Chapter 17
Seventeen
Three days. Seventy-two hours of sleeping in a chair that had declared war on his spine somewhere around hour twelve.
Liam shifted positions, vertebrae popping in protest as monitors beeped their regular rhythm. Blue light washed across white walls, tracking every breath Nimue took. Half of the machines were gone now—progress. The doctor used words like “optimistic” and “discharge soon.”
Thank You, God.
Morning sunlight painted golden squares across the linoleum floor. Emberly would arrive any minute to spell him, which would mean shower time. Maybe even a real bed for a few hours. But leaving Nimue—even for twenty minutes—twisted his gut.
He stood, knees creaking, and leaned down to brush his lips across her forehead. Her skin warm, alive, perfect. He angled toward her mouth when—
The door burst open.
Emberly strode in, boots clicking sharp staccato against the floor, her face carved from stone. “Teresa’s dead.”
The words slammed into him like a sledgehammer. Two words that changed everything.
He was still shaking off the altercation he’d walked into three days ago.
The elevator had been out of order—or someone had made sure it looked that way. Liam had taken the stairs two at a time, the pencil case clutched in his hand.
He’d pushed through the stairwell door and spotted them immediately—a woman in scrubs and two men heading down the corridor toward Nimue’s room. His gut had clenched.
Then doors had burst open behind them.
“Go, go, go!”
Bodies had erupted from patient rooms. The woman had spun, her fake surgical cap flying as she bolted for the exit.
“Colt, the runner!”
“Tate, take the left!”
Liam had broken into a sprint toward Nimue’s room, pencil case still gripped tight. A blur of motion had intercepted him—tall, lean, moving with lethal precision. Steel arms had wrapped around his torso, driving him into the wall.
“Nimue!” The name had ripped from his throat as he bucked against the hold. “Let me go—they’re after her!” He’d thrown his elbow back, twisted against the grip just enough to break free a half second before he was pinned to the ground.
The pencils in the case had scattered across the linoleum in an explosion of color.
His shoulder had hit first, then his face. He struggled against the weight crushing him, panic clawing at his chest. “She’s hurt—I have to—”
“Liam?” A voice had cut through his thrashing. “Liam Kingsley?”
“Get off me!” He’d fought harder.
The words finally registered, and Liam had twisted his head. Sun-weathered face, piercing blue eyes, stubble that suggested he hadn’t shaved for days. The guy had looked like he’d walked off a beach somewhere, but his stance had screamed military—composed on the surface, coiled underneath.
“Calm down; she’s okay. We’re the good guys.”
The words had penetrated. He’d gone still, chest heaving against the floor.
The weight had lifted. Hands had hauled him upright. The beach guy had steadied him with surprising gentleness.
“Remember me? Steinbeck Kingston. We’re here to help.”
It hadn’t been his favorite way to re-meet Nimue’s sister’s boyfriend, but at least he hadn’t broken any bones.
Now he stared at Emberly.
“Coco just confirmed it.” Emberly’s expression never shifted. “Someone took her out during transport. Probably Alan Martin cleaning house. Too much liability.”
The breath he’d been holding for days escaped in a rush. His knees nearly buckled. No more looking over shoulders. No more shadows in doorways. No more waking at three a.m. wondering if today was the day Teresa came for them.
“Are you sure?” This from Nimue, who’d roused at her sister’s entrance. She took a breath and glanced at Liam. “These people have a way of coming back from the dead.”
“Logan Thorne confirmed it to me.” Coco appeared behind Emberly, petite, short black hair, phone glowing in her grip.
He remembered meeting Thorne three days ago. Former SEAL, now director of the Caleb Group. The guy had shoved his face into the floor so that was fun.
Coco looked at Nimue. “Found your drive exactly where you said. Still analyzing the contents, but we’ll crack it.
” She stepped closer to Nimue’s bed. “I also scrubbed your digital footprint. Every file, account, breadcrumb—gone. The Bratva connection is severed permanently.” Her gaze flicked between Nimue and Liam.
“You’re invisible again. Clean slate—nothing to tie you to Alan Martin.
But maybe think twice before diving back into the hacking world—”
“I’m done,” Nimue said. Her eyes found Liam’s, held them. “I’m ready to stop looking over my shoulder. Maybe focus on my art instead.”
“Perfect.” Coco smiled. “I fixed your bus tire too. You’re free to head back to Florida whenever you’re discharged.”
Oh. Liam’s stomach clenched. Florida. Of course. Safe. Logical. A thousand miles from here.
