Mine to Keep: Protection Series Book 4, page 30
The solid hit to my left shin registered half a second before the excruciating pain.
I screamed through gritted teeth, yanking my legs to the back of the van. A powerful throb bloomed from my left leg down to my toes.
“I’ll need you to hold still for this.”
I turned my watery gaze toward the sound of her voice.
Gun in one hand, syringe in the other.
Now I had a decision to make.
Die by gunshot or by my heart exploding.
Decisions, decisions.
“Janice Hardgrove,” a male voice shouted outside the van. She paused, going deathly still. “We have you surrounded. Drop the weapon, and come out with your hands up.”
“I can’t see Rhyan,” Charlie’s voice said in my ear.
“Neither can I,” Bryson shouted back.
“Tell everyone to hold their fire until we have eyes on her. We will not fire until we know she’s not in range.”
I struggled against the restraints to sit up, to show them my location. When that didn’t work, I heaved both legs into the air, my ab muscles burning, and kicked, attempting to draw attention to the back seat.
“Are those feet?” Charlie questioned. “She’s in the back. Maybe restrained. Shit, the gun is trained on her. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire.”
“At least you won’t have to go through it all again,” Janice said, dropping the syringe but keeping the gun pointed at my gut. “I’m saving you from that.”
“No, Janice, no. You’re not saving me. You’re killing me!”
“A heart shattered twice by betrayal is no heart at all.”
“Janice, please,” I begged, hot tears leaking down my cheeks.
“You’ll thank me for this. Maybe, maybe, all this was for us to find each other. So someone would never hurt again us.”
That’s it. No more nice profiler trying to keep the crazy woman from killing me. That, unfortunately, was inevitable, no matter what I said or did.
So, I snapped.
“You fucking lunatic,” I screamed loud enough for all of Louisville, most importantly Charlie and Bryson, to hear. “This is not fated. Let me go.”
“Is that Rhyan?” Bryson questioned in my ear. “It’s muffled, but it sounds like a woman screaming.”
“Something just happened. She sounds panicked.”
“No shit, I’m panicked,” I screamed even louder, hoping they could understand me. “She’s going to fucking kill us both. Shoot. Shoot the insane lady in the driver seat.”
Her eyes went wide.
Whoops.
Way to go, you idiot. Now she knew I had a direct line to what was going on outside the van of horrors.
Who would’ve thought that would be my biggest mistake of the night?
Not profiling the wrong gender for the unsub.
Not the handcuffs or the gun in the purse.
Not being a kind citizen and offering a phone to a fellow female in need.
Oh no. Those were minor to this one, because it spurred what happened next.
Keeping the gun trained on me, Janice shifted to face out the windshield. With a clunk, the old transmission shifted gears, followed by a roar from the revving of the small engine. The force slammed my upper body and legs against the seat bases, quickly followed by the van ramming into something, sending me rocketing forward to hit the front seats.
Pain and fear crested within me. Tilting to the side, I vomited what little was in my stomach onto the floorboard.
My body shook, bouncing as the van popped up and down like we were no longer on a flat road but off-roading.
“Rhyan,” Charlie bellowed in my ear. “No!”
And with that, I knew, even before the van’s front end tipped downward and the sensation of free-falling bubbled in my belly.
Before we smashed into something solid, flinging my body forward.
Before the dark water engulfed the windshield.
This was the end.
“Goodbye, Charlie,” I whispered. “I’ll always love you.”
28
CHARLIE
I sprinted toward the sinking van.
Racing across the parking lot, Glock in hand, I followed the rubber tracks burned out along the pavement, hopped over the small barrier fence the van had crashed through, and raced down the grass-covered bank.
Nothing mattered except saving Rhyan.
Thankfully, the helicopter Bryson called in on the way to the river hovered overhead, its spotlight following the van as it bobbed, moving downstream with the current.
