Daria sucked in a breath. Feigned surprise. “What?”
“That Gilford woman. She wasn’t one of mine. She’s not my type. Not my type at all—looked nothing like her.”
They took him away then, leaving Daria staring at the swinging doors as they closed.
She’d been right.
* * *
Her mind was still spinning as she sat at Stefan’s bedside. He looked much better already, and she silently thanked whoever the blood donors were. She knew his FBI brethren had lined up to donate when word had gotten out he’d been shot, and she was pleased when they’d told her several of her own department had been there for him, as well. And those who weren’t a match for him would help others. A lot of others, it seemed, since his wound wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared.
He appeared to be asleep, and she completely understood. She felt exhausted herself. They had both been running on adrenaline for so long that the crash couldn’t help but be long and ugly. That was the one good thing that had come out of him being shot; he was resting whether he wanted to or not.
Now, if she could just turn off her own brain for a while...
She had told Trey what Shruggs had said about Sabrina Gilford and her not being his type. He’d told her not to worry about it right now, that she and Stefan had both earned a break and he expected them to take it. But she couldn’t quite let go of it. Had Shruggs been telling the truth? It wasn’t quite a deathbed confession—and almost sadly, it hadn’t been his deathbed, he’d survived the surgery. But still, was he likely to lie knowing it could be the last chance he’d have? So many serial killers were proud of their work and almost gloried in bragging about it once they were caught. Was Shruggs one of those? She knew some of them were scrupulous about their kills, wanted credit for those they’d done and wouldn’t take it for those they hadn’t.
Problem was she didn’t know enough about a serial killer’s mind-set. She’d never expected to be entangled in a case like this, not here in Roaring Springs, where an out-of-control party or thefts from some upscale store were usually about the worst things they encountered. This was why Trey, no fool who refused to admit when something was outside his experience, had called in the FBI.
And Stefan.
She looked at him again, so relieved he was going to be all right. The depth and power of her relief was undeniable, and that in turn told her a great deal about what she’d come to feel about this man. He was—
“He’s responding very well.” Her head snapped around, and she saw the same doctor who had examined him initially, a petite brunette with a scattering of small freckles over her nose, standing there smiling. She rose to her feet as the woman finished with, “He won’t be here long.”
Daria smiled. “Thank you. So much.”
“Thank him,” the doctor said with a grin. “He’s a very strong guy.”
“Yes. He is.”
“Taken?” she asked with an arched brow.
“Oh yes,” Daria said fervently. “Very.”
“I thought so. He was worried that you would worry,” the doctor murmured, and winked at Daria as she added, “Hang on to that one, girl.”
Daria was smiling as she turned to sit back down. And saw Stefan awake and looking at her. He was smiling, too.
“Very taken, huh?”
“Yes,” she replied firmly. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Not likely,” he said, and what she saw in his eyes warmed her down to her very soul.
“How do you feel?”
“Not sure,” he admitted. “They give me something to put me out?”
“I’d think the last three months would have done that. And in case you forgot, you were shot.”
He scoffed. “Barely more than a gouge. Only missed being a graze by a half inch.”
She rolled her eyes. He grinned. And her world seemed to right itself. She gave him a quick update on things, purposely lowering her voice when she saw his eyelids start to close. He drifted off again soon after that, but Daria clung to what the doctor had said, that he wouldn’t be here long. Of course what was long to the doc might not be what was long to Daria, which would be anything longer than him getting out right now. She wanted him out of here and where she could look after him. And Sam, he’d be worried—
Sam.
Her eyes widened as she looked at her watch.
Sam would be getting out of school in half an hour. Mrs. Crane would be there to pick him up as usual, but... Trey had gone to deal with the media. So it was already out there, no doubt.
She grabbed her phone and checked a couple of news feeds. Oh, it was out there, all right. Not that she was surprised. In a place as on edge as Roaring Springs had been, you didn’t roll out vans and SUVs full of agents and deputies—and three ambulances—without it spreading like wildfire. And these days the theories were running amok on social media even before the people on scene had a full handle on what was happening.
She looked a little further, and there it was—the rumor that an agent had been shot at the scene. Would Mrs. Crane be aware enough to keep that from Sam until the boy knew his father was all right? She found Trey’s initial brief statement, which said only that the victim had been rescued alive and an agent had been injured in the process but his injuries were not life-threatening. The suspect, he had ended with no small satisfaction, had been shot but was alive and in custody.
It hit her suddenly, really for the first time. Past tense. She’d been so worried about Stefan, and grimly focused on making sure Shruggs was wrapped up tight, she hadn’t really let her mind run to the bigger picture. That the Avalanche Killer case was over. Oh, there was a quagmire of things yet to come—reports and eventually a huge, public trial—but the twisted, psychotic man who was Curtis Shruggs was finished.
With a burst of energy she stood, found a piece of paper in her bag and scribbled a quick note, and tucked it into Stefan’s fingers. To make sure, she found the floor nurse and asked her to tell him, if he woke again before she got back, where she’d gone.
