Make You Mine, page 18
Lovely.
Tomorrow, she’d come out early with a shovel and cover it with dirt so the crew wouldn’t have to tramp through the better part of a bottle of tequila, because it was a safe bet that was all the sorry man had ingested all day. Her expression must have shown her disgust, because Rye patted her shoulder.
“It’ll be gone in the morning. I imagine critters will take care of it.” He leaned back against his car and flipped through his notebook. “I think that’s all my questions for now. You can drop by the station to sign a formal statement sometime tomorrow. You going to be okay driving home?”
She gave him a tired smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
He tipped his head and peered into her face. “You sure? I can have one of the guys drive your truck back to your place, then I’ll take you to Mom and Gerry’s. If I know my mom, she’ll make you tea, tuck you in, and mother you to within an inch of your life.”
She chuckled. “That sounds nice, but I think I’d rather go home, get a shower, and get into my own bed.” She glanced at her smartwatch. Only eleven fifteen? A drama that felt like it had lasted hours had taken only about two. “I do need you to hang here while I make sure my truck will start. The battery might be dead. The door’s been open since Bowman grabbed me.” She peeked around Rye’s broad shoulders. Someone had thoughtfully closed the door of her truck.
“Sure. It was still making noise when we got here, though. Probably fine.” Rye closed his notebook and tucked it into his jacket pocket before lifting his chin toward the ambulance where Jack’s brother and cousins milled around, chattering. “Looks like they’re loading Jack. You want to go over there?”
Annabelle was getting into the ambulance with Jack, who was sitting on a gurney, with his head back and his eyes closed. He looked pale, and the EMTs had simply wrapped gauze around the blood-soaked jacket sleeve she’d used as a bandage, rather than pull it all off. No doubt they figured since he wasn’t bleeding out, they’d leave the wound care for the docs at the ER to handle. Eli, Cam, and Joe hovered around the open doors. Jack’s family clearly had his back. Although she longed to run over, pop into the ambulance, and be with him, discretion seemed the better part of valor, so she stayed put. “No. They’ve got him.”
“Sure you’re okay?” Rye’s voice was husky with concern. “Maybe you should go to the ER and let them check you out too. You might be in shock.”
Maddie shook her head and waved the suggestion away. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. I just need to wash the stink of the whole night off me.”
The EMTs slammed the doors shut and Maddie fought the urge to go after it as it drove away, lights flashing, but no siren. Eli caught her eye and hustled over. “You okay?”
She nodded because, for some reason, a lump had begun to form in her throat and her eyes were stinging.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Scary stuff, Maddie. You look done in. I think you should let somebody else drive your truck home. Joe’s going to drive Jazz’s car back. Why don’t you ride in my truck with me and let Cam take yours back to Mac’s? I can take him by his place after I drop you off.”
Rye nodded firmly. “Good idea. Let Eli take you home. Lieutenant Lange is giving the order now. Go with him.”
Maddie swallowed hard. They were all being so kind. Maybe it would be better to ride with Eli—that way she wouldn’t succumb to her yearning to go to the ER and find Jack. As much as she wanted to be beside him, it felt wrong. “Okay, thanks.” She followed Eli, pausing at her own truck to make sure it started for Cam, grab her phone, and shove her other belongings in her bag to take with her.
Cam gave her a reassuring smile as he slid behind the wheel. “See you in a few, sweetie.”
The ride to her apartment was quiet and somber, as if Eli realized that she was in no mood to rehash the evening. Maddie’s thoughts weren’t reliving the terror of Shea Bowman holding her hostage and all that followed. No, she was pondering Jack. What did he want? What did she want?
What if their moment in the basement had been only that—a moment? What if all the passion she thought she’d seen in Jack’s eyes was nothing more than a reaction to the situation? Relief they were safe. Gratitude for her kicking that scum Bowman before he could do some serious damage. The adrenaline high that came from knowing they weren’t about to die at the hands of a crazy person.
