by Jo Davis
She wasn’t so sure she minded. Hell, she was at his place more often than not. Which, if she was honest, was in no way a hardship.
At the compound, she found a close parking spot and rushed inside. Took the elevator to the fourth floor, vibrating with impatience. The second the doors slid open, she sprinted down the corridor to the hospital and pushed inside. As she approached the receptionist, she tried to be calm and polite though she felt anything but.
“Could you tell me where Mr. Ross is waiting? He’s expecting me.”
“Through those doors, dear. He’s in the private waiting room, second door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
She forced herself to slow her steps, to project calm strength despite her fear. If she barged in panicking, that wouldn’t do Michael any good. Pausing outside the door, she took a deep breath and pushed inside.
Michael was sitting in one of the padded vinyl chairs, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. As she approached, her serene facade evaporated.
Michael was crying.
Tears dripped off his chin and his shoulders shook. He was pulled into himself so tightly, as if afraid he’d fly apart. “Michael?”
His head jerked up and it took him a couple of seconds to process that it was her. His face was ravaged, eyes red. Dark stains were drying on his shirt, the knees of his jeans. Blood. He rose, visibly attempting to pull himself together, and then his face crumpled, his arms reaching out.
“Katrina…”
Launching herself into his arms, she enveloped him in her embrace, held on. He clung to her and she stroked his back, rubbing in soothing circles. “Shh, I’m here. Right here, with you.”
She kept talking, mostly nonsense. She’d never been good at this sort of thing — comforting another person in a terrible situation — but this felt right. Natural. Michael was hers, and she wanted more than anything for Bastian to be, as well.
“He was shot and beaten,” Michael said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a sob. “The bullet hit his thigh and he was bleeding out. They’re in there trying to save him.”
God, no. “They will. We have to believe that.”
“Rhodes came out a few minutes ago. They had to restart his heart, give him lots of blood to replace what he lost.”
“He’s strong. He’ll make it.” Please.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Just let me hold you.”
“This must’ve been how he felt. When it was me, in there. And I didn’t understand what he went through until now.” He paused. “Do you think he knows?”
“That you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Deep down, he probably does. But you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”
“I swear I will.” Pulling back a bit, he gazed into her eyes, more serious than she’d ever seen him. Even for Michael. “I love you, too, baby. It’s newer, but it’s there. I want you to know that, because it seems time is so short… ”
“I do know,” she assured him, soul lightening some in spite of the agonizing wait. “I feel it, too.”
“Why have I been so stupid? So stubborn? I’ve wasted all this time, and now he might—”
“No. We’re not going to think the worst,” she said firmly. “Let’s sit down, and I want you to tell me what happened.” Maybe if she got him into agent mode he’d have something to grab onto, be able to pull it together. A scattered, devastated Michael frightened her more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
“That kid, Cory. The one Bastian has been seeing. Dietz got to the kid, fed him a story about how Dietz was FBI and Bastian was a criminal they were after.” Michael gave a bitter laugh. “Can you believe that shit? Our Bastian, a fugitive? But the whelp bought it and agreed to get Bastian to the hotel tonight so the FBI could collar him. Dietz had promised the kid five grand for his cooperation.”
“I’m sure Dietz made it sound legit. He likely even had authentic-looking FBI identification.”
“Probably. Anyway, we kept listening after Bastian said to call off the op. A gut feeling on my part, I guess. We heard Cory get suspicious of the story he’d been fed, and finally confess his role to Bastian. They got out of the motel room, but Dietz’s men arrived. Cory got away and called our private emergency number. Bastian killed one of the two men Dietz sent, but was shot in the thigh. He ran, and Dietz’s main henchman, Tio, pursued. He cornered Bastian, beat the hell out of him, and was about to shoot him in the head when I got there.”
“And you stopped him.”
“I blew the bastard’s fucking brains out.”
“Good,” she said fiercely. “I’m glad.”
He nodded and fell silent, but kept a tight hold of her hand. Relating the story had done the job, giving him the chance to compose himself. She didn’t have to be told how important appearing strong was to a man like Michael. Even if she knew the truth.
He was a kind man with a huge capacity for love. For hurt and grief. He might not want anyone to know, but Katrina did.
And that just made her fall deeper in love with him than ever.
Ten
Almost three hours with no word. Ozzie and Willis had arrived a couple of hours ago, and all three men had finally succumbed to exhaustion and were dozing in their chairs.
Next to Michael, Katrina was listening to his even breathing when McKay walked in and gave her a small smile. “Shall we wake up these guys? I have some news that will put their minds at ease.”
“Thank God,” she said. Turning, she gently shook Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, sweetie? Wake up. Michael?”
He stirred, blinked. “What?”
“Taylor has news.” She nudged Ozzie’s foot with her toe. “Guys, wake up.”
The three men straightened, coming instantly awake when they saw McKay standing there. Michael gripped Katrina’s hand.
“How is he?”
McKay’s gaze swept them all. “Barring any further complications, he’s going to completely recover.” His tone was guarded but optimistic. “He’s critical but stable. I expect to be able to move him out of intensive care tomorrow.”
