Chapter 50
fifty
JONATHAN
Jonathan was furious that Mags wasn’t listening to him. The chance of an intruder still lurking in her office was high.
He was already running toward the underground parking garage when he realized she was going to investigate. His heart was pounding wildly, and telling himself to calm down wasn’t working.
“Mags, stop. I’m on my way. Wait outside for me,” he pleaded.
“I’m looking inside now, and not one thing is out of place.”
“I’m still coming.”
As he slid into his car, he heard Mags gasp. There was some sort of…explosion, a structural failure. Fear like he’d never felt before had him speeding across town.
Her phone had gone silent, and when he tried to call it again, he got a recorded message.
Without hesitation, he dialed emergency services.
The operator was giving him the runaround when he said to send fire engines or an ambulance, something, anything to the gallery.
When he had to admit that he wasn’t sure what had happened, another fifty questions started.
Jonathan hung up and dialed Coll Barr. He and MacGregor had friends on the Dublin force and could make things happen faster than his family could.
As soon as he heard the phone connect, he didn’t waste any time.
“Call the police that you know in Dublin, Coll. Something’s happened to Mags.
I’m not there yet, but I was on the phone with her, and I thought I heard an explosion.
She isn’t answering.” He could hear the quaver in his voice.
There was no need to pretend a stoicism he couldn’t manage.
“Thomas is calling them now. The bitch admitted to planting a bomb before she skipped town. Be careful when you get there. Keep your head and call me the very second you have eyes on my niece.”
“I’m pulling up now. Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ.” Jonathan could hear Coll yelling his name, but it felt like a ghost had placed soundproof muffs over his ears.
People milled around the debris littering the cobbled street behind the gallery. The lower-level entrance and attic were missing portions of the walls, but for the most part, the two-hundred-year-old structure was still standing.
The attic was filled with black smoke billowing from the roof, and there was no sign of Mags, which meant she was still inside.
He left his car in the middle of the footpath and ran for the stairs, or what was left of them.
Several bystanders shouted at him to stop.
Never. Not until Mags was secure in his arms. At the entrance, Jonathan tore off his shirt, buttons flying.
He used the arms to secure the material around his lower face, helping ward off some of the smoke choking the air.
“Mags!” he shouted as he tripped and scrabbled up what stairs were intact while bypassing loose brick and wooden beams.
The smoke was dense, black, and choking. The fire appeared to be contained in the attic. The tarry smoke would have been sure death if the outer wall hadn’t sustained enough damage to let some of it out.
He used the material from his dress shirt to wipe sweat and smoke from his forehead and eyes. He said a silent prayer when he heard sirens coming. Thank Christ.
“Mags! Damn it, answer me,” he yelled, the effort had him bending over and coughing in gut-twisting hacks.
Almost to the top of the stairs, where the worst of the damage outside the room seemed to be, he stumbled over more debris, making him fall forward. His knees landed with a painful thud on the edge of the hardwood while his hands flew out to stop his forward momentum.
Except his palms didn’t come down on more wood and debris. Instead, he felt something warm and soft. With a cry, he ran his hands over what had to be Mags' body that was sprawled at an odd angle over what must be the top few stairs.
“Mags. Mags. Mags,” he chanted. “I’m here, baby, please be okay.” Through the thick smoke, which only seemed to be getting worse, his fingers finally found her neck. She had a pulse, steady and thumping.
Tears stung his eyes. Her unmoving silence had portended something altogether different than life. He quickly ran his hands over her body, figuring out by touch the best way to lift her. He heard shouts outside. Soon, he would have help from the firemen and paramedics.
He lifted her body, cradling her tight against his chest and praying that she had no internal injuries that he was making worse by moving her.
He grunted as something large hit his side. In the same moment, he felt Mags’ shoulder against his chest shift.
He huffed out a wheezing chuff of surprise. “You and your damn bag, Mags.” As gingerly as he could with little to no sight, he found the bag’s strap and pulled it free of her arm and onto his.
With one arm securing her to his chest, he used the other to feel the walls as he retraced his steps, thankful that he’d had the presence of mind to knock most of the debris to the side during his ascent.
Several tense minutes later, he stumbled out of the doorway and kept walking even as paramedics came at him.
“We’ve got her, sir,” one woman urged as he found fresher air for Mags. “Place her on the gurney.”