In a dead sprint, tennis shoes pounding against the earth, I didn’t break stride when I hit the concrete barrier. The gun’s rough grip dug into my palm as I tightened my hand to keep from losing it in the water. With both hands outstretched, I shoved off the edge of the barrier, leaping into the air and diving into the choppy brown water.
The abrupt change in temperature almost stole the air from my lungs. Popping above the surface, I gasped for breath. Treading water, arms slapping the surface, I twisted in every direction, searching over the lapping waves for the van.
Another splash sounded close, but I didn’t have time to see who’d followed me into the river. Kicking hard, I lunged one arm over my head, then the other, propelling myself through the waves toward the shaky spotlight.
Bottom half of the van fully submerged, the helicopter’s light highlighted a flash of dark hair in the back seat. Pushing my body to the limit, I swam to the passenger side door.
Terrified green eyes met mine through the glass.
“I’m here, Rhyan,” I yelled, hoping she could hear me over the helicopter’s whirling blades. “I’m getting—”
An inhuman screech from inside the van whipped my attention to movement in the front. Face bloody, the woman from the bar slowly raised a gun, pointing it toward the window.
“Duck,” I screamed as I yanked my gun to the surface, finger already on the trigger and one in the chamber.
The moment Rhyan’s head dipped below the surface, I fired.
Glass shattered, shards flying into my face. Lids squeezed shut to protect my eyes, I failed to see where the bullet hit. Pain exploded like a set of knives jammed into my left pec, thrusting me backward a foot with the impact. Quick breaths hissing through my clenched teeth, I forced my eyes open, gun still raised despite the searing pain from my chest. A lifeless body bobbed facedown in the water.
A desperate gasp of breath had me sucking in my own and swinging the barrel to the sound to find Rhyan, mouth open, gasping for air, hair covering her mouth and nose. Water gushed through the hole in the glass, quickly filling.
“Cuffed,” she called out.
Oh shit.
I nearly sank with the panic that overtook every cell.
“Door or van?” I asked, reaching out to wipe the hair from the front of her face, the water now up to where she strained to keep her chin high.
“Door.” Her face slipped beneath the water.
“No!” I bellowed. Sucking down a lungful of air, I plunged below the surface to search blindly for the door’s outside handle. Smooth metal gave way to a lump. Numb fingers struggled with the lever. I tugged but nothing happened.
Locked.
I reached through the hole in the window, glass shards piercing my skin, slicing through muscle as I pressed forward. Hard plastic met my hand, the water making my movements slow and sloppy as I felt for the manual door lock along the top.
Kicking back to the surface, I gasped for breath while nudging the lock upward and tugging on the outside handle. With a roar, I focused all my energy and strength into wrenching the now-unlocked door open. Another set of hands appeared beside mine, gripping around the metal doorframe as I kicked beneath the surface, trying for more leverage.
“She’s cuffed to the door,” I yelled to Bryson as I watched Rhyan’s pert little nose slip beneath the dark water’s choppy surface. “We have to get it off its hinge to save her.”
“One, two, three,” he yelled back.
Muscles straining, pain sparked from my chest and arm as I pulled with all my strength. Feet pressed against the van’s frame, I used the leverage to put all my weight into yanking the door toward us.
I roared in defeat when our first attempt only rocked the van deeper into the water.
“Again,” I yelled through gritted teeth. “She’s in there.”
“I’ll try a different angle below,” Bryson yelled before taking three quick breaths and diving below the surface.
I felt the door shift, my only signal. Foot wedged against the van’s frame, back to the sliding door, I shoved with everything I had left. The water lapped all around my face, my nose and mouth the only parts above the surface.
A creak followed by a snap, and the metal at my back lurched.
Reaching inside, I felt around for Rhyan, grabbing hold of the first touch of smooth icy skin. Finding her waist, I hauled her out of the van, the dislodged door dragging us both down to the river’s dark depths. The air in my lungs sizzled, my brain demanding I breathe.
Kicking hard, I urged us inch by inch to the surface. Suddenly we rocketed toward the bright beam of light. Somehow the weight dragging her down lessened.
