Chapter 14 #2
No. Canyon. She was in the canyon. Wasn’t she? Reality felt slippery, unreliable. Sleep whispered promises of relief, but these voices wouldn’t let her rest.
A woman’s face materialized above her. Not Emberly. The doctor who’d stitched her hand—Meg, maybe? Liam had mentioned her name.
That made no sense. Meg wasn’t with them.
Yet here she was, being supremely annoying by shining a flashlight directly into Nimue’s eyes. Asking questions in rapid-fire succession that Nimue couldn’t process.
Why wouldn’t everyone just let her sleep?
Meg’s voice rattled on—a stream of words that sounded like a foreign language. She wanted to tell the woman to stop, to leave her alone, but her tongue felt thick and useless.
Liam’s face returned. His hands wrapped around hers—warm, steady, real.
“Hang in there.” He leaned close.
Yes. Stay close.
“Help’s on the way.”
Good. The teenagers needed help.
She blinked. Liam’s features went fuzzy around the edges. She must be dreaming. Then he disappeared again. She tried forming words, but her mouth refused to cooperate.
“What’s that, Nimue?” Meg’s voice cut through the fog.
“Liam.” Finally. One word that actually made it past her lips.
Meg squeezed her hand. “He and Noah are clearing a landing spot for the helicopter.”
“Helicopter?” Her mind latched onto the word like a lifeline. “Flying…”
“Today’s your lucky day.” Meg’s tone shifted, gaze flicking somewhere Nimue couldn’t see. “Won’t be much of a view though.”
A whirring sound filled the air. Growing closer. Louder.
Wait—wait! The sound sliced through her drug-induced haze like a blade.
Helicopter.
The Bratva could afford private aircraft. Unmarked. Untraceable. Perfect for hunting down loose ends like her. Teresa’s men could be descending right now, ready to finish what they’d started at King’s Inn.
The teenagers. Meg. Noah. Liam.
All at risk because of her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, breaths coming in shallow gasps. But her body refused to respond. Too weak to run. Too weak to fight. The sound grew deafening, ground vibrating as the aircraft approached.
And then there was Liam. Dark, solemn, steady, his blue eyes on hers for just a moment. A plastic mask dropped over her face. Oxygen, cool and sweet in her nose.
“You’re going to be okay! Hang on, Nim!”
The chopper ate his words.
She tried gripping his hand, desperate for his strength, but her fingers barely twitched. He stepped back as chaos erupted around her. Shouts. Hands lifting her onto a stretcher. Pain exploded with every movement.
She blinked her eyes open to new faces. Strangers in orange vests with clipped, professional voices. Search and rescue?
Or Bratva in disguise?
Her brain screamed warnings. Teresa’s people were smart enough to fake uniforms, blend in. No one would know until it was too late.
Liam’s face reappeared—eyes red-rimmed, expression fierce with some emotion she couldn’t read. She tried reaching for him, but they’d strapped her down.
“I’ll call your sister!” His words barely penetrated the helicopter’s roar, but they hit her like ice water.
What—no!
No!
Calling Emberly would lead the Bratva straight to them. Teresa was watching—no, no—
Then—a pinch in her arm. Warmth spreading through her system like honey. The world went soft around the edges.
No. Need to stay alert. Need to warn them.
But her body betrayed her, melting toward sleep despite her mind’s protests.
Why was he letting her go? He promised they were in this together—
He stepped back as the strangers lifted her stretcher.
Liam?
The chopper’s blades created a relentless pulse that drowned out everything else. One last glimpse of Liam standing with the teenagers, face unreadable in the artificial light.
Then she faded into darkness.
She drifted. Time became elastic, unreliable.
When her eyes fluttered open again, she was inside the helicopter. Strangers hovering over her, their hands checking monitors and tubes.
Fragments of conversation penetrated the fog. “Internal bleeding.” “Hospital.” “Critical.”
Liam.
Her thoughts kept circling back to him. Why hadn’t he come with her?
The helicopter’s hum vibrated through her bones. Her eyes too heavy to keep open. She wanted to fight, to warn someone, but sleep pulled her under, into its murky, unfathomable depths.
Meg was about to shatter. Noah could see it written on her face.
Noah wrapped his arm around her shoulders as the helicopter lifted off into the night, rotor wash whipping dust and debris around them like a sandstorm.
“She’s going to be okay.”
Meg didn’t move, her eyes on the retreating bird, the darkness, the moonlight.
She had some sort of panic attack happening, if he read that right. Maybe they all did, seeing Nimue fading in front of them.
Meg had pulled off some kind of miracle keeping her alive until help showed up.
And now…yeah, the adrenaline flush could be a doozy. He pulled her close, shielding her from the chaos, but he could feel the tremors running through her body.
Thirty seconds. Maybe less before she completely fell apart.
And he couldn’t let that happen. Not in front of everyone.
He turned her away from the landing zone, scanning for somewhere private. Teenagers clustered everywhere, the remaining SAR team passing out food and water, Liam and Teague pacing around like caged animals.
Under normal circumstances, he’d go help. But right now, Meg needed him more than anyone else.
When she started shaking—really shaking, not just tremors—he made a command decision. He bent down, scooped her up under her knees, and carried her around a massive rock outcropping.
Empty. Thank you.
He set her down gently, settled beside her on the cold stone. He didn’t know what to say. During his darkest days after Mary’s death, the most helpful thing had been when someone just chose to be present. No words. No platitudes. Just…there.
He should grab water though. He started to stand, but her hand clamped onto his arm.
“Just getting water.”
She shook her head, eyes still unfocused, lost somewhere he couldn’t follow.
