Chapter 5 #2
“Yes, and arguing against staying overnight.” The doctor’s mouth made a grim line. He knew Caroline from high school—hockey player, a year older than him, cute and a bit of a flirt. So it felt weird that she now worked in ER. But maybe they’d all grown up a little.
Except for Harley, apparently.
“There was some nasty bruising across her chest, but the vest caught the shot,” Dr. Ellis said.
“She hit her head hard. She might have a concussion, which is why I’m telling you this.
” She sighed, and clearly she knew Harley’s history, aka, no family.
Thus, her next words. “She needs supervision for the next twenty-four hours. Someone to watch for signs of—”
“I’m on it,” Jericho said.
Dr. Ellis nodded. “Okay then. She’s in the ER, third bay. Good luck.”
He headed through the double doors, Orlando trotting at his side. He still wore his vest labeling him a working K9.
The faint beep of a monitor sounded behind the closed curtain of bay three, and he pushed the curtain aside.
Harley sat on the edge of the exam table, a couple patches attached to her chest, the monitor sending out a signal. She wore a tank top, her pullover thermal shirt draped over a chair. She looked up, and her jaw tightened, her hand already reaching for her shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” And yes, he meant his tone.
“Getting out of here.” But she winced as she pulled off the patches. “We need to—”
“Think again there, Miss Run into Trouble.” Jericho crossed his arms, planting himself in the doorway. Two could play at the name-calling game. “Doc says you need supervision.”
“I’m fine.” Harley pulled her shirt over her head—another wince—then slipped off the table, the paper crinkling under her. “I just need some Advil and sleep.”
“You got shot,” Jericho growled. “And you might have a concussion.”
“Technically, my vest got shot,” Harley snapped. But her hand gripped the table’s edge, and that was just enough.
“Are you kidding me? You could’ve died, Harley. A few inches higher and he would have taken off your head. Hello—what were you thinking, running after him like that?”
She rounded on him. “I was thinking I didn’t want him to escape!” Her voice rose, and she winced again.
He took a breath, schooled his voice. “He’s not worth you dying.”
Harley, too, lowered her voice. “So what, we just let him go?”
“No. But we need to be smart.” He stepped closer, his gaze hard on hers, and aw, he couldn’t stop himself. “You scared me, okay? When I ran up and saw you lying there, all I could think was . . .” He closed his mouth, shook his head. Looked away.
“That in the end, you were right,” he heard her say.
He glanced back at her, and her expression had lost its edge. Softer. Almost . . . well, something of compassion, even maybe longing, in her eyes.
As if they’d peeled back time to the moment, years ago, when everything shattered.
Not again. At the very least, maybe he was back for this moment. To keep her alive, which suddenly seemed very much his current mission.
Or perhaps his continued mission. “You’re coming home with me.”
Harley’s mouth opened. “What? No, I’m not.”
“You need supervision,” he said. “The doc says you could have a concussion.”
“I have a headache. I’ll be fine at my place.” Harley reached for her jacket.
“Forget it, HT. This isn’t a request.”
“You’re not the boss of—”
“Right now, I am exactly that.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
He took another breath. Calm. Down. “Listen, there are guest rooms at the family lodge. And”—he met her gaze—“Mars is still out there. He knows where you live, and we both know he’s not giving this up. You—we—stirred up the old war, and frankly, you’re not safe.”
He saw his words sinking in and took another step closer, his voice lowering. “Mars’s out there—he’s in the wind, and he wants revenge. Rio and Crew tracked him to a trapper’s cabin, but he stole a car, and now he’s gone. You think he’s just gonna forget you chased him?”
“Jericho—”
“Give it up. You know I’m right. I’m not arguing about this.” His voice softened. “Please, Harley.” Shoot, that just sort of spilled out.
But she swallowed and sighed. “Fine. But just until tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.”
Orlando picked right then to walk up and nose her hand as if he, too, agreed.
Harley’s gaze flicked to his dog, her expression softening, her voice dropping. “Is he okay? I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to drag him into this.”
“The shot really spooked him.” Jericho put his hand on the dog’s flank. “He’s already skittish around big noises. It was probably too soon. Let’s go.”
He put his hand on her arm, and she didn’t shrug it away as she stepped forward. So, they’d reached a ceasefire, maybe.
They made their way down the hall, past the nurse’s station where a nurse in pastel scrubs waved goodbye.
Outside, the snow fell faster, thick flakes catching on Harley’s hat as they crossed to his truck, the asphalt slick under their boots, the air sharp with the scent of an impending blizzard.
So, no hunting down Mars tonight. Or maybe tomorrow. Good. Maybe long enough for Harley to clear this concussion.
And for him to shake free of the dangerous lure she had on him.
He helped Harley into the passenger side, her movements slow, wincing as she settled into the seat. Orlando jumped into the back, curling up.
Jericho climbed in, started the engine. Beside him, Harley leaned her head back. His hands tightened on the wheel as he pulled out of the lot, the wipers swiping at the flakes.
And the thought flashed through him again that maybe God had brought him back for this reason.
To finish this, to keep her safe. And maybe, somewhere in that, to be the man he’d left behind.