by Jane Godman
“I didn’t get to Winnipeg. Before I left, I got a call telling me the guy they have there is not David Swanson.” Trey spoke each word clearly. “He paid someone to cross the border with his passport and get himself arrested—”
“Got to go.”
Rylan broke into a run. His heart faltered as he drew closer to Bree, his eyes drawn to her back. There, between her shoulder blades, was the bright red dot of a gun target. It stood out clearly, even on the vivid color of her jacket. He knew what that dot meant—someone had her in his gun sights. Wherever that red circle went, so would the bullet. As he watched, it moved up toward the base of her skull...
He didn’t have time to call out a warning. Closing the distance between them, he grabbed Bree from behind and pushed her to the ground. Her startled exclamation and Jekyll’s yelp coincided with the gunshot. Rylan’s right shoulder went numb, then pain seared through it as if he’d been stabbed with a red-hot poker. Warmth flooded down his arm. Staying upright wasn’t an option, and he toppled forward onto his face.
When he managed to turn his head, and he saw how much blood there was, he wanted to cry. Not with the pain—although that was bad—but because he could die right now, and he still hadn’t told Bree he loved her.
Chapter 18
Bree landed on her knees, twisting to her side to avoid crushing Jekyll. She turned her head in time to hear the shot and see Rylan standing over her. As his features contorted in pain, it was obvious what had happened. Rylan had risked his own life to save hers.
“No!” As she shouted the word, he toppled forward.
Bree crawled toward him, covering the distance between them on her hands and knees. Her progress was impeded by the panic that erupted around them. People were shouting and screaming, running in different directions or trying to find cover.
By the time she got to Rylan’s side, he was unconscious. What worried her most was the growing red puddle that was spreading out from beneath him.
“Help me, somebody.” She looked up at the circle of people that were gathering around them. “He’s losing too much blood.”
A man pushed through the crowd to kneel beside her. She recognized him as the security guard from On the Rocks.
“I need to apply pressure to the wound.” He glanced at her. “Give me your scarf.” Bree unwound it quickly from around her neck, and he folded it to make a pad. Holding it against Rylan’s shoulder, he pressed down hard on the injury. “Did anyone call 911?”
Half a dozen voices answered to confirm that they had.
“The sheriff and a few deputies are already here,” a woman said. “They broke into the apartment over the Yogurt Hut just after the shot was fired.”
Bree’s mind couldn’t fully take in what she was hearing. Her brother should be in Winnipeg. Trey knew someone would be in David’s apartment? Had he anticipated this shooting? Could he have stopped it?
She couldn’t think about any of that right now. Her priority was Rylan. The color had drained from his face, and he seemed to be barely breathing. She gripped his hand tightly, holding a shivering Jekyll to her chest with her other arm.
“Lucky. That’s what they call you, isn’t it?” Leaning over him, she whispered the words into his ear. “Be lucky again, Rylan. Do it for me this time.” She bit back a sob. “Do it for us.”
His selflessness had been the final confirmation of his love. To care enough for someone to be prepared to die for them...that was the ultimate sacrifice. She didn’t need any more evidence, but it showed what a truly good person he was.
I need to tell him that. She lifted his hand to her cheek, trying to stem the feeling that her whole world was draining away while she had no way of stopping it.
“Bree!” She looked up through a haze of tears to see the crowd moving back as Trey strode toward her. “Get these people away from him.” He barked the instruction over his shoulder to one of his deputies. Crouching beside her, he turned to the security guard, who was administering first aid. “Vital signs?”
“He’s breathing, but it’s rapid and shallow, and his pulse is weak. As you can see, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Trey placed an arm around Bree. “The ambulance is on its way. I told them to speed things up.”
She turned her face into his chest. “Rylan pushed me out of the way. He took the bullet that was meant for me.”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “David was never in Canada. I got a call from the police in Winnipeg just before I set off. He tricked us. And he was just minutes ahead of us. He can’t have gotten far this time.”
In the distance, she heard the faint wail of a siren. “I have to go with Rylan, but I can’t take Jekyll.” She handed the little dog over. “Be nice to him, he’s had a fright.”
Trey looked slightly bemused as though his large hands didn’t quite know what to do with such a small creature. He patted Bree’s shoulder awkwardly. “Rylan is tough.”
If her facial muscles hadn’t been frozen by shock, she might almost have smiled. He fooled you too, huh? “I’ll call you when I know anything.”
Once they were in the ambulance, the paramedics got to work, stripping off Rylan’s clothes, checking his injuries, applying more pressure and fixing an oxygen mask over his face. Bree saw the damage the bullet had done—it had torn straight through his shoulder—and she had to look away as a wave of nausea washed over her.
She heard the driver radioing ahead, telling their colleagues to prepare an operating theater. Phrases like “major blood loss” and “traumatic injury” imprinted themselves in her mind. Everything else passed her by.
When they reached the hospital, it was like déjà vu. Unlike Kasey, Rylan was taken on a trolley past the trauma assessment unit, and straight through to the emergency operating room.
