Nica, page 20
She was the one who’d been shot, the one lying in this sterile room with tubes and wires monitoring her every breath. And yet somehow, she was the last to know anything about her own would-be killer.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that the man who’d promised to love, honor, and protect her was now protecting her right out of the loop.
“Dusty,” she called out, her voice carrying more edge than she’d intended. The chair outside her door creaked, followed by the sound of boots on linoleum. Dusty appeared in her doorway, his lanky frame filling the space as he leaned against the frame. His uniform was crisp despite the long hours he’d been pulling guard duty, but she could see the fatigue around his eyes.
“You bellowed, Nic?” His easy grin was the same one she’d known since she’d been in high school, when he’d moved to Shiloh Springs, and joined the sheriff’s department. Before life had gotten complicated. Before bullets and hospital rooms and a husband who thought he knew what was best for her.
“Get in here and sit down. I’m going stir-crazy.”
Dusty glanced up and down the hallway before stepping into the room, pulling the visitor’s chair closer to her bed. “You’re supposed to be resting. Doctor’s orders.”
“I’ve been resting for two days. I’ve slept more in the last two days than I have in the past two months. Any more rest and I’m going to lose my mind.” She studied his face, looking for any tells. Dusty had always been hard to read, but she’d figured out a few of his tells over the years. Which made him an excellent person to play poker with, because she always won. “You know, don’t you? You know who did this to me.”
His expression didn’t change, but she caught the slight tightening around his eyes. Bingo.
“Nic—”
“Don’t ‘Nic’ me, Dusty Warner. We’ve been friends since you moved here. You’ve had dinner at my table more times than I can count. And now you’re sitting there, lying to my face.”
Dusty sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “I’m not lying. I’m just…not talking.”
“Same difference.” The anger she’d been tamping down for days finally broke free. “I have a right to know who shot me, tried to have me killed. I have a right to know why my husband is running around playing vigilante with his FBI buddy instead of being here with me.”
“Gabe’s trying to keep you safe.”
“Gabe’s trying to keep me in the dark!” The words came out louder than she’d intended, and she pressed a hand to her chest as the outburst sent a spike of pain through her healing lung. “I’m not some fragile flower, Dusty. I grew up with eleven older brothers who made sure I could handle anything thrown at me. I can handle whatever this is too.”
Dusty leaned forward, his expression softening. “I know you can. You’re tougher than half the deputies I work with. But this guy…” He shook his head. “This guy’s different, Nic. He’s smart, he’s got resources, and he’s got a serious grudge against your husband. Gabe’s just trying to end this before anyone else gets hurt.”
“A grudge?” She could hear the desperation creeping into her voice, but she didn’t care. “This has something to do with Melissa Carpenter. Somebody blames Gabe for what happened to her, even after all these years. Even though he’s dead, Dr. Richardson’s shadow, his hatred of Gabe, is causing him pain.” She tapped her chin, trying to remember all the people involved in Melissa’s life. The files, the medical records, she’d gone through all of it with a fine-tooth comb. “It’s not her family. It must be the fiancé. I’m right, aren’t I, Dusty?”
For a moment, she thought Dusty might tell her. His jaw worked like he was chewing on the words, trying to decide whether to spit them out or swallow them down. The decision was taken away from him when his phone rang.
When he glanced at the caller ID, his entire demeanor shifted. The easy-going friend disappeared, replaced by the cop. “I need to take this.”
“Warner,” he answered, his voice sharp and professional.
Nica watched his face as he listened, saw the color drain from his cheeks. His jaw tightened, and he stood, listening to whoever was on the other end. His free hand moved instinctively to the grip of his service weapon.
“Copy that. I’ll lock it down here.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone on his belt, his face closed down and she couldn’t read anything, which told her more than words that something had happened.
“What’s wrong?” Nica’s heart was already racing, some primal instinct telling her whatever news he’d just received was very, very bad.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” But Dusty was already moving toward the door, his hand on his radio. “I need you to stay calm and stay in that bed.”
“Dusty, you’re scaring me.”
He paused at the threshold, turning back to face her. For just a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw genuine fear in his eyes.
“The man who had you shot—his name is Julian Banner. You’re right, he was Melissa Carpenter’s fiancé. Gabe and Mike found out he was in Houston and set a trap. He was supposed to take the bait, and they’d grab him. But he didn’t fall for their plan. Banner’s hotel room in Houston is empty, and his car is gone.” Dusty’s voice was steady, but she could hear the tension underneath. “There’s a good chance he’s here, Nic. In Shiloh Springs.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. “Here? As in here, here? At the hospital?”
“We don’t know yet. But I’m not taking any chances.” He keyed his radio. “This is Warner, requesting immediate backup at Shiloh Springs Hospital, room 314. Code Red situation. Possible hostile in the area.”
The response crackled back immediately. “Copy, Warner. Units en route. ETA three minutes.”
