by Norris, Kris
Yeah, she’d have been dead before Cannon had found her. Which didn’t make him feel any better. Just staring at her pale skin. The bruised look beneath her eyes, and how her chest barely moved when she took a labored breath—it made the room heat. The air feel thin.
Ice sighed. “Breathe, buddy. It’s going to be okay.”
“So, she doesn’t need to go to the hospital?”
“Should she? Absolutely. That’s always the best call. I’m not a doctor. Don’t pretend to be. But, under these circumstances—not worth the risk of having someone try to kill her, again. And no matter how hard we try, we can’t guarantee her safety in a hospital. I can handle this. Looks like there’s a small fragment in the wound. I’ll give her some freezing. Remove it. Then, stitch her up. Once the infusion kicks in—gets her cell count back up—she’ll feel and look a lot better. She’ll need a round of antibiotics. I have a shot I can give her, today, and I can get her what she needs. Off-grid. I’ll keep a close eye on her. If I suspect she’s losing ground, we’ll take her to the ER. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. She’s insanely lucky. But she’s gonna be sidelined for a week or two.”
“Alive is all that matters. I can deal with the rest. I will deal with the rest.”
Ice whistled, all the while working on saving Jericho. Christ, how did the guy do it? Not a hint of doubt or fear. Steady hands slipping the needle beneath her skin then probing the wound. Using some kind of tweezers to dig into the cut. “Sounds like someone just went to the top of your shit list. Bastard doesn’t even know he’s dead, yet. You got any leads?”
“She didn’t say much. Said she didn’t remember anything. Obviously, the fucker who was in the back is my prime suspect. But, when I told her I was taking her to the hospital… She perked up. Said it wasn’t safe. That her office couldn’t be trusted. Not sure what that means, but…” He looked up at Ice. “I think her partner was killed. There was a body in the car. Couldn’t tell for sure. It was still burning.”
He groaned. Fuck, he hadn’t even called it in, yet. He’d been too focused on finding Jericho. After all, if it was Dave Faraday in the vehicle, he was already dead. Beyond help. But, considering there was a probable felon on the loose—a known hitman with mafia connections—Cannon should have called the second they found the car.
“I need to call it in. Should have, already. Not like me to let something like that slip.”
“You had more important things to consider. Trust me. We’ve all been there. It’s different when it’s someone you love, and not like a brother.” Ice glanced at him. “You do love her, don’t you?”
“Ice—”
“Please. We all knew something was off when you were in Montana. Not like you to be the least bit distracted. And, if that wasn’t enough of a clue, your hands are shaking. Never seen you shake, buddy. Ever. Me, either, until I met Harlequin.” He snorted. “She does something to my brain. Can’t explain it, but there’s no sense denying it. I’d go to Hell and back for her.”
“I’ve been to Hell. Got the blueprints. Whoever did this is gonna need to go somewhere worse if they want to try and hide. Not that they will for long. I promise you that.”
He glanced at his hand—the one holding Jericho’s. The one that was shaking ever so slightly. Just like Ice had said. He didn’t want to let go, not even long enough to call the authorities. But… “I really should call this in.”
“No need. I already called.”
Cannon whipped his head around at the sound of Colt’s voice. The guy was walking across the room, a cooler in his hand.
“I figured you had your hands full. Besides, if we need to keep Jericho’s presence a secret for a while, it might be better if your voice wasn’t on the nine-one-one tape.” He placed the cooler beside Ice. “Got you five units. And your friends pulled up as I was getting in the elevator. They’ll be up in a minute.”
Ice nodded. “Good. We should have more than enough.” He held up a small metal piece then placed it in a bowl. “Looks like the tip of a blade. It got wedged in her rib. Probably what saved her from more serious internal injury. Which means you were right. Someone stabbed her.”
A dull roar sounded in Cannon’s head, followed by white-hot rage. He’d see whoever had done this suffered. “The question is, did it happen before she got out of the car? After? Based on that bloody trail, I’d say she was stabbed while in the car. But how the hell did Brown get the jump on them if he was handcuffed in the back seat?”