He wrapped his arm back around her shoulders. She melted into his side like she belonged there.
This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.
He and Meg had given up hope of finding Liam and Nimue once darkness fell. They’d argued for finding shelter, resuming the search at first light. But Teague had refused to even consider it, pleading with that desperate edge that made saying no impossible.
Searching in the dark had seemed pointless.
A miracle. That’s what it had been. Somehow they’d spotted a light flickering across the canyon. SOS.
And then shouting as they responded with the same light.
Sound played tricks in the canyon, echoing off walls, making distance impossible to judge. But they’d pushed harder, finally found them.
Discovered the tragedy.
Nimue, pale, barely breathing, purple bruising spreading over her side.
Teague had pressed the sat phone to his ear, free hand covering the other, calling in a medevac.
He’d turned to Meg for medical interpretation, but his earlier suspicions from the trail had materialized as he watched color drain from her face in the LED lantern’s glow.
He didn’t know much about medicine, but he knew panic attacks. Knew PTSD. Knew more about both than anyone should have to.
He’d grabbed her shoulders, forced her to meet his eyes. “Meg. Focus on me. You can do this. I believe in you. Nimue needs you.”
She’d nodded. And a sort of rote response had taken over. She’d dropped beside Nimue, and after a moment, her movements had become calculated, routine.
Meg had started an IV then and administered a shot of morphine, and somehow by the time the chopper arrived, Nimue was still alive.
Even Noah had felt stripped and a little haunted by the close call.
But now…Meg wasn’t herself.
Footsteps on stone brought him back to the present. Teague appeared around the corner, held out two bottles of water without a word, then vanished as quickly as he’d come.
The guy might be a mind reader. He had certainly known that Liam was in trouble.
“Can you drink something?” Noah cracked the seal on the plastic bottle and handed it to Meg.
She managed a few sips. Not nearly enough.
She settled back against his chest, tremors still running through her frame. He smoothed her hair back from her face. “You did good. You know that, right?”
“I don’t know if it was enough.”
The look in her eyes—he’d seen it in his own mirror too many times to count.
“You did everything you could. The rest is up to God now.”
Hypocrite. The words tasted like ash as they left his mouth. He’d wanted to punch people who’d said similar things to him after Mary died. Where had God been then?
Though honestly, he didn’t blame God for Mary’s death. He blamed himself.
“I couldn’t save my father.”
The words came out haunted, her eyes fixed on something in the darkness he couldn’t see.
There it was. The key to understanding what was really happening inside her head.
But dissecting psychological trauma on a cold rock in the middle of nowhere wasn’t the answer. She needed comfort right now, not analysis.
He smoothed her hair again. “I couldn’t save my wife. But Nimue’s going to make it. I just know it.”
Aw. Why had he said that?
But somehow, he did know. The same way he’d known Mary and their unborn daughter wouldn’t make it, despite every false assurance the doctors had offered.
“I was so scared.” Meg lifted her head, met his gaze for the first time since the helicopter disappeared.
Moonlight turned her skin to silver, highlighted the tear tracks on her cheeks.
“I know.”
She was inches away. Close enough that he couldn’t resist reaching up, thumb tracing the path moisture had left on her face.
“If you hadn’t been there, I might have—”
“But I was there.”
Her eyes went wide, then soft.
Everything around them stilled—the night air, the distant voices, even his own heartbeat seemed to pause.
His thumb traced across her bottom lip. His pulse exploded through every cell in his body as if he’d been struck by lightning. Three years since he’d stared at another woman’s mouth. Three years since he’d breathed another woman’s breath.
When her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, all rational thought evaporated.
She leaned forward—just a fraction, but it was enough.
He closed the distance.
The moment his lips touched hers, his world detonated. Longing, hunger, need—not the hollow ache that had haunted him for three years, but something with a name, a face, a taste.
Meg.
He should stop denying what he’d been afraid to admit for…well, a long time.
He needed this woman.
Noah deepened the kiss, exploring her lips, her face, threading his fingers through her hair. He never wanted this to end. All he wanted was Meg and—
“Whoa. Uh, sorry, boss.” Liam’s voice hit like cold water.
Noah was going to kill him.
Noah closed his eyes, tried gathering his scattered senses as Meg got up and walked a few steps away.
“Sorry,” Liam continued. “Just looking for Meg.”
“Found me,” Meg said, her voice too bright. “What’s up?” Meg started collecting the water bottles.
At least she seemed steadier. Him? Not so much.
“I need you to check some of the teenagers. Signs of dehydration.”
“Of course.” Meg started following him, but Liam paused, turned back.
“Do you really think Nimue will be okay?”
Meg swallowed hard, shot a quick glance at Noah. “Yes.”
Liam nodded, disappeared around the corner.
Alone again.
She looked back at Noah.
Her mouth tightened into a dark line.
He wanted to pull her into another embrace, finish what they’d started. But he’d learned something dangerous tonight—she’d awakened parts of him he’d tried to bury with his wife.
It would be so easy to fall in love with her.
Too easy.
But he couldn’t walk that road again. Wouldn’t survive losing someone else.
She studied his face, waiting. For reassurance, maybe. A declaration. At minimum, acknowledgment that the kiss hadn’t been a mistake.
But it had been a mistake.
A mistake that had probably cost him his best friend, because after tasting her lips, he wasn’t sure morning coffee together was possible anymore. Every second alone, all he’d think about was finishing that kiss.
And that couldn’t happen. Still, “She’ll be okay, Meg.”
Coward. But that was all he had. All he could give.
Noah walked out of their moonlit sanctuary without looking back.
Cruel. He knew it. But giving her hope for a future together would be crueler.
Even if it killed him to walk away.