Three things registered at once. Georges Larue's wild-eyed stare indicated he wasn't quite sane. Based on the fact that while one hand held a gun, his other hand covered his crotch, Eden had been able to inflict some kind of damage to the bastard. Worst of all … the gun? Jordan's. Of all the unprofessional, stupid things …
Keeping his body planted firmly in front of Eden, Jordan went for a friendly “I'm not here to hurt you” demeanor. He figured since the guy had a gun on him, he wouldn't be too worried about that. “Let's talk about it.”
Georges shook his head and offered Jordan a sly smile. “I don't think so. I'm the one in charge. I tell you what to do.” He jerked his head toward the wall. “Get over there and sit down. Claire and I still have some things to talk about.”
Jordan shook his head and offered him an empathetic smile. “Georges, she's hurt. She needs a doctor. You can talk with her when she's better.”
Wild eyes flickered to Eden for a brief second before settling back on Jordan. A chilling, eerie expression spread across his face, turning him from a half-insane idiot to something much more evil. “I made her bleed.” And then he smiled.
Jordan went cold. In that instant, he knew Georges intended to kill Eden. That may have not been his initial plan, but now, with a gun in his hand, he felt powerful, omnipotent. He had authority and strength he'd never felt before.
Jordan wouldn't let that happen. This woman had suffered tremendous anguish already for his stupid mistakes. He'd be damned if he was once again the cause of her pain.
Eden must have read his mind or body language. She whispered, so softly that only he could hear, “Don't do it, Jordan. Please … he'll kill you.”
Without bothering to whisper, Jordan answered, “Better me than you, sweetheart.”
Georges's crazed eyes blinked his confusion. “What?”
“I'm begging you, Jordan. Please don't.”
Hands still in the air, Jordan reached back and gently caressed her cheek. Dying for this woman would be no hardship. He'd die a thousand times over if it would take away her pain.
Since he had every intention of living a long and healthy life with Eden at his side, he sincerely hoped Noah was on his way and dying wouldn't be necessary.
“What are you mumbling about?” Georges glanced up at Eden. “You awake, bitch? Want to watch me kill your lover boy?”
“Georges, this has gone on long enough. Put the gun down before you hurt someone.”
While Georges grew angrier and spewed obscenities at Eden, Jordan's eyes searched the darkness. Sure enough, there was Noah. Resisting the urge to blow out a sigh of relief, Jordan held up a hand to stop Georges's rant.
“Come on, Georges. Let's all sit down and—”
Georges raised the gun higher, pointing it at Eden's head. “I'll shoot her if you don't move.”
Jordan moved forward, wanting to get Georges's attention off Eden. If Noah shot Georges, there was every chance the gun would go off and hit her.
Georges pointed the gun at Jordan. “Get back!”
“Be careful. That things got a hair—”
A bullet tore into Jordan's chest. Eden screamed. Another gun fired. He heard a squeal and then a distant thud.
For a second, Jordan stood stock-still … shocked into immobility. Dammit, he'd been shot. Then, with the force of a wrecking ball, pain slammed into him. He fell to his knees and then face-first into the dirt.
Slumped in a threadbare chair in the intensive care waiting room, Eden held her head in her hands. In a dim part of her brain, she knew it pounded like a jackhammer. That pain was easy, compared to the pain in her heart.
Jordan was still in surgery, five hours so far. The bullet had lodged near his heart, and had nicked an artery. They'd been trying to stop the bleeding but so far had been unsuccessful.
Noah had been beside her for a while, but left to deal with the police and endless rounds of questions. They'd had no choice but to call an ambulance for Jordan. Georges had a bullet in his leg and would probably be released in a couple of days—to jail. Noah hadn't killed him, and though Georges's death would have been no great loss to mankind, she was glad he hadn't. Not for Georges's sake, but for Noah's. He didn't need that on his conscience.
Noah would handle the authorities and keep them away from her. All her energy, all of her focus, had to be on Jordan.
