Chapter 34
HARPER
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and some floral air freshener they used to mask the clinical scent that permeated every healthcare facility.
As if covering up death with fake flowers would make people less anxious.
The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, making me squint even though a nurse had dimmed them when I'd complained of a headache.
One of many injuries being catalogued and treated like items on a grocery list.
I lay in the hospital bed wearing a gown that was too thin and too short, covered by blankets that were too rough and scratchy, while various medical professionals poked and prodded and asked questions I'd already answered three times.
My whole body ached with a deep soreness that came from being drugged, thrown down stairs, and spending hours in absolute terror.
But I was alive. And more importantly—
“Heartbeat is strong and steady.” Dr. Nysor's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
She stood beside the portable ultrasound machine they'd wheeled into my room, her eyes on the monitor, her expression professionally calm in that way doctors had perfected.
“One hundred sixty-two beats per minute. Right where we want to see it.”
The sound filled the room. That rapid, whooshing heartbeat that proved our baby was still fighting, still growing, still alive despite everything I'd put it through today. Thank God.
Connor made a sound beside me, a half sob, half laugh, as his hand squeezed mine so tight it bordered on painful. I didn't care, I squeezed back just as hard with my eyes fixed on the monitor where I could see the tiny flicker of movement that was our baby's heart.
Still there. Still beating. Still ours.
“No signs of placental abruption,” Dr. Nysor continued, moving the ultrasound wand across my stomach with practiced precision. The gel was cold against my bruised skin, making me flinch. “No bleeding. No indicators of distress. Harper, your baby appears to be completely unharmed.”
“How?” The word came out choked with emotion I couldn't control. “I fell down concrete stairs. How is the baby okay?”
“You're in the early stages of pregnancy. At this stage, the baby is incredibly well protected.” Dr. Nysor's smile was genuine and warm, the kind that made you trust her completely.
“Your uterus is still tucked safely behind your pelvic bone.
It would take significant trauma directly to that specific area to cause damage.
Falling on your hip and shoulder, while certainly traumatic for you, didn't impact the pregnancy.”
She pressed a button and the printer whirred to life, spitting out a new ultrasound photo. Our baby, still the size of a blueberry, still growing despite the nightmare of today.
“That being said,” Dr. Nysor's tone became more serious, shifting into doctor mode, “you've sustained multiple injuries that need monitoring.
A mild concussion from hitting your head and severe bruising to your right shoulder and hip.
Lacerations on your throat and wrists. You're going to be in significant pain for the next week at least.”
“I don't care about the pain.” I didn't. Pain meant I was alive. Pain meant I could feel. Pain meant I wasn't lying in that basement anymore with a knife pressed to my stomach. “As long as the baby is okay.”
“The baby is perfect.” Dr. Nysor handed me the ultrasound photo with careful hands. “But Harper, I need you to rest. Real rest. No stress, no physical exertion. You've been through severe trauma, both physical and psychological. Your body needs time to heal.”
“She'll rest.” Connor's voice was rough with emotion barely held in check. “I'll make sure she rests. She's not leaving my sight until—” He stopped, his jaw clenching. “She's not leaving my sight.”
Dr. Nysor looked between us, her expression filled with understanding. “I'm going to recommend you stay overnight for observation to monitor the concussion and make sure no complications develop. But barring anything unexpected, you should be able to go home tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.” I gripped the ultrasound photo like a lifeline, like it might disappear if I loosened my hold. “Dr. Nysor, thank you.”
“You're very welcome. And Harper?” She paused at the door. “What you went through today, that level of trauma, it's normal to have emotional reactions. Nightmares. Anxiety. Panic attacks. If you experience any of that, please reach out. We have counselors who specialize in trauma during pregnancy.”
When I experience it, you mean. Not if.
After she left, the room fell into heavy silence broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor they'd hooked me up to and the distant sounds in the hospital of voices in the hallway, the squeak of carts, and the occasional overhead page calling a doctor to some emergency that wasn't mine.
Connor sat in the chair beside my bed, still holding my hand.