Bryson.
Our heads crested the surface, desperate gasps for air mirroring the other’s.
Except Rhyan.
“Get her to shore,” Bryson yelled, already using his one free arm to propel himself that direction, the other below the surface no doubt with a death grip on the van’s sliding door that we literally ripped off the rails.
Flopping to my back, staring up at the quivering beam of light, I hauled Rhyan’s limp body on top of my chest to keep her face above the water despite the weight trying to drag her under. One arm wrapped around her chest, hand around her throat to keep her face upright, I kicked through the water, the blinding spotlight following us as we trudged through the water toward shore.
Swimming against the current made the distance feel like miles, but still I kicked, using my free arm to move us toward the swarm of officers waiting by the retaining wall. At the edge, waves slapped against my face as arms and hands stretched down from above, grabbing for her.
“Handcuff keys,” I said between gasps. A cramp seized my left thigh. Clenching my teeth, I yelled through the pain, forcing my other leg to work twice as hard to keep up above the surface “Hands.”
A shout rang out above us. Bryson’s exhausted eyes met mine before sliding to the still-limp woman in my arms.
“Hurry,” he bellowed.
Seconds later, keys dangled before my eyes, and extra hands slipped below the surface. Someone shouted a quick countdown, and then grunts filled the air as they hauled the door and Bryson out of the water. Rhyan’s arms lifted as the surrounding officers held the heavy metal steady the few feet above the surface, allowing another officer to finagle the key into the cuffs. The moment one metal ring released, the men lowered the heavy door, turning to reach beneath Rhyan.
Her limp body, now weightless, rose higher and higher before vanishing over the edge of the retaining wall.
She was safe.
Muscles limp, energy depleted, I slipped lower in the water.
“Oh no you don’t,” I heard above me. “Help him out. I’ll work on her.”
Multiple hands gripped along both arms, fingers digging into the ragged, ripped flesh of my left. I cried out, unable to hold it back. The concrete edge scraped my lower back where the vest stopped as they hauled me from the water and deposited me on the grass.
My head lolled to the side at the sound of counting, finding a drenched Bryson hovering over Rhyan, his hands stacked on top of her chest.
My heart lurched at the sight, flooding my veins with fear-induced energy. With a groan, I pressed both palms to the thick grass, my left arm completely giving out. Using only my right arm, I crawled the few feet separating us. A warm stream of liquid trickled down my left forearm, staining the grass red in my wake.
“Rhyan,” I croaked, throat raw. “Wake up, baby.”
Finding the strength, I clambered to my knees, slamming into Bryson’s side to stay upright. He tipped over, falling to the grass. Heel of my palm to her sternum, I whispered the count while saying a silent prayer with each push.
“Come on, Rhyan, wake up. Fight for me, baby,” I pleaded. Pinching her nose, I covered her mouth with mine and pushed air from my lungs into hers. Going back to chest compressions, I studied that lifeless face, tears stinging my eyes. “Come on, wake up I have a fun fact for you. One you’ve never heard before. Come back to me—”
Her entire body shuddered. Water bubbled out of the corners of her parted lips. Hope soared in my heart. Her tangled hair caught between my fingers as I turned her head to the side, more water gushing from her.
“We need that damn ambulance,” I roared inches from Rhyan’s face, making her wince.
“Loud,” she rasped between coughs. “Where…?”
“Agent Bekham.” I tore my gaze away from her glassy, bloodshot eyes to the men standing just a foot away, a stretcher behind them.
I nodded and turned my face back to hers, forcing a smile. Darkness encroached, tunneling my vision.
“Fun fact, Supervisory Special Agent Riggs.” The words slurred past my numb lips; the arm holding me upright trembled. “I love you.”
“Agent,” one of the EMTs urgently called.
“I’ll be right behind you, baby.” Leaning forward, I pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. But when I tried to sit back up, the world spun, and that trembling arm gave out completely. Aware enough to not fall forward, I pitched to the side, crumpling to the grass.