“Hopefully, once she’s recovered, she’ll remember. Blood loss messes with memory. Give her a few days. She can probably fill in the blanks.” Ice grabbed a needle—threaded it. “It does pose a concern.”
Cannon arched a brow.
Ice started stitching the wound closed. “Once they discover she didn’t die…”
“They’ll come looking for her.”
“They know about you?”
“Her boss does. The whole office, probably. There was an incident last night—long story. But, yeah. If nothing else, they’d know my name.”
The door behind them opened. Cannon glanced back. Midnight, Rigs, Bridgette, and Addison came bustling in. Faces grim. They didn’t speak, just took a seat—waited until they were needed.
Ice smiled. “Team’s here. We’ll set up surveillance. Keep watch in case they connect you to me. To Harlequin’s place. We’ll help keep Jericho safe until we get to the bottom of this. Then—”
“Then, we go hunting. And this is one trip where I won’t be coming back empty handed.”
Chapter Eleven
Did being dead hurt? Because that’s all Jericho felt. Pain. Through her side. Her head. In her chest when she tried to breathe…
She was breathing. It took a while for her brain to process the thought. Confirm she wasn’t dead. Which hit on more questions. Where was she? How had she gotten here, and what the hell had happened?
Jericho blinked. Opened her eyes, then closed them just as quickly. Seeing the scenery swim across her vision increased the throbbing in her temples. Made her nauseous.
She faded, coming back up from the dark feeling much the same. The pain was a bit better. A little less white-hot. Allowed her to open her eyes—get a look at the room. She didn’t recognize it—obviously a bedroom. A dresser and some side tables. Closed door. A chair sat off to her right. Within arm’s reach. Turned to face the bed as if someone had been watching her.
She glanced at her hand. It felt warmer than the rest of her. As if someone had been holding it. Anchoring her. She tried to remember—inhaled against the rush of pain—then gave up. Choosing to push onto her elbow. Took four tries just to sit up—lean against the headboard.
The room tilted a bit, then centered. She let her head rest against the wooden slats. Waited until she had the energy to do more than breathe. It was unnerving. Lying there. Her last coherent thought of getting into a car. Heading back to the office. She’d been with someone…
Another stab of pain, which wasn’t worth the fleeting images she got as a result. Better to just accept something bad had happened and move forward. Decide what she was going to do next. If she was safe, and if not, how she’d take steps to get to safety.
Cannon.
His name formed inside her head. She had a vague recollection of asking him for help. Not directly. A discreet SOS she’d hoped he’d recognize. Act on. But… If he’d come to her aid, where was he, now?
It hurt too much to puzzle it out. Her limited energy would be better served taking stock of her current condition. First, body check. She was dressed in an oversized t-shirt, the spicy scent strangely familiar. She had bandages taped to her left side—what felt like stitches pulling against her skin. The stabbing pain in her ribs suggested she’d injured one or two. And there were a few butterfly closures along her forehead. But, other than that, she seemed okay. Could feel her feet, wiggle her toes.
She glanced around. No weapons. Nothing to suggest she was a prisoner. Though, she couldn’t be sure,
because she also didn’t see her clothes. Her weapons. Hadn’t she been wearing them when she’d gotten into that car? And, if she was hurt, why wasn’t she at the hospital?
Panic gnawed at her consciousness. There was something about going to the hospital that scared her. Made her skin crawl. She couldn’t place it, but she trusted her instincts. They’d never let her down, before.
So, the need to run…to find Cannon. She didn’t question that, either. Grunted through the pain as she pulled the blanket to one side until she could swing her legs over the edge of the bed. The chair saved her from falling onto the floor—likely hurting herself more. Allowed her time to steady herself—get her feet under her properly. Not that she was convinced she’d make it to the door, but she’d try. Do whatever it took to get to Cannon, because he was the only clear thought in her head. The only image that wasn’t foggy or disjointed.
Her legs shook as she shuffled across the room. Each step made her side burn, her breath stall, but it was worth it if it meant she’d be safe. If she could maybe get to a phone. Figure out how much trouble she was in.