True, Jack had clung to her as they’d come out of the dark depths under the house. Maybe he’d only needed a shoulder to lean on. Someone to keep him upright enough to get to the EMTs. She closed her eyes and dropped her head against the back of the seat, exhausted, unable to sort through the chaos in her head and heart. As the truck slowed, she opened her eyes.
Eli smiled over at her as he turned onto Evergreen, heading for Mac’s garage apartment. “Rough night.”
“Yeah.”
“Jack said you kicked Bowman’s butt . . . like, literally karate-kicked him where it counts.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “Good on ya. You a black belt?”
Maddie chuffed. “Couple of Tae Bo classes a long time ago. Adrenaline, mostly.” Suddenly, her throat swelled and tears spilled over. “He . . . he was g-going to s-stab Jack.” She gulped, but the tears kept coming. “I-I couldn’t let him . . .” Her voice dwindled as sobs rose from deep inside her. She buried her face in her hands.
Eli pulled the truck to the side of the street, braked, and put it in Park. Then he leaned across the console for Maddie, but he couldn’t reach her. Before she realized he’d even gotten out of the truck, he was opening her door and tugging her into his arms, rubbing her back and murmuring small comforts as she wept against his flannel-covered shoulder. For several minutes, they stayed like that. Eli standing in the gutter, Maddie sitting in the open truck but leaning on him, weeping, and wondering if she could ever stop crying.
Finally, though, the sobs subsided to jerky breaths and fewer tears, and Eli reached around her to open the console and fish around for a fistful of napkins. “Here.” He handed them to her.
Accepting them, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, blinking as hot tears continued to press against her eyelids. “Thanks, Eli.” She swallowed and blew her nose again.
He stood there, tall and broad, handsome and dark-haired. So different from his brother’s blond good looks, yet there was the same aura of quiet strength that she’d seen in Jack. He gave her a kind smile. “Maddie, can I ask you a question?”
She sniffed and, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask.
“If you want to tell me to mind my own business, I won’t be offended.” Eli’s blue eyes, so like Jack’s, were serious as he gazed at her.
“What?” Another swipe at her teary eyes.
“Are you and Jack a . . . a thing?” He looked away. “God, I’m sorry. What a dumb question. Feels like I’m back in junior high.”
Maddie sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She attempted a smile through her tears. “Want to pass him a note in Study Hall and see what he says?”
Eli laughed and pulled her back in for a brotherly hug before walking around the front of the truck and sliding into his seat. “I like you, Maddie. You’re good people.” He gave her a crooked smile and her tummy did a little flip at how much he reminded her of Jack. “Jack’s good people too. Even if he can be a stubborn ass, don’t give up on him, okay?”
*
“Well, dayum, Jack.” Max Lange disposed of the gauze the EMTs had wrapped around Jack’s upper arm before carefully peeling away the sleeve Maddie had tied over the wound. Jack was fighting back against his nausea and dizziness. “How the hell did you find a knife fight in River’s Edge?”
Jack attempted a smile, but the fabric was sticking to the wound, and it hurt like hell. “You know me, Max,” he said through gritted teeth. “Always on . . . on the lookout . . . for . . . ah, ow . . . a good time.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Max moved the arm, which seeped blood and looked wicked. Glancing down, Jack’s stomach got even queasier. He must have made a sound because Max glanced up. “Dude, you sick?”
Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath and another. He sure as hell didn’t want to puke in front of Max and the nurse, who was using scissors to get him out of his shirt.
“Emesis basin, please,” Max ordered, but the nurse, whose name tag said she was Cynthia, had already scurried to a cupboard and brought back a kidney-shaped plastic bowl. “Here, take this.” Max thrust it at him.
His stomach heaved again, but Jack didn’t think he was going to lose his dinner, so he set the basin beside him and simply breathed slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth.
“That’s good.” Max moved Jack’s arm up and down gently. “Just breathe. Can you move your fingers for me?”
Jack wiggled his fingers.
“Nice. Now your wrist.”
Jack complied. He was able to raise his arm, but Max had to help him bend his elbow and when it bent, the wound oozed blood.
Max laid the arm down and began probing. Fire raced through his arm, but Jack tried to hold still. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad, maybe a stitch or two? He murmured as much.