Chaos erupted above me.
“Where is all that blood coming from?” someone shouted.
Turning my head, I met Rhyan’s terrified gaze. This time I knew the fear was for me, not her own life.
Smooth grass slipped beneath my arm as I shifted it inch by inch until the tip of my pinkie caressed her soft skin. The surrounding sounds dulled, growing hollow, like I was in a tube. My tunnel vision continued to narrow.
Before everything faded, I zeroed in on her lips—her moving lips.
Without sound, I strained to understand.
Then it clicked as she repeated the words over and over and over again.
“I love you too.”
And that was all I needed to know.
She was one hell of a woman. She’d made it out of this mess alive, and she loved me too.
As I slipped into the awaiting oblivion, I felt my lips tweak upward, wanting to smile.
She loves me.
29
CHARLIE
The overpowering scent of disinfectant registered first, followed by an annoying squeak. Throat burning, thoughts lethargic, I fought my way back to consciousness to find the source of the irritating noise. I blinked slowly, urging my heavy lids to lift only for a bright light to blind my sensitive eyes. Peeking through thin slits, I focused on back-and-forth movement at the foot of my bed.
My hospital bed.
Fucking hell.
A groan rumbled up my raw throat. Instantly, the movement and squeaking ceased.
“Charlie? You awake, man?”
I nodded, forcing my eyes wide despite the discomfort. Bryson’s ragged face peered down from the end of the bed, fists pressed to the mattress on either side of my feet.
“You look like shit,” I rasped.
And that was putting it nicely. Patchy scruff covered his pallid cheeks, eyes bloodshot, with swollen purple bags beneath. Even his short hair looked disheveled, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. Gone were his jeans, T-shirt, and bulletproof vest that last were suctioned to his large frame, now replaced with a new set of clothes, though they appeared wrinkled and not so fresh.
“You’re one to talk,” he grumbled, rubbing at his jaw.
“Fucking hell,” I complained when I shifted to sit up. A dull pain radiated from both arms. “How long was I out?”
“First, stop putting weight on that damn arm. The surgeon will kick your ass if you pop those stitches.”
Stitches?
Surgeon?
What the hell?
“What the hell are you talking about? What stitches?”
Bryson tipped his face to the ceiling. “You were shot—”
“Faintly remember that happening. But I shot her back, so I call that a win.”
That explained the soreness in my chest.
Thank you, Kevlar. Better a deep bruise than a gunshot wound.
“Not sure how in the hell you sliced up your arm, but—”
“Reaching through the shattered window to unlock the door.” The instant I said the words, everything came flooding back. “Where is she?” The bed creaked and groaned as I shifted, glancing to the back corners of the room, searching for Rhyan.
“Settle down. Fuck, I’m calling a nurse to knock your ass out—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Then stop moving around.” With a huff, he walked around the bed, digging between the mattress and the rail. “Here. The beds move up and down for terrible patients like yourself.”
“I’m a great patient, and you haven’t answered my question. Where. Is. Rhyan?”
It was hard to put force behind the words when lying in a damn hospital bed, using the remote to help me sit since I was a damn invalid.
“They removed the glass shards from your bicep before stitching you up. One hundred and ten stitches to repair all the damage. One gash was so damn deep the glass nicked your artery, which was why you lost blood so fast.” Huh. That sucks, but it all seems good now. Why won’t he answer me about Rhyan? “They got you into surgery the moment you arrived, where you stayed for three damn hours.”
“What day is it?”
“It’s 5:00 p.m., Monday.”
Damn. “Why are you avoiding my question about Rhyan? I want to see her.” Desperation leaked into my words. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. “Now, damnit.”
“They brought her here for evaluation.” His hazel eyes flicked to the side. My stomach twisted with worry. “There were trace amounts of water still in her lungs, so they hooked her up to IV antibiotics. At some point, she fractured her shin, so she’s in a boot for a while. Plus a concussion, the slices on her wrist….”