The door handle rattled in her grip before she was able to twist it—sliver it open. A hallway. No armed men. No obvious traps. Nothing unusual. Soft murmurs echoed from somewhere in the distance—proof she wasn’t alone. It also meant simply walking out of wherever she was probably wasn’t an option. No doubt she’d have to walk past those voices, and she wasn’t in any condition to fight. Hell, she wasn’t sure she’d make it down the corridor before passing out.
She closed her eyes. Focused on breathing. On tempering the burn of every inhalation. Figuring out how to call Cannon. Hadn’t they planned on dinner? Had she missed it? Was he looking for her?
“Jericho?”
She blinked, nearly fell when the door opened—tripping her against the frame. A guy lunged toward her, stopping when she flinched. Tried to back away, not that she was able to take more than a step before having to lean on the wall.
The guy straightened. Moved back a bit. He was large. Not as tall or as broad as Cannon, but huge, nonetheless. He was good looking, in a dangerous thug sort of way, with stunning green eyes and brown hair. He gave her a smile, keeping his hands turned palms forward. “Easy, honey. I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually. But…it’s way too soon for you to be out of bed. You’re going to pull out your stitches. Give yourself another concussion. Let me help you back to the bedroom.”
“Who…” God, it hurt to talk.
“The name’s Russel Foster. My buddies call me Ice. I’m a friend of Cannon’s—”
“Cannon?” She sagged against the wall, shaking her head when the man—Ice, she thought he’d said—stepped toward her. “Where…”
Christ. Two words? That’s all she could manage?
He sighed. “He hasn’t left your side for two days, but…he had to go down to your office. Talk to your boss. Art Collins.”
“No. No, it’s… It’s not safe. He…” Images flashed through her mind, making her inhale. She palmed her head. Tried to stop if from simply exploding. “He… I… It’s not safe.”
“Easy. You’re still suffering from blood loss. The trauma. A concussion. You need to rest. Give your body time to heal. You’ll remember once you’re feeling better.”
She shook her head, again, wondering how long she could stand there before she slid down the wall. Passed out. “Cannon…”
“Shit, Jericho. What the hell are you doing up?”
That voice. It was his voice. She managed to turn, see him standing in the hallway before her legs completely buckled. Slid her onto her ass. He was there in a heartbeat, scooping her up, holding her against his chest. She let her head fall against the crook of his shoulder as everything started to fade.
She blinked to find him hovering over her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. She reached for his hand—was able to wrap her fingers around his wrist. “Cannon.”
He leaned in close. “I’m gone for all of an hour, and that’s when you choose to wake up? You’re making me look bad, sweetheart.”
“I…” She wanted to say she’d been searching for him. That he was the only person she trusted. That she needed him. But her tongue felt overly large. Didn’t form the words.
He smiled. One of those devastating ones that warmed her all the way to her toes. “Shhh. Ice is right. You need to rest.”
“No. Danger…”
“I know. But not here. You’re safe.”
“Nowhere’s safe.”
“I’ve got four ex-Special Forces buddies that are determined to prove otherwise. Another on the way. I’m not going to let anyone get to you. Not while I’m still breathing. Sleep.”
She tightened her grip on his arm. At least, she thought she did. Either way, it worked—had him dipping a bit closer. “Stay.”
“Damn straight. Wouldn’t have left if it hadn’t been necessary. But I needed to buy you more time before they find out where you are.”
“No. I mean, stay. With me.”
He chuckled. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“I…” Her throat thickened, the panic from before crawling along her nerves. “I’m sc…”
His expression softened, those hard lines fading from around his eyes and mouth. “I know. But I’m here. And I’m staying.”
He glanced behind him, mumbled something she couldn’t make out. She was fading, her vision slowly disappearing around the edges. It felt wrong. Lying there. Alone.
The bed dipped, then he was lifting her. Placing her head on his chest, his arm around her back. She smiled. Didn’t fight the pull of the darkness around her. Not as long as he was holding her.