“Who’s the doc here?” Max teased, as he irrigated the wound with saline. “Well, whoever was trying to take this arm off did a crummy job. You’ve got a clean slice into the muscle, ’bout five inches long, but not deep enough to hit your bone. And he didn’t hit anything vital. Lucky for you. You’d be dead if he’d hit that brachial artery.” Max indicated a line on the front on Jack’s arm, only an inch or two from the cut, then he took Jack’s pulse, felt his forehead, and watched him breathe.
“So . . . stitches?” Jack’s stomach had calmed down, but he was freezing and he was panting, like he’d run a mile. He shivered. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“Keeps the bodies fresh.” Max grinned, then nodded at Cynthia. “Want to get him another blanket? Jack, you’re in shock, so we need to keep an eye on you before we stitch you up.” He reached across the pillow for the controller and raised the foot of the bed up so that Jack’s feet and legs were elevated. “That happens with crime injuries.” He came back to the bedside and shined a light in Jack’s eyes, causing him to blink and turn his head.
After Cynthia disposed of the pieces of his bloody shirt, she hooked him up to a blood pressure machine and stuck a pulse oximeter on his finger. Finally, blessed warmth as she covered him from neck to toes with a heated blanket. The blood pressure cuff tightened on his other arm and hummed as it measured.
“Moist dressing on that arm and let’s push some more fluids,” Max said to the nurse as Jack’s dizziness made him close his eyes. “Jack, your blood pressure is a little low, so we’re going to keep an eye on ya for a bit. You rest. I’ll be back with my wife, who just happens to be the best stitcher in the hospital.” He patted Jack’s foot. “I can let Annabelle come back here if you like.”
Jack nodded, but left his eyes shut—it kept the dizziness and nausea at bay. The scene with Shea Bowman played in a loop in his head. The dark basement. Maddie appearing eerily at the bottom of the stairs. The look of pure terror on her face when the bastard had the knife to her neck. His own feeling of helplessness as Bowman stood over him, clearly ready to plunge the knife into him. He smiled, remembering Maddie’s fierce expression as she kicked Bowman’s ass. She was a fighter, his girl.
And she was his. He’d been confused by her effect on him at first. He’d never been so rocked by a woman before and he certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight. That only happened in novels and chick flicks, not in real life. Apparently, though, it did, because he was in love with Madeline Ross. He’d tried to intellectualize her out of his system, reasoned that he shouldn’t—couldn’t—mix business and pleasure to the point that he nearly lost the best crew super he’d ever had.
“What are you smiling at, coz?” Annabelle’s voice made him open his eyes.
“Hey.” The wave of nausea didn’t happen this time, and if he lay very still, he wasn’t so woozy.
Annabelle drew closer and reached over the safety bar on the bed to give his shoulder a squeeze. “Max said you’re gonna be fine.”
Jack smiled. “Just a flesh wound,” he croaked. His mouth was dry as dust.
“Want some water?” At his nod, Annabelle reached for the pitcher next to his bed and poured some water into a glass and stuck a straw into it.
Drinking while flat on his back was awkward, and he thought he might be able to sit up since the light-headedness seemed to have subsided, so he felt for the controller Cynthia had placed by his pillow.
“Want to sit up?” Anna leaned in to help, but Cynthia spoke from the doorway.
“No, he doesn’t. We want to keep his feet higher than his head for a bit longer so his blood pressure doesn’t take another tumble.” She did a quick check of his vitals. “I’ll be back in a few. Then maybe we’ll try lowering your feet and raising your head.”
Jack gave a meek shrug and sipped from the straw as he was. Whatever they told him to do, he’d do, because he needed to get out of there and find Maddie.
After he’d drank several sips, Anna set the glass aside and pulled the only chair in the tiny room closer to the bed. “You’re quite the superhero tonight.”
“Not me.” Jack wasn’t about to let this story be all about him. “It was all Maddie. She saved my life.” He turned his head on the pillow. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
Anna held up her phone. “Eli texted right before I came in. He took her home. Said she’s okay.”