I screamed through gritted teeth, yanking my legs to the back of the van. A powerful throb bloomed from my left leg down to my toes.
“I’ll need you to hold still for this.”
I turned my watery gaze toward the sound of her voice.
Gun in one hand, syringe in the other.
Now I had a decision to make.
Die by gunshot or by my heart exploding.
Decisions, decisions.
“Janice Hardgrove,” a male voice shouted outside the van. She paused, going deathly still. “We have you surrounded. Drop the weapon, and come out with your hands up.”
“I can’t see Rhyan,” Charlie’s voice said in my ear.
“Neither can I,” Bryson shouted back.
“Tell everyone to hold their fire until we have eyes on her. We will not fire until we know she’s not in range.”
I struggled against the restraints to sit up, to show them my location. When that didn’t work, I heaved both legs into the air, my ab muscles burning, and kicked, attempting to draw attention to the back seat.
“Are those feet?” Charlie questioned. “She’s in the back. Maybe restrained. Shit, the gun is trained on her. Do not fire. I repeat, do not fire.”
“At least you won’t have to go through it all again,” Janice said, dropping the syringe but keeping the gun pointed at my gut. “I’m saving you from that.”
“No, Janice, no. You’re not saving me. You’re killing me!”
“A heart shattered twice by betrayal is no heart at all.”
“Janice, please,” I begged, hot tears leaking down my cheeks.
“You’ll thank me for this. Maybe, maybe, all this was for us to find each other. So someone would never hurt again us.”
That’s it. No more nice profiler trying to keep the crazy woman from killing me. That, unfortunately, was inevitable, no matter what I said or did.
So, I snapped.
“You fucking lunatic,” I screamed loud enough for all of Louisville, most importantly Charlie and Bryson, to hear. “This is not fated. Let me go.”
“Is that Rhyan?” Bryson questioned in my ear. “It’s muffled, but it sounds like a woman screaming.”
“Something just happened. She sounds panicked.”
“No shit, I’m panicked,” I screamed even louder, hoping they could understand me. “She’s going to fucking kill us both. Shoot. Shoot the insane lady in the driver seat.”
Her eyes went wide.
Whoops.
Way to go, you idiot. Now she knew I had a direct line to what was going on outside the van of horrors.
Who would’ve thought that would be my biggest mistake of the night?
Not profiling the wrong gender for the unsub.
Not the handcuffs or the gun in the purse.
Not being a kind citizen and offering a phone to a fellow female in need.
Oh no. Those were minor to this one, because it spurred what happened next.
Keeping the gun trained on me, Janice shifted to face out the windshield. With a clunk, the old transmission shifted gears, followed by a roar from the revving of the small engine. The force slammed my upper body and legs against the seat bases, quickly followed by the van ramming into something, sending me rocketing forward to hit the front seats.
Pain and fear crested within me. Tilting to the side, I vomited what little was in my stomach onto the floorboard.
My body shook, bouncing as the van popped up and down like we were no longer on a flat road but off-roading.
“Rhyan,” Charlie bellowed in my ear. “No!”
And with that, I knew, even before the van’s front end tipped downward and the sensation of free-falling bubbled in my belly.
Before we smashed into something solid, flinging my body forward.
Before the dark water engulfed the windshield.
This was the end.
“Goodbye, Charlie,” I whispered. “I’ll always love you.”
28
CHARLIE
I sprinted toward the sinking van.
Racing across the parking lot, Glock in hand, I followed the rubber tracks burned out along the pavement, hopped over the small barrier fence the van had crashed through, and raced down the grass-covered bank.
Nothing mattered except saving Rhyan.
Thankfully, the helicopter Bryson called in on the way to the river hovered overhead, its spotlight following the van as it bobbed, moving downstream with the current.
In a dead sprint, tennis shoes pounding against the earth, I didn’t break stride when I hit the concrete barrier. The gun’s rough grip dug into my palm as I tightened my hand to keep from losing it in the water. With both hands outstretched, I shoved off the edge of the barrier, leaping into the air and diving into the choppy brown water.