And then she left to pick up the child who had come to mean almost as much to her as his father.
Chapter 30
Stefan heard the nurse’s quiet voice from just outside the room he was already tired of looking at. He glanced toward the door, glad he had convinced that nurse to raise the head of the bed so he could see. Okay, maybe he’d demanded. A little. But she had remained calm, only smiling and saying she was always glad to see fighting spirit in her patients. Especially those who had taken down a monster in their midst.
“That was Dar—Deputy Bloom,” he’d said. “She did it.”
That had earned him an even larger smile. “And I like even more those scrupulous enough to give credit where it’s due.”
The door was pulled back, and he smiled himself the instant he saw it was Daria. But it froze when he saw she wasn’t alone.
Sam.
What the hell? Why had she brought him here? He didn’t want his son, his little boy, seeing him like this, wounded and in a hospital bed.
Sam was staring at him, wide-eyed. “See?” Daria bent to whisper to him. “I told you he was all right.”
To his shock, Sam ran across the room toward him. Setting aside his anger, he held out a hand to the child. “Some people said you were dead.”
He went very still, focused only on the feel of his son’s small hand in his. Daria had been right. He hadn’t thought that even at his age, Sam would have heard what had to be huge news all over town. “They were wrong.”
“Daria told me they were. So I didn’t worry anymore.”
Sam had been worried? About him?
He lifted his gaze to her then. “I understand,” she said softly. “But he needed to know. To see for himself.” And as if she’d also understood his thoughts, she added, “He was very worried.”
He wondered if the boy was actually worried about him or about what would happen to Sam himself if the worst had been true. Decided at the moment it didn’t matter. Especially when Daria picked Sam up and sat him on the edge of the hospital bed, and the boy plopped down beside him. As if he felt that was where he should be, beside his father.
“You can’t protect him from everything,” Daria said. “However much you want to. He needs to know this kind of thing might happen.”
Something in her voice made his brow furrow. “You say that as if from experience.”
She nodded. “I—” She hesitated, then went ahead. “Yes. My father, my adoptive father, was a big believer in knowing what you were facing. He made sure we all did, and I think we were the better for it.”
As he had before, when he helped her discover the sad fate of Ava Bloom, he wondered what it would be like not to know. His parents had been the rock of his life, the reason he was where he was instead of in trouble somewhere. He knew she loved her adoptive family, but it still had to make her wonder who the man was who had abandoned both her and her mother to their fates.
“They didn’t give you any trouble at the school, did they?” he asked, glancing at Sam, who was now studying the IV pump with interest. “Picking him up, I mean?”
“No.” Her expression was half smile, half grimace. “My face is apparently more known than I would prefer.”
“You are...memorable.”
“Only because I’ve had to talk to the media so much.”
“No. Not only that. It’s also because you’re so beautiful.”
He felt an inward burst of pleasure at the faint color he could see rising in her cheeks. Liked that he could see it, for it helped him know what she was thinking.
He looked back at his son, who was leaning over to look at where the tubes came out of the pump. “Wondering how it works?”
Sam nodded. “It puts blood in, right?”
“How’d you know that?” he asked.
“I saw it in a video. Only, it was about a hurt cat.”
“Same principle.”
Sam looked up then. “What’s that mean?”
“It means it’s the same idea as the cat one, just for people.”
“Oh.” Sam went back to studying the piece of equipment, leaving Stefan marveling at how much their relationship had changed. He shifted his gaze to the big reason for that change. Daria. “They told me just now you might get out of here tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And how hard did you push to get them to say that?”
She, apparently, needed no help at all in knowing what he was thinking. “Maybe a little,” he grudgingly admitted.
“If they do let you...escape, you’ll need some help for a few days. At least until your folks get here.”
He grimaced. Glanced at his boy. Knew she was right.
Suddenly Sam smiled at him. “Daria says we could go home with her tomorrow. Can we, Dad?”
His breath caught. “You’d like that?”
Sam nodded energetically. “I wanna see her house an’ her yard an’ her tree house.”
His gaze shot to her face. She smiled. “It might be easier. And Sam would have...more room to run and play.”
And get tired. He read it as clearly as if she’d said it. And he had to admit she had a point. And he also had to admit, the idea of being under the same roof as Daria was immensely appealing.
Unless, of course, she was looking at him as an invalid. His side might be hurting a bit more than he’d let on, but he wasn’t about to let it slow him down. Much.
“You’re not going to fuss over me, are you?” he asked warily.
She reached out and touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. And for that moment, he didn’t feel anything except that jolt of warmth.
“Maybe just a little,” she said softly.
And suddenly his entire outlook about it changed. Because, to his astonishment, he found himself liking the idea of Daria fussing over him. Taking care of him. Worrying about him. As his son had been worried, something he’d not dared hope for.