Jack gripped the bed rail with his good hand. “I need to get out of here. Go to her.”
Anna shook her head. “You aren’t going anywhere right now. Max wants to watch you, and they still have to sew up your arm.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“I don’t know. Want me to check your jacket?” Anna rose and looked around the room. “Where’s your jacket?”
Jack closed his eyes, trying to remember. Dammit. “Probably on the basement floor of the spec. Maddie cut the sleeve off so she could put pressure on this.” He tilted his chin toward his injured arm. “But she had my phone. She called 911.”
“She probably still has it. You can get it tomorrow.”
“I need to talk to her now.”
“Why? She’s probably in bed by now.”
Jack swallowed hard. “This was all my fault. My pigheadedness.”
Anna put a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Jack, nobody’s blaming you.”
“Well, you should. You all should. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t insisted on hiring Bowman. I’m screwing up this company, Anna, and worse, Maddie nearly got killed, all because I-I . . .”
“Never listen?” Anna offered softly, without a hint of meanness, her expression full of sympathy. “Always think you know better than anyone? Refuse to let us in?”
She’d nailed him, and it hurt.
Jack’s throat tightened. “Yes.” The admission wasn’t as hard as he imagined it would be. “I’m so sorry, Anna.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to resign and turn the company over to Cam. I’ll go back where I belong, being a crew chief.”
Anna gaped at him. “You really are an idiot.”
Jack’s heart sank—he meant every word he’d just said. Walker Construction was in trouble and it was on him. He’d been so sure he could run the company better than Eli and yet, he wasn’t. They weren’t getting the contracts he’d hoped for, commercial was floundering, and he was at a loss what to do next.
She rose, paced to the window, then back to her chair. “Listen to me. Cam doesn’t want to be CEO. He loves what he does and so do you, you big dope. All you have to do is unclench your grip and stop thinking that you’re the only one who knows what’s best for this company. We are a family business—that means we do this together. Do you think our dads simply gave up when things got tough? No . . . they worked together to keep us afloat.” She slipped her hand between the bed rails and laced her fingers with his. “You are a great CEO, Jack. You’re smart and bold and decisive. You have great business sense. Plus, you can charm the pants off potential customers, which is something Cam or Joe or I could never do.”
“Yeah, we see how well that’s worked in the past year, don’t we?” Jack stretched and arched his back, wishing the nurse would come back in so he could sit up. He wanted out—he had to talk to Maddie.
“Jackson C. Walker, look at me!” Anna shook his hand and he turned to her. “You are not resigning. That’s crap. We are going to turn this company around—you and my brothers and Eli—all of us together. And Maddie, too, because she’s your magic bullet, Jack.” She squeezed his fingers, then sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow at him. “And speaking of Madeline Ross . . .”
Chapter Nineteen
With a hiss of pain, Jack eased himself into the plaid-flannel shirt Eli had brought him. When Joe came around to hold the shirt for him, he started to object, but then simply allowed his cousin’s helping hand, giving Joe a grateful smile. It was going to be a hard habit to break—this dogged independence. His I can do this on my own attitude had to go. Looking around at his family’s faces, so full of worry for him, he recognized how much he needed them. Change would be hard, but they had his back. Hopefully, he had Maddie too.
The wound was beautifully stitched. Max’s wife, Dr. Lauren Mitchell-Lange, had sewn him up with tiny, perfect stitches that would leave only the faintest of scars once he’d healed. By the time Cynthia had dressed it and brought him a sling, which Max said was necessary to keep the stitches from pulling, Eli, Cam, and Joe had joined him and Anna in the small, windowed room.
Thankfully, Max and Lauren had shown up before Anna could drag him into a conversation about Maddie. He didn’t want to talk about Maddie, he wanted to talk to Maddie. The sooner, the better. He was finally on his feet—no more nausea, chills, or dizziness. All the signs of shock had disappeared, although Max had warned him to take it easy for a few days and enumerated all the symptoms to watch for in case they might return. He wasn’t worried. He was more concerned about where Max was with his release forms. His instinct was to just walk out, but that was the old Jack. The new one would play by the rules.