He'd saved her life. She sensed, just as he had, that Georges was prepared to kill her. Though she didn't think that had been his original intent when he'd kidnapped her, opportunity and motive had changed.
Fiery streaks of guilt pumped through her. She shouldn't have taunted Georges. When she'd had the chance to completely incapacitate him, she'd opted for the pleasure of his pain. If he'd been unconscious when Jordan arrived, none of this would have happened.
Jordan shouldn't even be in Paris in the first place. If she'd been honest with him that first day, told him who she was, explained what happened, he would have left and that would have been that. But instead she'd selfishly and cowardly kept the truth from him, lied with every breath, hurt him, and now he might die because of her.
“Here.”
Noah stood in front of her with a steaming cup of coffee. His battered and bruised face looked as tired and sad as she'd ever seen it.
Taking the proffered cup, she wrapped her fingers around it, needing the warmth on her hands more than anything. She couldn't remember when she'd felt so chilled.
Noah sipped from his cup and grimaced. “Tastes like mud.” He cast a look over at the wall clock, and then at Eden. “Anybody come out lately?”
She shook her head, her throat so tight she couldn't utter a sound. Almost every hour, a nurse had thoughtfully come into the waiting room and given them an update. Usually it was just that they were still trying to stop the bleeding, but at least she knew he was still alive.
It had been an hour and a half since anyone had come out. Eden didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. Fear kept her frozen to her seat. She was so afraid to get up and ask. If Jordan was gone, she really, truly, did not want to know. If she stayed here, not knowing … at least there was still hope.
A slight sound signaled activity. A middle-aged man in green scrubs, weary exhaustion etched on his face, shuffled toward them.
Eden gripped the arms of the chair and forced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled briefly and then, by sheer force of will, she stiffened them.
“Are you Mr. Montgomery's family?”
Eden managed a nod, grateful Noah was there to answer for her.
“Yes, we are.”
The doctor began a long, involved explanation of how hard they'd worked to repair Jordan's heart. She caught only pieces … lost him once … still touch-and-go … might still have to go back for more surgery … wait and see.
She couldn't seem to stop nodding, as if she were one of those toy dogs with the wobbly heads. Only when Noah wrapped an arm around her did she realize the doctor had left.
“He's alive?” she whispered, still uncertain she'd heard correctly.
“Yes, he is. And you know what a fighter he is. The most tenacious bastard I've ever met.”
A crooked smile trembled at her lips. “He is stubborn.”
Noah leaned back and peered down at her. “What'd the doctor say about your head?”
“He patched it up, and said I was fine.”
Noah's eagle eyes took in her pallor, dilated eyes, and shaking body. “He also said you have a slight concussion and need to be in bed.”
“If you already knew, why'd you ask?”
“I wanted to see if you would tell the truth.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and Eden fought them back, increasing the pounding in her sore head. “I don't think I know how to tell the truth anymore. Jordan was right. All I'm good at is lying.”
Noah pulled her into his arms. “Jordan's a bastard.”
Eden buried her face against his chest. “He is not… He's wonderful,” came her muffled reply.<
br />
“Okay, he's a wonderful bastard.” Noah gave her another tight squeeze. “I told him everything.”
Eden wasn't sure how he thought she was going to react to this news, but the push against his chest and the slap on his face seemed to surprise him. “How could you? That wasn't your place, Noah McCall. Just because you helped me gives you no right to tell anyone … especially Jordan. How could you?”
“Eden, I'm sorry, but he had a right to know.” “Yes, he did, but it was my right to tell him, not yours.” Her gaze swung wildly around the room. Oh God, he knew… Jordan knew everything. That she'd been raped, sodomized, beaten, carved up beyond recognition.
She wanted to ask Noah how he reacted, but she was so furious, she didn't want him to know she wanted to know. How could he have betrayed her like that?
“Noah, you play God with people's lives because you can't face living your own. Well, this is the last time you manipulate mine.” She whirled away from him and ran to the door.