Once you’ve had that, son, that feeling of knowing you have someone who loves you enough to worry about you, to want to take care of you, and you her, then you’ll know just how important it is.
His father’s words, dismissed lightly in his know-it-all years, as his mother had called them, came back to him now with the fierce smack of truth. Because were it Daria who had been hurt, he would want to do exactly that. And how strongly pain and fear bubbled in him at the very thought of her hurt was like a flashing light in his mind. At one time, he might have wondered if that light was flashing green or red, but now he had no doubts. For him, it was full speed ahead.
* * *
“You’re here for our star patient?” At Daria’s nod, the nurse gave an amused rolling-eyes glance at the ceiling. “Good. He’s been up pacing all morning. Night shift said he was up and down all night, too.”
“He must be feeling better, then.”
“He needs to get out of here.”
Daria smiled. If Stefan was feeling as well as he had said he was when she spoke to him this morning, he was pretty restless. He was not a man to be kept caged for long.
“Driving you crazy?”
“Himself, mostly,” the man admitted. “I’ll check on the paperwork. Should be almost done. He is a VIP, after all.”
With a grin she returned, he turned on his heel and headed toward the nursing station.
She turned to head for Stefan’s room with the small bag she’d brought. He’d given her his keys—apparently without a second thought—and she’d gone to his place to pack some things for him and Sam. The boy had, excitedly, given her a list, which she had fulfilled, but for Stefan she hadn’t asked; she simply made sure she’d brought things he’d be comfortable in, since she had every intention of keeping him inside for the duration. And had to remind herself he would be recuperating to quash the images that thought brought on.
She had felt a little qualm as she’d decided how much to pack for him, and ended up calculating the days until his parents arrived. She supposed his mother would want to take over—he’d called them last night, he’d told her, so they wouldn’t see one of the more fallacious news reports and assume the worst—and she could hardly protest. Especially when she hadn’t even met them.
Yet.
Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe by then Stefan would be back home, and her life would go back to normal. Normal being full of work, reading, knitting and gardening come spring. What had once been a much-longed-for peace and quiet suddenly seemed empty and endless.
She shook off the image of a rather dull future and headed for his room. She’d brought him the shaving items Sam had pointed out that he used every day, and clean clothes. Including a pair of knit boxers that she had to stuff hurriedly in the bag before her pulse kicked up too much as an image of him clad in them—and her peeling them off him—shot through her mind.
It was a new experience for her. She’d had relationships but too often she’d found out the man knew of her connection to the most famous Coltons and was after a connection of his own—but never, ever had she had to fight so hard to keep from thinking about a man every minute of the day. And while common sense might tell her that was because they’d been together so much and that it would change now, her heart—and apparently her body—felt differently.
When she stepped into Stefan’s room, she saw he was already up and pacing. She’d told him she would bring fresh clothes, since his shirt was unsalvageable, and in her opinion the rest—except his shoes—was, too; she wanted none of those bloodstained items around as reminders that it could have been so much worse.
Normally the sight of someone in the usual floppy hospital gown was either sad or amusing. She was neither sad nor amused now, though, becaus
e nothing could detract from the sheer masculinity and power of this man.
Suddenly nervous, she set the bag down on the bed. “I brought your clothes and shaving gear if you want it.”
“I might.” He was looking at her intently.
“Sam told me what you used in the mornings, so that’s what I brought.”
That seemed to startle him. “Sam told you?”
She nodded. “I think he’s watching you much more than you think. And that’s good. He wants to know about his father, even if he hasn’t realized it yet.”
He looked a bit disconcerted at that, and her nerves eased a little. Doing something as personal as packing underwear for him had unsettled her, which was silly, considering.
“I’ll just wait outside so you can get dressed,” she said, groaning inwardly when she realized she sounded flustered.
He’d picked up the jeans she’d brought, but his gaze snapped back to her face.
“A bit late for modesty, wouldn’t you say?”
She grabbed at the remnants of her poise. “Maybe I’m just afraid I won’t be able to resist your gorgeousness,” she managed to say in a teasing tone.
That grin, that killer grin that had been so rare in the beginning that she’d savored every instance, flashed at her.
“Oh, I hope not,” he rasped.
She felt heat flood her cheeks. “You’re going to be convalescing.”
“So you’ll have to do all the work.”
He was still grinning, damn him. The heat that had begun to recede rose anew. And flared when he nonchalantly dropped the hospital gown to get dressed. When he caught her watching him, that grin flashed yet again.
“Want to help me...tuck things in?”
“Not if you want to get out of here in time to pick Sam up from school,” she managed, although the images his teasing brought on nearly derailed her self-control.
“Oh, well,” he said in exaggerated disappointment. “I’d rather you untuck them anyway.”
By the time he was dressed—without needing help, she noted, his innate strength and fitness helping him rebound more quickly than she would have ever guessed—she was grateful for the arrival of the nurse to tell them his discharge papers were ready.
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