For a moment, he felt like his arms wouldn’t, couldn’t release her, but she needed to be checked out. A figure emerged at his shoulder. Eze.
“Let them have her, Jon. We will follow the ambulance to the hospital.”
He finally let her go, looking at her soot-smudged and bruised face. He ripped the shirt from around his head, and before the medics could wheel her to the ambulance, he bent and kissed her. “I’ll be right behind you, Mags. I love you.”
He stood there for a moment, feeling lost as men and women in uniform rushed toward the building, firehoses stretched between them.
Eze’s palm landed on his shoulder. “Come on, my brother. Nasir will drive your car.”
Thankful for the direction, Jonathan nodded and followed Mags’ good friend, his as well now, he supposed.
On the trip following the ambulance, Jonathan’s brain finally started working past finding Mags alive but unconscious.
“How did you know to be there? I didn’t even have a chance to call my family. I was on the phone with Coll—” he stopped speaking, pieces of the puzzle clicking together. “Coll Barr. I was on the phone with him. My thinking’s jacked right now.”
“Barr called Nasir earlier while they were questioning,” Eze’s lip curled in distaste, “that woman. She mentioned things that didn’t make sense. Nasir was able to illuminate their meaning. While on the phone, the woman insinuated that she knew Margaret was dead.
“She mentioned a bomb and thought that was why she was picked up. Since we were on the phone when she admitted that, Nasir and I immediately set out. Neither you nor Margaret was answering, and then you called Barr.”
Eze shrugged, but it was clear that he was as shaken as Jonathan. “Her heartbeat was strong.” Eze nodded, but they lapsed into silence until the hospital came into view.
Jonathan was out of the car door and running to the ambulance as they were unloading Mags from the back. She looked so pale and fragile.
He didn’t know anyone with more life in them than Margaret Morrow except right now she looked…peaceful, not at all the berserker he knew she could be.
Where was the girl who’d put a laxative in his and Daniel’s hot chocolate when they hadn’t let her and Bébhinn go camping with them?
Where was the woman who interrupted his dates and then ate their food when they left in a huff?
Where was the woman who could look at him and grin, and his whole world became brighter?
She was still and quiet. She was not his Mags, and it was killing him to stand back and do nothing.
As they wheeled her away, Jonathan shook out the filthy shirt that he’d still been gripping and put it on, not realizing until they walked into the waiting room that he was still shirtless.
Nasir interrupted his bleak thoughts. “Excuse me, Mr. O’Faolain,” he said as he handed him his phone. “I found this in your car.”
“Oh, right. Good.” He didn’t bother scrolling through his missed calls and texts, dialing Charles Morrow instead.
“Jonathan. Thank God. Aileen, it’s Jon. I’m putting you on speaker. We’re in Jo’s family’s plane. We’re all here.”
“We’re at the hospital and they’ve taken Mags back, but they wouldn’t let me go with her.”
“How is she? How bad is it?” Aileen, Mags’ mother, asked, tears in her voice.
“She’s banged up and bruised, but—” he hesitated.
“But what?” Charles asked impatiently.
“She was unconscious when I found her on the stairwell, and she still is. I don’t know anything, but I swear the moment I do, I’ll call.”
“Is your family there yet?” Thomas MacGregor must have been close to the phone because the scowl in his gravelly voice sounded like he was standing in the waiting room.
“No. I haven’t called…wait, what the,” he stuttered as every family member in Dublin, including Dagr’s father, Ulf, and Ciar’s father, Ciaran, were stampeding past the hospital staff.
“They are now.”
“Good. Call me the second you know anything.” MacGregor ended the call.
Before he could put his phone away, his father wrapped his powerful arms around his son, and Jonathan let him, pressing his eyes against his dad’s shoulder. His father held the back of his head, just as he had when Jonathan was a child.
“Thanks for coming, Dad.”
“Always, boy. You scared me when you didn’t answer,” he chided, “but I understand. If it were your mother…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
“Patrick, please,” his mother tried to pry between them. His dad gave him one last squeeze before stepping back. His uncle Bran gave Jonathan a nod and put his arm around his brother.
“Thanks for coming, Mom.” And of course, he wasn’t only hugging his mother, but his aunts, Raven and Rowan. They patted, kissed, and cried over his chest.