“I didn't mean to hurt you. It was just time.” Eden pointed a finger at him, her voice shaking with fury. “It's my life. It should have been my choice when and what to tell him—not yours.” She turned and stalked out.
Less than an hour later, Eden was back at the hospital. She'd gone home long enough to shower and change out of her bloody clothes. Hoping to appease her headache, she allowed herself two aspirin and forced down a piece of toast and a cup of hot, sweet tea. It had been almost forty-eight hours since she'd eaten and her legs were about to give out on her.
Noah was no longer at the hospital. Though she was still furious with him, a part of her grieved for the loss of his friendship. He'd been her mainstay for so long, she wasn't quite sure what she was going to do without him.
But all of that would have to wait. The most important thing was making sure Jordan was okay. After checking at the front desk, she was relieved to discover that though he was still in intensive care, he hadn't had to go back for more surgery.
Eden found a semi-comfortable couch and forced herself to lie down. The doctors and nurses knew she was here. If she didn't get some rest soon, she would end up in the hospital, too.
She closed her eyes. Using an old trick from years ago, when things got out of control at home, she forced all of her fears and doubts into a small corner of her mind and pictured the one person who always made her feel safe and happy. Jordan.
She wasn't sure how long she lay there, drifting in a sea of semiconscious bliss, before a hand shook her shoulder.
“Mademoiselle St. Claire?”
Fear surging through her, she sprang from the sofa. “What? What's wrong?”
A smiling young nurse stood beside her. “Nothing at all. I just wanted to let you know that the doctor says it's okay for you to see Monsieur Montgomery. You can only stay a couple of minutes.”
“Really?” Eden stood and smoothed her hair and clothes. She probably looked like the wrath of hell, but she didn't care. Jordan was alive, well enough for a visitor. Suddenly nothing else seemed important.
Her heart tripped over as she ran to the room. The door stood open. Tubes and machines surrounded the man on the bed. He looked so pale … lifeless. Eden gripped the doorjamb. This was not the time to break down.
As she approached the bed, his eyes flickered open. With a tentative, trembling hand, she touched his hair, then his face. Tears blurred her vision, but she thought he looked like he was trying to smile.
There were so many things she wanted to say, so much to explain, apologize for. Where did she start?
“Eden?” It was a barely a whisper, but she heard it.
Smiling through her tears, Eden leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. “There's so much to say … I don't …” Why couldn't she speak … say how sorry she was … that she loved him?
“I wanted—” He stopped and swallowed.
What ever he had to say seemed vitally important. Leaning closer, she asked, “What?”
“All those years ago … I couldn't rescue you … should have. Wanted to make it up to … you.”
He closed his eyes, unconscious again. Through a haze of tears, she saw the nurse at the door, signaling her to leave. Allowing herself one small gift, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Jordan. I always have … I always will.”
Eden shuffled out the door, emotions bubbling to the surface so fast, her heart pounded to keep up with them. She headed back to the waiting room, determined to continue her vigil. A woman's voice, soft and distinctly American, caught her attention.
“I'm here to see Jordan Montgomery.”
“Your name and relationship to the patient?” a bored voice asked.
“Samara Lyons. You called me as Mr. Montgomery's emergency contact. I'm his … his fiancée.”
And with those words, Eden's world crumbled again. How could she have forgotten? Jordan was engaged … belonged to another woman. The words he'd whispered only seconds ago took on a new meaning. He'd felt responsible for not being able to help her before and had come to her rescue this time to make up for the last time. That's all it had been. Not a promise of forever, certainly not a declaration of love. An obligation, nothing more.
Ignoring the curious and sympathetic eyes of the nurse who'd heard the young woman's words, Eden walked past them to the open door of the elevator. She pressed the first-floor button and made it all the way to the lobby without allowing herself to breathe. Finally outside, she took in deep, cleansing breaths. She would survive. She was a survivor. Besides lying, it was what she did best.
She hailed a cab, and as she made her way back to her apartment, she realized with an odd sense of detachment that another phase of her life had ended. Devon Winters had been found alive and well, and Jordan finally knew the truth. There were no loose ends, nothing to wrap up. For the first time in years, the past was finally in the past.