The abrupt change in temperature almost stole the air from my lungs. Popping above the surface, I gasped for breath. Treading water, arms slapping the surface, I twisted in every direction, searching over the lapping waves for the van.
Another splash sounded close, but I didn’t have time to see who’d followed me into the river. Kicking hard, I lunged one arm over my head, then the other, propelling myself through the waves toward the shaky spotlight.
Bottom half of the van fully submerged, the helicopter’s light highlighted a flash of dark hair in the back seat. Pushing my body to the limit, I swam to the passenger side door.
Terrified green eyes met mine through the glass.
“I’m here, Rhyan,” I yelled, hoping she could hear me over the helicopter’s whirling blades. “I’m getting—”
An inhuman screech from inside the van whipped my attention to movement in the front. Face bloody, the woman from the bar slowly raised a gun, pointing it toward the window.
“Duck,” I screamed as I yanked my gun to the surface, finger already on the trigger and one in the chamber.
The moment Rhyan’s head dipped below the surface, I fired.
Glass shattered, shards flying into my face. Lids squeezed shut to protect my eyes, I failed to see where the bullet hit. Pain exploded like a set of knives jammed into my left pec, thrusting me backward a foot with the impact. Quick breaths hissing through my clenched teeth, I forced my eyes open, gun still raised despite the searing pain from my chest. A lifeless body bobbed facedown in the water.
A desperate gasp of breath had me sucking in my own and swinging the barrel to the sound to find Rhyan, mouth open, gasping for air, hair covering her mouth and nose. Water gushed through the hole in the glass, quickly filling.
“Cuffed,” she called out.
Oh shit.
I nearly sank with the panic that overtook every cell.
“Door or van?” I asked, reaching out to wipe the hair from the front of her face, the water now up to where she strained to keep her chin high.
“Door.” Her face slipped beneath the water.
“No!” I bellowed. Sucking down a lungful of air, I plunged below the surface to search blindly for the door’s outside handle. Smooth metal gave way to a lump. Numb fingers struggled with the lever. I tugged but nothing happened.
Locked.
I reached through the hole in the window, glass shards piercing my skin, slicing through muscle as I pressed forward. Hard plastic met my hand, the water making my movements slow and sloppy as I felt for the manual door lock along the top.
Kicking back to the surface, I gasped for breath while nudging the lock upward and tugging on the outside handle. With a roar, I focused all my energy and strength into wrenching the now-unlocked door open. Another set of hands appeared beside mine, gripping around the metal doorframe as I kicked beneath the surface, trying for more leverage.
“She’s cuffed to the door,” I yelled to Bryson as I watched Rhyan’s pert little nose slip beneath the dark water’s choppy surface. “We have to get it off its hinge to save her.”
“One, two, three,” he yelled back.
Muscles straining, pain sparked from my chest and arm as I pulled with all my strength. Feet pressed against the van’s frame, I used the leverage to put all my weight into yanking the door toward us.
I roared in defeat when our first attempt only rocked the van deeper into the water.
“Again,” I yelled through gritted teeth. “She’s in there.”
“I’ll try a different angle below,” Bryson yelled before taking three quick breaths and diving below the surface.
I felt the door shift, my only signal. Foot wedged against the van’s frame, back to the sliding door, I shoved with everything I had left. The water lapped all around my face, my nose and mouth the only parts above the surface.
A creak followed by a snap, and the metal at my back lurched.
Reaching inside, I felt around for Rhyan, grabbing hold of the first touch of smooth icy skin. Finding her waist, I hauled her out of the van, the dislodged door dragging us both down to the river’s dark depths. The air in my lungs sizzled, my brain demanding I breathe.
Kicking hard, I urged us inch by inch to the surface. Suddenly we rocketed toward the bright beam of light. Somehow the weight dragging her down lessened.
Bryson.