Nica’s mouth had gone dry. “Dusty—”
“Listen to me.” He moved back to her bedside, his voice urgent but calm. Picking up the call button, he handed it to her, wrapping her fingers around the device. “I need you to lie flat and stay down. If anything happens—and I mean anything—you hit that call button, and you don’t stop screaming until someone comes running. Gabe, Rafe and Mike are on their way. Do you understand, Nica? If anything happens before they get here, you scream your bloody head off until help comes. Got it?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Good.” He checked his weapon, then moved to the window, peering through the blinds at the parking lot below. “I’m going to be right outside that door. Nobody—and I mean nobody—is going to get past me. That’s a promise.”
As Dusty took his position in the hallway, Nica sank back against her pillows, her heart hammering against her ribs. Julian Banner. The name meant nothing to her, but apparently it meant everything. He was the fiancé, the man who’d loved Melissa and lost her because of the whole fiasco in California. This stranger had turned their lives upside down, had stalked her through the streets of her own hometown, had a bullet put into her chest.
And now he might be coming to finish the job.
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, the way the respiratory therapist had taught her. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t panic. Don’t think about the man who wanted her dead. Don’t think about how vulnerable she was, lying here in this hospital bed with nothing but a flimsy door and one deputy sheriff between her and a killer.
Think about Gabe. Think about going home. Think about the life they were going to build together once this nightmare was over.
But as she lay there in the stillness of the hospital room, listening to the murmur of voices in the hallway and the distant sound of sirens growing closer, one thought kept echoing in her mind: Julian Banner was coming for her, and this time, there might be nowhere left to run.
The silence on the other end of the phone line stretched for three heartbeats too long, and Gabe felt his stomach drop into free fall.
“Say that again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he pressed the cell phone harder against his ear.
Derrick Williamson’s words came through with clinical precision, each syllable hitting like a physical blow. “Julian Banner’s hotel room is empty. He didn’t check out, so the room’s still registered to his company. Housekeeping found the room cleared out this morning. His rental car is gone from the parking garage.”
Their trap had failed. Banner had been long gone by the time they discovered he’d left Houston. How had Banner managed to find out they were onto him? Gabe slapped his palm against the hallway wall in the sheriff’s office. They’d been so sure, convinced they’d managed to finally track Julian Banner through so many false leads, the many roadblocks he’d put up to keep them guessing, until they’d finally caught a break—Banner registered his hotel room to one of his shell companies—one they’d discovered buried under layers of other shell companies.
Gabe’s hand trembled as he ended the call, his mind immediately jumping to the one person Banner would target now that he’d slipped through their net. The woman lying alone and vulnerable in a hospital bed, recovering from a bullet wound that should have been his. His Nica.
He speed-dialed Dusty’s number, each ring feeling like an eternity.
“Warner.”
“Dusty, it’s Gabe. Banner’s gone. He checked out of his hotel—”
“Whoa, slow down, Doc. Banner? The computer guy you were trying to flush out? He hasn’t shown his face here. I’ve been right outside Nica’s room all morning, just like we discussed. Right now, I’m inside the room with her. Everything’s all quiet here.”
Gabe closed his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart. “You’re sure? No one’s asked about her, tried to get information?”
“I’m sure. She’s safe, Gabe. I promise you that. I’ll guard her with my life.”
The conviction in Dusty’s voice should have been reassuring, but the knot in Gabe’s chest only tightened. Banner hadn’t gotten this far by making frontal assaults. He was methodical, patient, and deadly clever.
“We’re heading to the hospital now,” Gabe said, already moving toward his truck where Mike and Rafe waited. “Don’t let anyone in that room who isn’t medical staff you personally know.”
“Copy that. I’ll lock it down here.”
The drive to the hospital blurred past in a haze of anxiety and self-recrimination. Mike tried to make conversation from the passenger seat, but Gabe could barely focus on the words. All he could think about was Nica, pale and weak in that hospital bed, paying the price for his past mistakes.
They took the elevator to the third floor in tense silence. Gabe’s steps quickened as they approached Nica’s room, the empty chair outside her door made his blood turn to ice.
“Dusty?” he called out, pushing through the door.
The hospital bed was empty, sheets twisted and hanging half off the mattress. Gabe’s world tilted sideways.
“Dusty!” Mike’s voice came from the bathroom. “Gabe, in here!”
They found the deputy sheriff crumpled on the bathroom floor, a massive knot swelling on the back of his head. His face was ashen, but his eyes fluttered open when Gabe knelt beside him.
“Doc?” Dusty’s voice was thick, confused. “What happened? I was…there was a man…” He glanced frantically around the room. “Where’s Nica?”
“He took her.” Gabe growled low, reining in his fury, his medical training taking over even as panic clawed at his throat. “Looks like you took a nasty blow to the back of your head. Can you tell me what you remember?”
Dusty struggled to sit up, wincing as he touched the back of his head. “Tall guy. Dark hair. Said he was here to see Nica, but something felt off about him. I didn’t recognize him, and I know most of the folks in this town. When I asked his name, he just…smirked. Like he thought the whole thing was humorous.”
Gabe’s hands clenched into fists. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to the photo Agent Williamson had sent him earlier—Julian Banner’s DMV photo.