His other hand rested gently on my stomach over the blanket.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale beneath his tan, and his jaw was dark with stubble he hadn't had time to shave.
He looked like he'd aged ten years in the past six hours.
This is my fault. I did this to him.
“Connor…” I started.
“I thought I lost you.” His voice broke on the words, cracked like glass.
“Harper, when I saw Morgan with that knife to your throat, when she pushed you down those stairs,” he stopped, his whole body shaking.
“I thought I was watching you die, thought I was watching our baby die.
And I couldn't do anything. Couldn't reach you fast enough, couldn't stop her.”
“But you did reach me.” I brought his hand to my lips, kissing his knuckles that were scraped raw from something, breaking into the house maybe, or fighting his way to me. “Connor, you saved me. You and Jaxon found the house. You came for me.”
“Not fast enough. If we'd been five minutes later—”
“But you weren't.” I cupped his face with my free hand, making him look at me, making him see that I was here. Alive and okay. “You were exactly on time. And we're okay, both of us. We survived.”
“This time.” His voice was barely a whisper, filled with terror I'd never heard from him before. “They're still out there. Morgan, Silas, Armand—they escaped. They're still out there and they could come back.”
“Davies will find them.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt, to believe my own words. “Connor, they can't hide forever. Not with every law enforcement agency looking for them.”
A knock on the door interrupted us. Sheriff Davies entered, his weathered face grim, holding his hat in his hands like he was entering a funeral. Behind him, Jaxon and Anna, both looking worried, exhausted, and relieved all at once.
“Harper.” Davies approached the bed carefully, like I might break if he moved too fast. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I fell down concrete stairs,” I said, trying for humor and failing miserably. “But the baby's okay, that's what matters.”
“I'm glad to hear that.” Davies pulled out his notepad that had documented every crime against me for months. “I hate to do this now, but I need your statement. Everything you remember from the time you were taken until we arrived.”
I told him about letting Chester out, and hearing a sound inside the house, about Silas and Armand grabbing me before I could even scream.
Waking up in that basement with my head pounding and my wrists zip-tied, terrified for the baby.
Morgan appearing, completely unhinged, with her smeared makeup and wild eyes.
About the knife, the threats, and Morgan's breakdown about how I'd ruined her father's operation.
Connor's hand tightened on mine with every detail, his jaw clenched tighter and tighter until I worried he'd crack a tooth.
“They mentioned her father by name,” I said, remembering Morgan's manic confession. “Victor. She said I'd ruined everything for Victor's organization. That the ranch was supposed to be a hub for trafficking and transport. That I'd destroyed millions in potential revenue.”
Davies' expression went even more grim, which I hadn't thought was possible. “Victor Ashford. We've been coordinating with the FBI, he's been on their radar for years, but they've never had enough evidence to prosecute. Your testimony, and Emma's, might finally give them what they need.”
“Will it keep us safe?” Connor asked bluntly. “Will putting Victor Ashford in prison stop his people from coming after Harper for revenge?”
Davies hesitated just long enough to make my stomach drop like a stone. Shit. That's not the hesitation of someone who's confident.
“The FBI is confident they can build a case.
With Emma's testimony about the trafficking operation and Harper's testimony about Morgan's statements regarding her father's involvement, they have grounds for RICO charges. But Connor,” he paused.
“Men like Victor Ashford have long reaches. Even from prison.”
“So Harper's never going to be completely safe.” Connor's voice was flat, dead. “That's what you're saying.”
“I'm saying we'll do everything in our power to protect her. Federal protection if necessary. Witness security if it comes to that.” Davies looked at me, his expression sympathetic in a way that made me want to scream. “But I won't lie to you. Taking down a cartel boss comes with risks.”
The words settled over the room like a shroud, suffocating and final. I'd thought that surviving today meant it was over. That Morgan's capture would be the end of the nightmare. That I could finally breathe.
But it wasn't over, it might never be over.
“We'll worry about that later,” Anna said firmly, moving to my other side with that determined look she got when she'd made a decision. “Right now, Harper needs to rest. To heal. The FBI and law enforcement can do their jobs while she recovers.”