Collective relief sucked all the tension from the room like a giant vacuum. Now that the main fear was behind them, Katrina imagined they were all like balloons deflating. Terror had been their air, and now there wasn’t much to hold them up, tired as they were.
“Thank Christ,” Michael whispered, running a hand through his hair.
“Bastian was very lucky,” McKay continued. “He was beaten, but sustained no serious internal injuries. He does have a concussion from a blow to his temple, but no sign of swelling on his brain. The nicked femoral artery was the life-threatening injury, and it has been successfully repaired.”
“How long until he’s recovered?” Katrina asked.
“A couple of weeks. He’s going to be sore as hell for a few days and he’ll need to take it easy on that leg, but he’s in great physical condition, which will speed healing.” McKay paused. “My main concern at this point is who will see to his care once I release him. I believe Bastian lives alone.”
“He’ll be coming home with me,” Michael said firmly. “He’ll have all the care he needs.”
“All right. He’ll be on pain meds and antibiotics. I’ll make sure he has plenty of both when he leaves here, which should be in a couple of days.”
Michael stood. “Can we see him?”
“For a few minutes — just two people at a time. He won’t know you’re there, anyway. After that, go home and get some rest. I’m here all night and I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“Doc, thanks for everything.” Michael stuck out his hand and McKay shook it.
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” He nodded at the others. “See you all later.”
After the doctor left, Ozzie spoke up. “Why don’t you two go first?”
Michael didn’t argue, just led Katrina out of the room and down the hallway toward a set of double doors marked INTENSIVE
CARE UNIT. Katrina had never been back there before, and after Bastian was released, she hoped she never had cause to visit again. Especially when they walked into their friend’s cubicle and she got a good look at him.
She didn’t know how it was possible for anyone to be that pale and still have a pulse. The ugly purple knot on the side of his head stood in stark contrast to the surrounding white skin. The bruises hidden by his gown must be just as bad. His breathing was so shallow, his chest barely moved, but at least he was managing on his own.
“God,” Michael rasped, moving to his friend’s side. “He looks…”
“I know. But he’s not.” She went to stand on the other side of the bed and laid a hand on Bastian’s, careful to avoid the IV needle. “He’s going to be fine.”
“He almost died.” His jaw clenched, rage warring with love as he gazed down at Bastian. “I haven’t made good on my promise yet, but I will. I swear I’m going to find that foul piece of shit and I’m going to kill him. Whatever it takes.”
“He knows,” she said softly. “But what he needs most is TLC. I vote we make sure he gets plenty of that.”
Michael raised dark eyes to hers. “I couldn’t agree more.”
A knock interrupted and Ozzie strode inside, a clear plastic bag in hand. “Boss? I’ve got something to show you.” He thrust it at Michael, who took it.
“A motel card key,” he said, peering at the object inside. “From the Rest Right out on I-35.”
“The cleanup crew found that in Tio’s wallet.”
His entire body stiffened and his eyes hardened. “Are we ready to roll?”
“Damned straight. You coming?”
“Try to stop me.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
Michael started out, pausing long enough to give Katrina a quick kiss. “I’ll have Simon send the car for you. You’ll go to my place and stay there, and we’ll worry about your stuff later. I don’t want any more arguments about this.”
“You won’t get any,” she assured him. “I’m stubborn, not stupid.” She wasn’t about to make herself a target for Dietz because of foolish pride.
“I’ll see you at home.”
He walked out with Ozzie and she stared after him, the word “home” making her feel fuzzy and strange, but good. Great, actually. She was about to share her life with two exciting, dynamic men, if Bastian was willing to give it a shot.
She, for one, was going to do her part to convince him.
“Save your strength, handsome,” she told his sleeping form. “With any luck, you’ll need it.”
The cold rage twisting Michael’s insides needed an outlet. One in the shape of a tall, sandy-haired, average-looking man who was really Satan in disguise. For months, he’d done nothing but dream of creative ways to kill Dietz, prolonging the torture indefinitely. In reality, he’d probably have to settle for a method far quicker and less satisfying, but at least the vermin would be out of everyone’s misery.
At the motel, Michael and a handful of agents converged on the room registered to Tio under a false name. Surely they’d catch a break this time.
Michael nodded, motioning to Kelly with his gun. Inside, a light was on, but there was no movement. The two of them positioned themselves on the other side of the door, and Michael held up a hand, starting the count on three. Two. One.
It took two solid kicks to break in the door, and then he was in, Blaze and four more agents trailing right after them. Nothing but an empty room greeted them, bed made, the place neat as a pin. The only evidence that anyone had been there was a white sheet of folded paper lying on top of the cheap desk. Michael stalked over, saw his name printed on the outside, whipped it open, and began to read.
You’re always one step behind, aren’t you, Ross? Did you honestly think I would be politely waiting here when Tio failed to return? I hope he killed your Bastian, and made him suffer before he pulled the trigger. If not, he’ll die yet, screaming in agony — and so will you.