A little voice inside taunted her. If the past was truly in the past, why were tears pouring from her eyes and why did her heart feel ripped to shreds?
Eden had no answer.
twenty-five
Noah pushed the door open, his gaze zooming to the man in the hospital bed. So pale, he rivaled the sheets covering him for whiteness. Just hours ago, a cold, emotionless Eden had left the country on assignment. Noah couldn't decide who looked worse, an unconscious Jordan with a bullet hole in his chest or the woman who swore she'd kill Noah if he ever interfered in her life again.
Feeling lower than sludge under a snake's belly for his part in this, Noah entered the room as quietly as possible. If Jordan didn't wake soon, he'd leave. There wasn't much he could do but go back to LCR and put his ass to work. Rescuing was his business, his life. Solving relationship problems was not his forte, though he sure seemed to have a knack for creating them.
“Who are you?”
Noah whirled around. A petite young woman stood at the entrance to the bathroom, a vase of white daisies in her hand. “Who are you?”
Holding the vase with both hands as if she might use it as a weapon, she advanced into the room. “I believe I asked first.”
Despite his dismal thoughts, Noah had the urge to smile. Whoever the woman was, she posed no threat. Barely over five feet tall, with long, wavy black hair, vivid ice-blue eyes, and creamy magnolia skin, she looked more like a beautiful fairy sprite than anything else.
Noah surprised himself by answering with the truth. “Noah McCall. And you are?”
“Samara Lyons. I'm a friend of Jordan's.”
“The former fiancée?”
Her eyes flickering toward the unconscious man on the bed, she shook her head. “No … he called …” Stopping, she cleared her throat, then continued, “We never …” One more throat clearing, then, “We called it off.” Her smooth brow wrinkled. “Jordan told you we were engaged?”
No way was he going to get pulled into that discussion. He jerked his head toward Jordan. “How's he doing?”
Looking somewhat irritated that h
e hadn't answered her question, she said, “About the same.”
“Well, let me know if he needs anything.” He turned to the door and opened it.
“Wait.”
Noah twisted back. “Yes?”
“He woke up a few minutes ago, mumbling something about Eden and then asked where Devon is. I thought he was hallucinating, but now I'm not so sure. Did he find Devon?”
“He'll explain everything, I'm sure.”
“Excuse me?”
Again Noah fought a smile. There was just something about this woman that made him want to annoy her. Not that he would tell her about Eden and Devon … that was Jordan's job. But for some strange reason, seeing her irritation gave an odd lift to his mood.
Jordan hadn't told him anything about his former fiancée, but Noah found himself surprised they'd even dated, much less considered marriage. Sure she was beautiful. Hell, just looking at her made him think of things he hadn't thought about in years. But she was obviously the wrong woman for Montgomery. He couldn't really say why he felt that way. A gut feeling and nothing more.
“If you know something about Devon's whereabouts, then I believe you should tell me.”
Unable to hold it back this time, a grin lifted his mouth. “You do, huh?”
Sparks shot from those remarkable eyes of hers. He'd thought her beautiful; he now amended that to breathtaking. A vision of what this woman would look like in the throes of passion slammed into his brain. Flushed cheeks, passion-glazed eyes, small breasts covered by his hands, his mouth. His gut clenched. Where the hell had that come from?
“Jordan is my friend. If there's something you know about Devon, then I should know so I can help him.”
A curious tenderness hit him. Even though Jordan had most likely broken her heart, she still cared about him. “Jordan's a lucky man to have such a good friend.” Resisting the ridiculous urge to chuck her under the chin for being so brave, he nodded toward Jordan. “Tell him to call me if he needs anything.”
Ignoring her startled expression, Noah went through the door, closing it behind him. He needed to get back to his office where he could do the most good. Fantasizing about a woman he didn't even know was pointless and certainly not the most productive use of his time. He'd given up his fantasies a long time ago.
Rescue Me: A Novel Page 31