Soft lips against her forehead. “Sleep. We’ll talk when you’re stronger.”
* * *
I knew you’d find out... This is much kinder... It’ll all be over soon...
“No.”
Jericho jolted awake, the echoed voice spiking her heart rate. She needed to escape. Find Cannon. Get help.
Strong hands wrapped around her, stilling her movements just as pain flared through her side. “Easy, sweetheart. It’s just a dream.”
She froze, that deep gravelly voice soothing the panicky feeling beneath her skin. She glanced up. He was staring down at her, those copper eyes narrowed. One hand lifted to rest on her face, his thumb softly stroking her chin.
She relaxed, sinking into his embrace. “Cannon. I…” She hissed out her next breath. “Where am I? What happened?”
He grunted, shuffling until his back was against the headboard with her body cradled against him. “You’re at a friend’s place. You met him earlier. When you woke up. His name’s Ice. Do you remember?”
Scattered memories shuffled through her mind, most of them too fragmented to make sense of. “Not really. Everything’s pretty fuzzy.”
“Expected. Ice says you lost two liters of blood. A less stubborn soul would have died.”
There was an edge to his voice. One she hadn’t heard before. One she swore was fear. But… She couldn’t image him being afraid of anything. He was too imposing. Too much the warrior.
A few of the memories slotted into place. “You came for me, didn’t you?”
His hand slid back until he was holding her head. “Was there any doubt? I’ll always come for you. I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner. Couldn’t stop you from getting hurt. Whoever did this to you…”
That look. She recognized it. He’d had the same expression when she’d first made eye contact with him in the restaurant. Fear for her mixed with cold steel determination. No one had ever looked at her like that.
She managed to raise her hand—brush her thumb along his cheek. It was rough. Shadowed with stubble. Not quite a beard but close. “Thank you.”
His eye twitched before he leaned down—rested his forehead on hers. He released a shaky breath, the heat from his skin warming hers. “Don’t ever scare me like that, again. God, Jericho…” Another raspy exhalatio
n. “When I saw your car on fire—thought I’d lost you…”
“Not gonna let you get away that easily… Wait. The car was on fire? What…”
She inhaled as images slammed into her head. Driving along the interstate. A black Suburban behind them. A bloody knife glinting in the light. There had been beeping and an explosion. She just didn’t remember why. How all the events were connected.
“Jericho? Talk to me, sweetheart. Ice!”
Footsteps. The door crashing open. Then, fingers on her jaw, twisting her head slightly. A light flashed in her eyes as a man’s face blinked into view.
The guy was touching the sore spot on her head, then snapping his fingers in front of her. “Jericho? Can you hear me?”
She grimaced, a jolt of pain pulsing through her. “Of course, I can hear you. I’m not deaf.”
He chuckled. “Girl’s as charming as you, Cannon. Okay, honey. Are you feeling dizzy? Seeing double?”
“No. Not anymore. I’m just…confused. Cannon mentioned the car being on fire, and all these images just shot into my head. But…I don’t know how to make sense of them.”
The guy—Ice, she thought Cannon had yelled—sighed, shoving a tiny flashlight back in his shirt pocket. “It’s only been a few days. And the fact you remember anything is encouraging. Give it a bit more time—”
“A few days?” She turned to look at Cannon. “How long have I been here?”
“Five days.”
“What? But—”
“Breathe, honey.” Ice was back, fingers on her pulse. “Trust me, five days is nothing. Between the stabbing, the concussion and the blood loss…” He snorted. “You’re lucky it hasn’t been double that. And that’s ignoring the fact you tried to walk out of here after only a couple. We’ve had to take turns watching you before Cannon agreed to even leave the bed.” He winked. “Though, I don’t think he needs an excuse to want to stay in it with you.”
“Jackass.” Cannon gave her hand a squeeze. “But he’s right about you needing more time to recover. Christ, when we brought you in…” He swallowed. It sounded rough. Thick. As if he’d had to fight to get it down. “I’ve never seen someone that pale still breathing.”