He sent a desperate look his dad’s way, but of course, he only shrugged.
Endure.
“Are you hurt, Jon?” His mother pulled back and asked, running her hands over his head, which she could barely reach, and over his arms.
“Throat’s a little sore from the smoke, but I’m fine.”
“Patrick,” Raven barked. “What are you doing just standing there? Call a doctor. Jon should be thoroughly checked out.”
Thankfully, his mother knew him well. “We can do that after, Rave, once Mags wakes up and Jon can see for himself that she’s going to be okay.”
Rowan touched his cheek, garnering his attention. “But you will get checked out. Soon,” she said softly.
“I promise, Aunt Row. Don’t worry,” he added, hating the tears pricking her eyes. But before he could get too emotional over his aunt’s distress, she turned to his dad, Bran, and Ulf. “You three will make sure he does.”
Daniel used the distraction to close the distance between them and hugged him close. “I wish I could have been there to help, Jon.”
“I could have used it,” he huffed and shook his head, remembering the nightmare of the stairs and finding Mags.
“Mags is too much of a fighter to be knocked down for long,” Daniel encouraged.
“I know,” Jonathan said, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“I called everyone. They should be here any minute. Blair was giving a lecture to first years.” Jonathan could only nod. He knew their friends would rally, and he was glad for it. When Mags woke up, she would be happy to see everyone.
And she would wake up. Anytime now.
Jonathan’s attention was snagged when a nurse bustled in, an overflowing clipboard clutched in her hand.
“Family of Margaret Morrow?” she queried the room.
Jonathan stepped forward. “Her family should be here within the hour. I’m her fiancé. Is she awake?”
“No, but she is beginning to twitch her fingers, which is a good sign. We’re done with the tests for now and putting her in a room. If you follow me, Mr.—”
“O’Faolain.
“Mr. O’Faolain,” she repeated. “Fine, then. I’ll take you to see her.”
“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “Oh,” he said, searching for the two men he needed to speak to, “Eze. Nasir. Would you mind staying? Mags will want to see you both when she wakes up.”
They both gave a slight bow. “Of course.”
“I’ll text you when Charles and Aileen get here,” his dad said as Jonathan was being led from the waiting room.
There was already a nurse in the room fiddling with Mags’ IV port and blocking his view. He rushed to the other side of the bed, and there she was. Her wild brown hair spread out like waves over the white hospital sheets, so fragile.
Someone had attempted to wipe the soot from her cheeks, but it had only smeared the grime, and yet she was still so stunningly beautiful that it hurt to look at her.
“She’s been moving more since we got to the room,” the nurse said while she finished rebandaging Mags’ arm.
“She would probably like to hear your voice,” the nurse who brought him here suggested.
He curled his fingers around Mags’ free hand and slowly leaned forward to kiss her knuckles and then her lips.
“I love you, Mags. Wake up now, though. You’re scaring me, damn it.
The Mags I know always has something to say.
Your mom and dad are almost here. Well, Josephine, MacGregor, Cat, and Barr as well, but you probably knew that.
Both of our families turn out when there’s something to celebrate, mourn, or when someone’s been hurt.
You’ve been hurt, in case you forgot, while you’ve been napping. ”
He kissed her lips again. “Come on, baby, talk to me. If you don’t wake up soon, I’ll redesign our townhouse by myself. I’ll make it a total bro pad, no embroidery anywhere.”
One nurse left, leaving him with the one who’d come to get him. She asked, “How long have you two been engaged?”
“It feels like our whole lives. It’s only ever been her for me.” The nurse sighed and said something about romance, but his attention was solely on his girl.
Her eyes fluttered.
“Oh, God, Mags. Come on, baby. Open those eyes for me.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “If you don’t open your eyes, I swear I’ll let Daniel sleep by you tonight, and you know how he farts when he’s nervous.”
“Don’t you dare,” Mags choked out.
“She spoke,” he practically yelled. “She said words!”
“Yes, Mr. O’Faolain. I heard her.” the nurse said as she shone a light in Mags’ eyes since they were wide open. “Welcome back, Miss Morrow. You have a lot of people who will be excited to see you.”
Jonathan's knees were shaking; his relief was so intense. “Christ, Mags. You scared me.”
Mags met his eyes and reached up to cup his face. “You scared me too. Daniel’s farts. Really?”