“This him?”
Dusty squinted at the screen, then nodded grimly. “That’s him. But Doc, he wasn’t alone. Two other guys came up behind me while I was focused on him. Big guys, professional. I tried to fight them off, tried to get to my radio, but…” He gestured helplessly at his injury. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I promised I’d keep her safe, and I failed.”
The guilt in Dusty’s voice was nothing compared to the crushing weight settling on Gabe’s chest. This was his fault. All of it. Banner had taken Nica because of him, because of a past that refused to stay buried. He wondered if the ghosts of his past would ever allow him to have any kind of life, or if he’d be haunted until his dying day.
“This isn’t on you,” Gabe said, though his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Banner’s a professional. He planned this. We’re lucky he didn’t kill you. He took Nica. He’s going to keep her alive, at least until he contacts me. He wants to twist the knife a little more, wants me to hurt.”
Mike and Rafe returned from checking with hospital security, their expressions grim.
“Cameras show three men entering through the service entrance about an hour ago,” Mike reported. “They knew exactly where to go, avoided the main cameras. By the time they left with Nica, they’d disabled the camera covering this floor. Which tells me they probably had a fourth man working to knock out the cameras while they came to the third floor.”
“He’s got her,” Gabe said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “Banner’s got my wife.”
But even as he said it, another devastating realization hit him. He grabbed the nearest nurse in the hallway.
“Nica Boudreau—the patient who was in 314. Her test results from this morning, are they back?”
The nurse checked her tablet, and her expression grew concerned. “Yes, Dr. Summers. The blood work shows signs of post-surgical infection. She needs to start on IV antibiotics immediately, or…” She handed the chart to Gabe, letting him see the findings for himself.
She didn’t need to finish. Gabe knew the risks better than anyone. Nica was only two days post-surgery from a bullet wound. Her body was already compromised, fighting to heal. An infection could kill her faster than Banner’s plans for revenge.
The floor seemed to shift beneath Gabe’s feet. Banner had taken a woman who was not only defenseless, but without antibiotics started immediately would continue to weaken, her immune system severely compromised. And it was all because Julian Banner believed Gabe had murdered the woman he had loved.
The irony was bitter enough to choke on. Banner was about to kill an innocent woman over a crime Gabe hadn’t committed, while the real killer had walked free. And Nica—beautiful, strong Nica who’d never asked for any of this—was paying the ultimate price for loving a man haunted by ghosts he couldn’t escape.
Dusty struggled to stand, wavering slightly. “What do we do now, Doc?”
Gabe stared at the empty hospital bed, his wife’s absence a physical ache in his chest. Somewhere out there, Banner had the woman he loved, and time was running out in more ways than one.
“Now,” he said, his voice hardening with desperate resolve, “we find her before it’s too late.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The world came back into focus slowly, like a photograph developing in reverse. Nica’s vision cleared from the edges inward, and the first thing she registered was the throb in her chest, a deep, angry ache that reminded her she’d had surgery only two days prior. The second thing she noticed was that she wasn’t in her hospital room anymore.
She was sitting in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, her wheelchair positioned in the center of a large, empty space. Concrete floors, rusted metal beams overhead, and the musty smell of disuse filled her senses. She wasn’t in Shiloh Springs anymore. There wasn’t anywhere within the town’s limits that had an empty warehouse of this size, or in this condition. It wasn’t the warehouse that scared her though. It was the man standing several feet away that made her blood run cold.
Julian Banner.
Even without having seen him before, she knew it was him. She’d heard his name right before everything went nuts in her room. Dusty told her the truth—the truth her husband and her family had kept from her. They’d figured out who’d been doing all the nasty things to both her and Gabe over the past few months.
There was something in his posture, the way he held himself like a predator circling wounded prey, that screamed danger. He was older than she’d expected—late forties or maybe mid-fifties, with graying hair and lines around his eyes that spoke of a deep-seated grief that had turned to obsession. His clothes were expensive but slightly rumpled, as she wondered if he’d been living out of a suitcase. He might have been, since the FBI and other computer experts hadn’t been able to find him.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice carrying a slight rasp. “Good. I was beginning to think they gave you too much sedative.”
Nica’s throat felt like sandpaper, but she forced herself to speak. “Well, this is cozy.” The sarcasm came naturally, a defense mechanism she’d relied on her whole life. “I have to say, your hospitality leaves something to be desired. The five-star kidnapping experience usually includes better accommodations. This,” she waved her hand toward the walls, “looks like something my momma wouldn’t even carry on her books. Of course, she’s particular in who she deals with.”
Banner’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Still got that smart mouth, I see. Gabe mentioned that.”
When would Gabe have talked to Julian about her? Nope there’s no way my husband told this kidnapping jerk anything about me. Oh, wait, he duped our phones, I bet he’s listened in on everything we’ve ever said.
“Oh, so are you two pen pals now?” Nica shifted in the wheelchair, trying to gauge how much strength she had. Not much, judging by the way her arms trembled with the small movement. “How sweet. Do you braid each other’s hair too?”