Bree pointed to the waiting room. “I guess I’ll head that way.”
A nurse gave her a sympathetic look. “It could be a long night.”
* * *
It was a long night. A night of pacing and panicking or sitting still and feeling numb. Every few hours, Bree would find someone and ask how Rylan was doing. The answer was always the same.
“Still in surgery. The doctor will tell you when we have any news.”
Trey sent her a few brief text messages. The Roaring Springs Police Department and the Bradford County Sheriff’s Department were working together, both forces on high alert to catch David Swanson. So far, he had evaded them.
Don’t go anywhere without telling me, Trey had warned her.
Since she had no intention of leaving the hospital as long as Rylan was there, she hadn’t replied.
She was the only person in the waiting room. There was a stack of magazines, but reading the articles wasn’t an option for Bree. Once she’d flicked through the fashion, food and lifestyle pictures, she was left with the choice between listening to an audiobook or music through her headphones. Neither option suited her restless spirits.
There was an internal window between the waiting room and the corridor. Even in the early hours of the morning, the place was busy, and her eyes were drawn to the parade of medical staff walking past.
In an effort to stave off the boredom, she idly speculated on the roles of the various people. The different colored scrubs could have been a clue, if she’d known what they meant. Most people had their heads covered, and many also wore a mask, so studying faces was difficult. Bree switched her attention to their footwear. Comfortable, waterproof, lightweight, slip-resistant... She was compiling a list of features in her head, when she noticed an anomaly. One of the medics, someone who had walked past several times, was wearing high-top sneakers.
“Ms. Colton?” It was the nurse she had spoken to when she first arrived at the hospital. “The surgeon expects to be finished in about an hour. It was a difficult procedure, but initial indications are that it was successful. There’
s still a long way to go, but Mr. Bennet is through the worst part.”
“Oh...thank God.” Bree slumped forward in her seat, relief hitting her with the same impact as shock.
The nurse, whose name badge read Shirley Cuva, squatted next to her. “Deep breaths. That’s it. Nice and slow.” She rested a hand on Bree’s thigh, her gaze dropping to take in the torn and bloodied knees of her jeans. “I didn’t realize you were injured.”
“It’s nothing.” Bree had barely noticed the ache in her knees. “I fell when Rylan pushed me out of the way of the bullet.” Her lips trembled at the memory.
“Come with me. I can’t do anything about your jeans, but I can clean you up and give you something for the pain.”
Like a weary child following a parent, Bree went with Shirley along the corridor and into an empty room. It was more like a small ward than a treatment bay. There were six curtained-off compartments at one side of the room, each containing its own bed and equipment trolley.
“Take off your boots and jeans, and then get onto the bed.” Shirley indicated the first cubicle. Using a key pinned to the waist of her pants, she unlocked the trolley, opening the top drawer to reveal a number of syringes and packs of medication.
As Bree started to follow her instructions, Shirley’s pager began to beep.
The nurse clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Can’t anyone do anything around here? Sorry about this.” She pointed to a folded sheet. “Use that to cover your legs. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Bree lay on the bed and gazed at the ceiling. If the fire alarm went off now, the world would be treated to the sight of her bright yellow underwear with the fruit pictures and the word Peachy on the butt. Skye always sent the craziest birthday presents. She didn’t care. Rylan had made it through surgery.
Perspective. It matters more than dignity.
When the door opened again she was about to comment that Shirley had taken less than two minutes. The words died on her lips before she spoke. From her lying-flat position, all she could see under the bottom of the cubicle curtain was the feet of the person who had entered.
Shirley had been wearing pale blue slip-on shoes that matched her scrubs. This person’s footwear was different but familiar. The sneakers Bree had seen walking up and down the corridor outside the waiting room were now inside the treatment room with her.
Her thoughts stuttered momentarily, before completing the picture. No medical professional would wear those sneakers while working. These were regular high-tops, not providing any padding for someone who would be spending hours on their feet. And they were grubby.
The reason she had seen so much of these feet became crystal clear. They belonged to someone who had been pacing the corridor, anticipating the moment when Bree left the waiting room.
It took moments for those thoughts to flash through her mind. In another few seconds, she was slipping from the bed. Without any conscious thought about how she would use it, she grabbed one of the syringes from the trolley drawer and quietly tore its packaging open with her teeth.
As she ducked into the next compartment, she spared a thought for her cell phone. Although it was in the pocket of her jeans, she wouldn’t be able to use it. Calling Trey would signal her location to the sneaker wearer, and texting wasn’t an option. Although her brother would be alerted by a message from Bree, he wouldn’t be able to make any sense of it. On a good day, she might be able to type the word help. Under stress, even the simplest of spellings eluded her.
Her mind was racing as she stealthily made her way along the compartments. Ducking under the curtains and over the beds. Fast and silent. It was like the deadliest of obstacle courses.