Crushing the paper in his hand, he stood fighting the overwhelming urge to destroy everything in sight. But that wouldn’t help find the bastard, and it wouldn’t make Bastian recover faster.
“Michael?” Blaze ventured.
“It’s a taunt, of course. The one useful thing to glean from it is he doesn’t know for sure whether Tio was successful in killing Bastian, and we’re going to keep it that way. I want a tight lid kept on that information, at least for now.”
Blaze looked thoughtful. “That’s just good common sense.”
“Which means Bastian is going to be bound to the estate for a while, even after he recovers. No going out, period.”
Blaze rolled his eyes. “And he’s going to love that.”
“He doesn’t have a choice.”
After the other men had left the small room, Blaze clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll get him, Michael,” Blaze said with absolute conviction.
“Yes. And when we do? He’s going to regret the day he fucked with me and my family.”
That’s how he viewed Katrina, Bastian, and all his agents, he realized. His family. To love and protect.
God have mercy on you, Robert. Because that’s His job.
Not mine.
Awareness returned by slow degrees.
Strange silence, punctuated by soft beeping. Weird smells.
Then he realized he was a person. Alive. So there should be a body attached to his floating brain, right? He tried to wiggle something. Anything. With no results for the longest time. He wanted to cry out, but his mouth refused to work. Where was everyone? Had he been abandoned?
Or worse… was he dead? Was this the afterlife? Was he doomed to have only a consciousness drifting aimlessly in space, unable to cry out? No. He couldn’t bear that. Give him heaven or hell, but not this nothingness.
“Bastian?”
Frantic, he tried to find the voice. Where are you? he shouted, but just in his mind. Or so he thought.
“Easy. I’m here. You’re okay.”
No, he wasn’t. If he was, he’d be able to—
A touch, just there. On his arm. Arm? And a gentle hand stroking his hair. So good.
The touches seemed to spark his nerve endings, and a tiny thread of light awakened his body from his head to his toes. I’m not dead! God, what’s wrong with me?
With great effort, he concentrated on forming a question. “Wh-what…”
“It’s me, Katrina. You’re at the compound, honey. In the hospital. Do you remember getting shot? Can you open your eyes?”
He worked at opening his eyes. Remembering could come later, when his body was functioning better. His lids were heavy, but after a few moments, he found himself wincing at bright light, squinting to relieve the pain in his head. To focus.
“Head hurts,” he informed her. Was that where he had been shot?
“Oh, sweetie. I’m afraid that’s only the beginning.” A soft hand caressed his face. “Can you see me?”
Clouds of dark red hair swam in his vision. A beautiful face came into focus. A face dominated by worried blue eyes.
“Katrina.”
“Yes.” The blue eyes crinkled in a smile.
“Don’t… remember.”
“You will — don’t worry. You had surgery and you’re on good drugs.”
“Tired.”
“Then sleep. You’re okay now.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
He must’ve slept, because the next thing he knew, he awoke for real, fully aware, with a vague recollection of Katrina being there and talking to him in soothing tones. Had he dreamed her presence out of wishful thinking?
One thing he hadn’t been dreaming, then or now, was the throbbing agony in his head, torso, and thigh. Three spots of pounding misery, shouting the news to the rest of his body that something awful as fuck had happened. Car wreck? Bar brawl?
No, wait. Something about Cory.
He’d been with Cory. In a motel room.
Shot. Bastian had been shot, and ran. What happened? It was all a jumble in his mind.
With great effort, he opened his eyes and waited as his surroundings came into focus. Hospital room. Probably at the compound. His gaze strayed to his bedside, where a familiar man was sprawled in a chair, snoring lightly. Bastian had never beheld a more welcome sight.
“M-Michael.” Jesus, his throat sounded like he’d gargled with asphalt. “Michael?”
Dark lashes fluttered open, and the man’s eyes widened as he bolted upright. “Thank God you’re awake. How do you feel?” His friend scooted his chair closer, laid a hand on Bastian’s arm.
“Chewed up and spit out,” he managed. “Hurts.”
Michael’s expression softened. “I know it does, buddy. I can give you a hit of morphine if you’d like.”
“Please.”
The other man picked up a device and punched a button on it. In seconds, Bastian felt the stuff flow through his veins, wrapping him in a nice layer of cotton. With the receding of the pain, the memories returned.
“Tio,” he gasped. “He was going to kill me.”
“That’s one asshole who won’t hurt anyone ever again,” Michael growled.
“He pointed his gun at me, and I heard a gunshot. I thought I was dead.”
“That was me blowing his head off. And you’re going to be fine.”
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I owe you.”
“Cut that shit out. If I had protected you better, he couldn’t have gotten to you. That’s a mistake I won’t repeat.”
Bastian started to shake his head and instantly regretted the movement. After the bed stopped spinning, he said, “You can’t protect me. You won’t always be around, and—”
“Listen to me. I’m going to do a hell of a lot better job because when McKay springs you, you’re coming home with me.”
“I — what?” He blinked at Michael in confusion.
“I’m moving you to the estate. I’ve already taken the liberty of moving most of your clothes, and the other stuff you can sort later.”