room was empty, save for Colton and Jackson and, for once, his friend’s presence didn’t bring comfort.
“She’s gonna be all right.” Jackson’s words did little to soothe him or give him hope. He wouldn’t feel better until he could see that for himself.
Therefore, he opted for deflection to keep his mind off how panicked he was. “How long has it been since Storm left to get Ms. Daniels, Aja, and Brooklyn? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
“They’ll be here in another ten minutes.”
He nodded. “Good, Seneca would want them here.”
“I’m sure she would,” Jackson replied. “But I’m equally sure she’ll be glad you’re here.”
Holden entered the room, stopping directly in front of Colton. “Is this over?” Colton asked. “That’s the only thing I want to hear from you.”
“For Seneca, yes. For Brooklyn, I’m not so sure.”
Jackson and Colton looked at each other then back at Holden.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jackson beat Colton to the punch. That very question was on the tip of his tongue.
“Seneca’s got nothing to worry about. I have Hastings in custody.
One of my agents has him handcuffed to his gurney while they wait for the surgical team to try to save his eye.
I’ve got an injunction from the governor giving me control over the local sheriff’s department until they find someone on the straight and narrow to run it.
I also took Mr. Bitterman’s statement before he went into surgery.
According to him, Seneca kept calm and stalled Hastings for as long as she could.
Bitterman’s hidden security cameras should corroborate his version of the events along with the audio recording Seneca had.
That, plus we can now link him to a trailer full of young people he was supposed to have you drive to the docks in Corpus Christi. ”
“So, you know about that?” Colton didn’t shy away from Holden’s gaze. He didn’t give a good goddamn if Holden was pissed about the operation he had planned.
“My man on the inside watched Hastings have the truck loaded and locked before he handed my agent the keys and told him to drop it off to the abandoned warehouse at the edge of town. Imagine his surprise when a group of Texas Rangers pulled him over about ten miles later on the highway. It’s all sorted now, but the good thing is between you and my agents, we can establish that Hastings was in charge of this local operation.
“And Brooklyn?”
Holden dropped his gaze at Colton’s question, which was making him all kinds of uncomfortable.
“We were able to track the money to an account for a dummy corporation owned by Ivan Fedorov. He’s a Russian national with an importing and exporting business. However, his real job is that of a crime boss. He’s the head of the Russian Mob in NY.”
“How does this connect to Brooklyn?” Jackson chimed in.
“Brooklyn killed his younger brother,” Holden answered.
“Alexei Markov. And if I know anything about Fedorov, it’s that he plays the long game.
All the trouble Restoration Ranch has experienced might not be a stroke of bad luck.
It might’ve been the plan all along. And if it is, we’d all better be prepared.
Because Fedorov plays for keeps and his games usually get really messy and bloody.
Brooklyn might very well have been the target all along. ”
“Is there a Colton Adams here?” Colton stood at the sound of his name, trying to shove what he’d just learned to the back of his mind while he found out what the white woman in green scrubs standing at the doorway wanted with him.
“I’m Colton.” He stepped around Holden and walked over to her.
She smiled softly at him. “I’m Dr. Sharpe. I’m caring for Seneca. She asked me to come find you.”
“She asked? Meaning she’s awake?”
The doctor nodded and waved for him to follow her inside the emergency until they stopped in front of a room where Seneca seemed to be sleeping. “Yes, she also gave me permission to talk to you about her condition.”
The implied trust that went along with that decision warmed him from the inside out. If she trusted him with her health, was there hope she’d trust him with her heart too?
“She did lose consciousness,” the doctor continued, “which is concerning but isn’t entirely unexpected when dealing with asphyxiation.
However, her initial scans look good. She’s alert and oriented and she remembers what happened to her, which lessens our concerns for any kind of resulting brain damage.
There’s also no damage to her airway we can find.
Considering everything she’s been through, she’s a lucky woman.
Barring any immediate complications, she’ll probably get to go home in the morning. ”
He sighed long and hard, releasing the caged breath he’d been holding since Dr. Sharpe called his name.
“May I go in?”
She nodded. “After the night she’s had, she definitely needs the company.”
He thanked the doctor, then tiptoed quietly into the room, sitting on the edge of the gurney and linking his fingers through hers.
She blinked her eyes open, smiling when she realized who was holding her hand.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Always.” She kept smiling at him, and each moment she graced him with it, his heart beat a little faster and the heavy cloud hanging over him seemed to recede. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”
She squeezed his hand. “It was my fault. I got this plan in my head that if I could just record Hastings in the middle of a transaction, all of our problems would be over. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. Because of me Mr.…”
The smile slowly dripped from her face and he leaned over her, cupping her cheek gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Bitterman, is he all right? Hastings shot him.”
He stroked her skin with his thumb, hoping to reassure her worries. “He’s fine. Because you pushed Hastings, it threw his aim off. He hit Bitterman in the thigh, fortunately, missing any major vessels there. Holden took his statement before they took him to surgery to clean out his wound.”
“And Hastings?” Her eyes shifted and the fear flooding them made his gut twist. “Did I…”
He shook his head. “Sshh,” he responded, hoping to soothe her. “Hastings is alive. He’ll probably be wearing a patch for the rest of his life, but he’s still alive.”
“Will I be arrested?”
The heart monitor attached to her beeped faster. Pulling his eyes away from her face, he watched the spiked waves grow closer together as the number increased.
“You won’t be arrested for defending yourself.
Hastings is in FBI custody and Holden is temporarily taking command of the sheriff’s department until he can figure out which of the deputies can be trusted to take it over.
The only thing you need to worry about is giving your statement when you’re up to it and testifying at his trial.
That son of a bitch is going away for a long time.
He can’t hurt you anymore. Everything’s gonna be all right. I promise.”
She pulled his hand from her cheek and brought it to her mouth, pressing a warm kiss against it that melted all the worry and fear he’d been holding on to since he watched her collapse on that floor.
“I believe it when you say it to me.”
Her simple words made his heart fill with hope. “What does that mean, Seneca?”
She took his hand, holding it between both of hers and pressing it against the warmth of her soft mounds. “It means that I’ve pushed you away for much too long and tonight, when I thought I was about to lose it all, the only regret I had was not letting you know how much I loved you.”
Her words smacked him with the force of a speeding Mack truck crashing into a brick wall.
If he hadn’t been sitting, he’d certainly be picking himself off the floor.
God how he wanted those words to be true.
His heart was ready to gallop out of his chest it beat so fast from excitement.
But just as he was about to give in to the unabashed joy those words spilling from her lips poured inside of him, the rational side of his brain reined him in.
You’ve caused her so much pain, literally placing her life in danger because of her connection to you. Are you really going to do what you want? Or for once, are you going to do what’s best for her?
“Seneca.” He closed his eyes because he couldn’t bear to see affirmation in hers. “When people have traumatic experiences, they often say and do things they don’t really mean. Before Hastings grabbed you, you were so pissed with me you left your own house just to get away from me.”
She took a breath to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her. “Those words mean too much to me. I want them too badly to accept them in circumstances like this. Please,” he begged. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere. But the next time you say them to me, make sure you mean them.”
“Colton?” The crease in her brow and her disbelieving eyes expressed her bewilderment better than any words could have.
But instead of hashing it out, he took the coward’s way out when her mother walked through the glass doors.
As Ms. Daniels fussed over her, he excused himself, walking past his friends in the waiting room and heading outside to get some air.
And as he looked up into the clear night sky, he wondered why—for once—he couldn’t just take the easy path in life.