After shooting Rylan, could David have followed them to the hospital in the hope of finishing the job? Or was she about to come face-to-face with his mysterious accomplice? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Come out, Bree. You know I’ll shoot the nurse as soon as she comes back.” David’s voice was moving closer. “You’re a Colton. I don’t expect you to care, but maybe just for once you could take responsibility for your actions. Do the right thing. Don’t be responsible for her murder, as well as Rylan’s.”
Bree had reached the end cubicle. With nowhere else to go, she judged David was level with the compartment next to her. Holding her breath, she waited until she heard him move before ducking under the curtain and doubling back the way she had come. She would only get one chance at this. He had a gun. She had a syringe. The odds were not exactly even.
As David swept back the curtain on the final cubicle, Bree sprang at him from behind. Clinging on to his neck with one arm, she brought the syringe around toward his face with her other hand. As he gave a bellow and tried to shake her off, she felt like a kitten hanging on to an enraged bear.
One chance. That’s all.
David squirmed and twisted in fury, trying to grab the syringe from her. It was now or never. Bree sucked in a breath, jabbed the needle into his right eye and depressed the plunger.
Screaming, he fell to his knees, clawing at his face. The gun clattered to the floor and Bree kicked it across the room. Shaking so hard she could barely move, she made it to the door. Staggering into the corridor, she collapsed to her knees and was caught in Shirley’s arms before she hit the floor.
* * *
Rylan didn’t know where he was. All he knew for sure was that every part of him hurt. The worst pain by far was in his right shoulder. It felt like he’d been pinned to the bed by an iron stake. Maybe he had, because there was no way he could move that side of his body.
He was too tired to do more than open his eyes for a few seconds at a time but after a while, he figured he must be in a hospital. Although the room was in near-darkness, the tubes, drips and beeping of monitors were the dead giveaway.
Eventually, he managed to turn his head to the left. Bolts of pure agony shot through him, but it was worth it. The person sitting on the chair next to the bed had fallen asleep, slumping over with her head resting close to his hand. Rylan couldn’t see her face, but he knew those curls. He loved those curls.
Lifting his hand with difficulty, he twisted his fingers in Bree’s hair. A smile touched his lips and he closed his eyes.
When he woke again, the room was brighter and Bree was gone. He frowned. Was it a dream? What had happened after he was shot? Had David been captured or had he escaped?
“Hey, there.” The unfamiliar female voice was overly loud, booming in his ears, and he winced.
Turning his head carefully to the right, he rode the wave of dizziness. The nurse was checking the monitors and recording the results on an electronic tablet.
“Water?” His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Someone who had sandpaper in place of vocal cords.
She brought him a bottle with a straw and held it to his lips. Although everything in him rebelled at his helplessness, he knew he couldn’t move, and he swallowed the cool liquid gratefully.
“How long?” Just the action of drinking left him feeling weak as a kitten.
“How long have you been here? This is the second day.” She returned to her task. “The doctor will check on you later.”
When she’d gone, he tried to process what she’d just said. Two days? How was that possible? And what had been happening with the investigation while he was lying here? He needed his cell phone, but he couldn’t see any of his personal belongings. Frustrated, he tried to find a call button. Even the slightest movement was torture and left him exhausted. Wearily, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was in the middle of another dream about Bree. This time she was sitting at the side of the bed, with her headphones on as she checked her cell phone.
“Wish you were real.” He managed to croak out the words.
She started and dropped her phone into her lap. Tears filled her eyes as sh
e removed her headphones. Catching hold of his hand, she lifted it to her cheek. “Oh, Rylan.”
“Don’t be a dream.”
She gave a watery laugh. “Okay, I won’t.”
He blinked hard. She was still there. “Kiss me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” She was smiling through her tears.
“Do I have to come to you?” Rylan tried out a growl. The result was more of a whisper.
“Don’t you dare move.” Leaning over, Bree gently pressed her lips to his.
He sighed contentedly. “Worth getting shot for.”
She rested her cheek against his forehead. “There are some things you shouldn’t joke about.”
Despite the pain and tiredness, her touch brought perfect serenity. Rylan let the happiness soak right through to his bones. This was everything he’d never allowed himself to want. He closed his eyes and savored the moment. For the first time in forever, his mind was at peace with himself. There were no unrealistic expectations being forced on him. He was accepted for who he was.
He opened his eyes. “I love you, you know.”
Bree lifted her head and smiled at him. “I know.”
“Well, look who’s finally awake.” Trey’s hearty tones from the doorway made them both jump. “The doctor did that whole don’t-tire-him-out thing when I asked if I could visit with you.”
“One of these days, we’re going to have to speak to your brother about his timing,” Rylan muttered.
“What are you two laughing about?” Trey asked, as Bree resumed her seat.
“Just happy to be alive,” Rylan said.
“Lucky to be alive, you mean. You nearly didn’t make it.” Trey made a move as if to grip his hand, then decided against it. “Thank you for saving my sister’s life.”
Rylan smiled at Bree. “I had an ulterior motive.”
Trey raised his brows in a question, but Bree shook her head. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to share something they’d barely discussed. Instead, she deflected her brother’s attention. “How’s Jekyll?”