Our heads crested the surface, desperate gasps for air mirroring the other’s.
Except Rhyan.
“Get her to shore,” Bryson yelled, already using his one free arm to propel himself that direction, the other below the surface no doubt with a death grip on the van’s sliding door that we literally ripped off the rails.
Flopping to my back, staring up at the quivering beam of light, I hauled Rhyan’s limp body on top of my chest to keep her face above the water despite the weight trying to drag her under. One arm wrapped around her chest, hand around her throat to keep her face upright, I kicked through the water, the blinding spotlight following us as we trudged through the water toward shore.
Swimming against the current made the distance feel like miles, but still I kicked, using my free arm to move us toward the swarm of officers waiting by the retaining wall. At the edge, waves slapped against my face as arms and hands stretched down from above, grabbing for her.
“Handcuff keys,” I said between gasps. A cramp seized my left thigh. Clenching my teeth, I yelled through the pain, forcing my other leg to work twice as hard to keep up above the surface “Hands.”
A shout rang out above us. Bryson’s exhausted eyes met mine before sliding to the still-limp woman in my arms.
“Hurry,” he bellowed.
Seconds later, keys dangled before my eyes, and extra hands slipped below the surface. Someone shouted a quick countdown, and then grunts filled the air as they hauled the door and Bryson out of the water. Rhyan’s arms lifted as the surrounding officers held the heavy metal steady the few feet above the surface, allowing another officer to finagle the key into the cuffs. The moment one metal ring released, the men lowered the heavy door, turning to reach beneath Rhyan.
Her limp body, now weightless, rose higher and higher before vanishing over the edge of the retaining wall.
She was safe.
Muscles limp, energy depleted, I slipped lower in the water.
“Oh no you don’t,” I heard above me. “Help him out. I’ll work on her.”
Multiple hands gripped along both arms, fingers digging into the ragged, ripped flesh of my left. I cried out, unable to hold it back. The concrete edge scraped my lower back where the vest stopped as they hauled me from the water and deposited me on the grass.
My head lolled to the side at the sound of counting, finding a drenched Bryson hovering over Rhyan, his hands stacked on top of her chest.
My heart lurched at the sight, flooding my veins with fear-induced energy. With a groan, I pressed both palms to the thick grass, my left arm completely giving out. Using only my right arm, I crawled the few feet separating us. A warm stream of liquid trickled down my left forearm, staining the grass red in my wake.
“Rhyan,” I croaked, throat raw. “Wake up, baby.”
Finding the strength, I clambered to my knees, slamming into Bryson’s side to stay upright. He tipped over, falling to the grass. Heel of my palm to her sternum, I whispered the count while saying a silent prayer with each push.
“Come on, Rhyan, wake up. Fight for me, baby,” I pleaded. Pinching her nose, I covered her mouth with mine and pushed air from my lungs into hers. Going back to chest compressions, I studied that lifeless face, tears stinging my eyes. “Come on, wake up I have a fun fact for you. One you’ve never heard before. Come back to me—”
Her entire body shuddered. Water bubbled out of the corners of her parted lips. Hope soared in my heart. Her tangled hair caught between my fingers as I turned her head to the side, more water gushing from her.
“We need that damn ambulance,” I roared inches from Rhyan’s face, making her wince.
“Loud,” she rasped between coughs. “Where…?”
“Agent Bekham.” I tore my gaze away from her glassy, bloodshot eyes to the men standing just a foot away, a stretcher behind them.
I nodded and turned my face back to hers, forcing a smile. Darkness encroached, tunneling my vision.
“Fun fact, Supervisory Special Agent Riggs.” The words slurred past my numb lips; the arm holding me upright trembled. “I love you.”
“Agent,” one of the EMTs urgently called.
“I’ll be right behind you, baby.” Leaning forward, I pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. But when I tried to sit back up, the world spun, and that trembling arm gave out completely. Aware enough to not fall forward, I pitched to the side, crumpling to the grass.