From him.
But he wouldn’t hold her back. And maybe…Well, he was committed to the Rim this summer, but after that—
If she still wanted him—
“Maybe someday.” Nimue turned to him and squeezed his hand. “But I’m thinking I’d like to stick around the canyon for a while.” Her smile turned sly. “Turns out home isn’t only one place. It’s wherever you’re loved.”
The words hit him square in the chest. Knocked the breath clean out of him.
But, yeah, what she said.
Coco nodded, that almost-smile returning as she glanced at Liam, then locked eyes with Nimue. “Stay free, Nim. You’ve earned it.”
Her steps faded down the hallway. Emberly left too, the door clicking shut.
And then it was just them.
His phone buzzed. Seriously? He fumbled it from his pocket, ready to decline whoever—
FaceTime. Noah.
The guy had been covering his shifts for three days straight. The least he could do was answer.
Noah’s face filled the screen, ranger hat askew, uniform dusted with canyon dirt. Exhaustion lined his features. Teague appeared over his shoulder, equally rumpled.
“Found your gold cache,” Noah said. “Nineteen bars, just like Nimue described. With hers, that makes twenty total.”
“Twenty?” The words emerged louder than intended. Two million dollars. Maybe more. “Any information in the chest?”
“Yes.” Teague leaned into the frame. “Turns out it’s one of the Roosevelt chests.
In the seventies, Teddy Roosevelt’s great-grandson hid three cases in one national park.
Each reported to hold twenty gold bars just like this one.
His thought was to encourage more exploring in the parks.
No one knew which park, so the excitement died down after a few years. ”
“I guess we know which park it is now,” Liam mumbled.
“Exactly.” Noah leaned back into the screen. “The money belongs to the park the chest is found in, but there is a reward for anyone who finds a chest. But we might want to hold off on collecting that reward.”
Liam’s gut clenched. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of going public with this.”
“Opposite.” Noah’s expression darkened. “If word gets out that there are two more caches somewhere in the park system…” He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to. “Park safety and rules have changed a lot in the last fifty years since they were hidden. And now…”
Treasure hunters. Hordes of them. Tearing up fragile ecosystems, ignoring safety protocols, turning the canyon into mayhem.
“We need to keep it quiet until we figure out next steps,” Teague added. “No sense inviting chaos.”
The call ended. Liam turned back to Nimue, sunlight painting her face in soft gold. The broken pencil tin sat in her lap.
“You sure about Arizona?” His voice was soft, his fingers tightening around hers, his heart thudding as he braced for her answer. “Florida’s safe now. You could go home.”
Home. The word tasted bitter. Like goodbye.
She shook her head, amber flecks dancing in her dark eyes. “I want to stay near the canyon. Near you.” She smiled, and he felt it to his soul. “This is where we started. I’m not ready to leave that behind.”
A knock, and Emberly’s head popped through the doorway. “Going to help Coco tie up some loose ends. You good here?”
Liam nodded. “Got her.”
Forever, if she’d let him.
The door closed again. He leaned closer, thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. Then he kissed her—slow, deliberate, tasting mint and hope and home. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I meant every word.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll spend my life keeping you safe. Loving you.” His hand tightened around hers. “We’ll figure out the gold, the future, everything. Together.”
Her eyes went soft. Shining. “I’d like that.”
Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, but her gaze stayed locked on his. Unwavering. Trusting.
Liam settled back into the torture device masquerading as a chair, fingers never leaving hers.
The Bratva wasn’t after them. Teresa was gone. The gold could wait.
He’d walked through fire and flood, but God had brought them both home.
To each other.
Noah had kissed her.
One earth-shattering, turn-her-world-upside-down, make-her-forget-her-own-name kiss. And then?
Nothing.
Meg locked the clinic door, alarm beeping its confirmation as she pocketed the keys.
Five days since they’d walked out of the canyon.
Three days of radio silence from Noah—well, except for the occasional grunt when their paths crossed at the lodge.
He’d been pulling double shifts to cover for Liam, but this felt bigger than simple scheduling.
Tomorrow Liam would return from the hospital. Back to normal. Back to pretending that kiss never happened.
Right. There was nothing normal about the way her pulse still jumped every time she remembered the taste of his kiss. The way his hands had tangled in her hair. The desperate hunger in his touch that had made her forget everything except—
I couldn’t save my wife.
The words slammed into her chest all over again. She’d been so wrapped up in her own panic that night, the meaning hadn’t fully registered. But now?