Chaos erupted above me.
“Where is all that blood coming from?” someone shouted.
Turning my head, I met Rhyan’s terrified gaze. This time I knew the fear was for me, not her own life.
Smooth grass slipped beneath my arm as I shifted it inch by inch until the tip of my pinkie caressed her soft skin. The surrounding sounds dulled, growing hollow, like I was in a tube. My tunnel vision continued to narrow.
Before everything faded, I zeroed in on her lips—her moving lips.
Without sound, I strained to understand.
Then it clicked as she repeated the words over and over and over again.
“I love you too.”
And that was all I needed to know.
She was one hell of a woman. She’d made it out of this mess alive, and she loved me too.
As I slipped into the awaiting oblivion, I felt my lips tweak upward, wanting to smile.
She loves me.
29
CHARLIE
The overpowering scent of disinfectant registered first, followed by an annoying squeak. Throat burning, thoughts lethargic, I fought my way back to consciousness to find the source of the irritating noise. I blinked slowly, urging my heavy lids to lift only for a bright light to blind my sensitive eyes. Peeking through thin slits, I focused on back-and-forth movement at the foot of my bed.
My hospital bed.
Fucking hell.
A groan rumbled up my raw throat. Instantly, the movement and squeaking ceased.
“Charlie? You awake, man?”
I nodded, forcing my eyes wide despite the discomfort. Bryson’s ragged face peered down from the end of the bed, fists pressed to the mattress on either side of my feet.
“You look like shit,” I rasped.
And that was putting it nicely. Patchy scruff covered his pallid cheeks, eyes bloodshot, with swollen purple bags beneath. Even his short hair looked disheveled, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. Gone were his jeans, T-shirt, and bulletproof vest that last were suctioned to his large frame, now replaced with a new set of clothes, though they appeared wrinkled and not so fresh.
“You’re one to talk,” he grumbled, rubbing at his jaw.
“Fucking hell,” I complained when I shifted to sit up. A dull pain radiated from both arms. “How long was I out?”
“First, stop putting weight on that damn arm. The surgeon will kick your ass if you pop those stitches.”
Stitches?
Surgeon?
What the hell?
“What the hell are you talking about? What stitches?”
Bryson tipped his face to the ceiling. “You were shot—”
“Faintly remember that happening. But I shot her back, so I call that a win.”
That explained the soreness in my chest.
Thank you, Kevlar. Better a deep bruise than a gunshot wound.
“Not sure how in the hell you sliced up your arm, but—”
“Reaching through the shattered window to unlock the door.” The instant I said the words, everything came flooding back. “Where is she?” The bed creaked and groaned as I shifted, glancing to the back corners of the room, searching for Rhyan.
“Settle down. Fuck, I’m calling a nurse to knock your ass out—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Then stop moving around.” With a huff, he walked around the bed, digging between the mattress and the rail. “Here. The beds move up and down for terrible patients like yourself.”
“I’m a great patient, and you haven’t answered my question. Where. Is. Rhyan?”
It was hard to put force behind the words when lying in a damn hospital bed, using the remote to help me sit since I was a damn invalid.
“They removed the glass shards from your bicep before stitching you up. One hundred and ten stitches to repair all the damage. One gash was so damn deep the glass nicked your artery, which was why you lost blood so fast.” Huh. That sucks, but it all seems good now. Why won’t he answer me about Rhyan? “They got you into surgery the moment you arrived, where you stayed for three damn hours.”
“What day is it?”
“It’s 5:00 p.m., Monday.”
Damn. “Why are you avoiding my question about Rhyan? I want to see her.” Desperation leaked into my words. I gritted my teeth and shook my head. “Now, damnit.”
“They brought her here for evaluation.” His hazel eyes flicked to the side. My stomach twisted with worry. “There were trace amounts of water still in her lungs, so they hooked her up to IV antibiotics. At some point, she fractured her shin, so she’s in a boot for a while. Plus a concussion, the slices on her wrist….”
