by Cate Beauman
Officer Swift…who wasn’t Officer Swift… He remembered the bullet hole and bloodstains in the waist of the police uniform, and his brain started clicking back into gear. Rushing to sit up, he held his forehead in his hands, waiting for the torturous drumbeat in his skull to subside.
“Shit,” he muttered, slowly gaining is feet, battling waves of nausea as he reached for his phone, but it was gone. “Damn it.” The world spun while he felt around for his missing gun and rubbed absently at the minor discomfort along his side where the taser barbs had impaled him. “Fuck.”
He blinked to clear his hazy vision and ran toward the house, the impact of each jarring step unbearable as he took the stairs in twos, well aware that Reagan was getting further away from him with every second ticking by. It was tempting to abandon protocol and follow her into the woods, but if he wanted her back he needed to play smart. He wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the fact that he was in rough shape and needed help.
Wandering around the living room, he searched for the house phone among the filthy chaos of burnt embers, then climbed the steps to the loft and dialed Chase.
“Yeah?”
“I need backup. Someone knocked me out. They have Reagan.”
“Where the fuck is Swift?”
“Probably dead. The fucker who tased me then clocked me was wearing his uniform. There was a bullet hole in the side of his shirt.”
“Jesus. I’ll call the police. Where’s Reedy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have his number. It’s on my phone. I can’t find it.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Hurry.” He hung up and turned too quickly, catching himself against the arm of the couch before he fell. When the dizzy spell passed, he rushed down the steps and into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the butcher block—not ideal, but it would have to do.
With his weapon in hand, he took off toward the trees, halting mid-step when a gunshot echoed somewhere in the close distance. “Reagan.” He fought to breathe as his world simply stopped. “No. God. No." He jammed a trembling hand through his hair, the shocking pain jarring him back into action, and he walk-ran as fast as his head would allow him to move in the direction of the sickening sound.
Branches snapped and leaves crunched beneath his feet as his breath heaved and he stumbled on, sweating with the effort to hurry. The undergrowth grew thicker with every inch he gained, making his hellish journey all the more challenging. He faltered when he spotted an arm peeking from the tangle of brush and decaying logs, and for one horrific moment he thought Reagan lay on the ground before he realized he’d found Officer Swift.
Crouching, he read Swifty inked into the man’s arm and felt for the almost non-existent pulse, studying the man’s grayish pallor, taking in the extent of his blood loss. “Hang in there, buddy. Hang in there,” he muttered and kept going. Reagan was alive—he needed to believe that. As soon as he found her and got her back, they would deal with the fallen policeman.
He picked up his pace, gaining his bearings when he realized he was heading toward the abandoned hunting cabin. Trudging on for what felt like miles, he finally spotted the edge of the small wooden structure. Ducking down, he cautiously moved closer, needing to figure out if Reagan was even in there. He stood, advancing slowly with his eyes scanning for bear traps and his ears tuned, catching the muffled sounds of a male and female voice the closer he came to the door. He shuddered out a breath, embracing the rush of relief. Reagan was right here, and she was alive.
The door opened suddenly, and Shane hurried back, moving further into the trees.
“Well, goodnight, Doctor Rosner.” The well-built blond man walked down the steps. “Now I’m going to take care of your lover. He’ll have died just minutes before you. Authenticity counts.” He winked and smiled as he pulled on the black gloves he took from his pocket and caught the police-issue Glock someone threw to him.
“Leave him alone!” Reagan screamed, her voice growing muffled when the door closed.
The blond chuckled as he reached for his phone with his free hand, dialed, and put it to his ear. “Willy, it’s Steven. Everything’s been taken care of—or will be after we deal with the bastard in the driveway and the one in Lexington. The x-rays were deleted.”
Shane followed, quickly closing the distance between himself and the man who could only be Doctor Jacobson. He dropped his knife as he tripped on a branch, cursing his less-than-graceful footwork when the asshole turned. Rushing forward, Shane took advantage of the momentary confusion, and knocked the doctor down, sucker-punching him in the face.
“Son of a bitch,” the doctor spat, throwing his own punch, knocking Shane’s head back.
He saw stars with the quick shock of pain against his chin and blinked them from his vision, afraid he would lose his on-top advantage as he fought for the gun Doctor Jacobson tried to point his way. Reagan’s muffled cries for help spurred him on, and he sent his fist forward again, causing a fountain of blood to spew from Doctor Jacobson’s nose. “You fucker,” he grunted out, plowing his hand into his face for the third time, knocking him unconscious.
“You fucker,” he repeated, breathless as he grabbed the gun and gained his feet. He jogged back to the small hunting shelter and wrapped his tender knuckles against the door, moving to the corner as the impersonating officer opened up, wearing a gas mask. “Come here,” Shane said through his teeth, jerking on the man’s arm, forcing him down the stairs while he pressed the Glock into his chest.
“You shoot you kill us all.”
Shane caught the whiff of gas and punched the man in the stomach, fighting off his mask as he moved behind the asshole and hooked his arm tight around the man’s neck, using his bicep to cut off his oxygen supply, sending him to the ground in a heap, well aware that Reagan no longer called for help.
“Reagan!” He hurried up the stairs, coughing as he breathed in the putrid smell of propane, finding Reagan lying on the floor curled in a ball. “Reagan!” He rushed to her side, rolling her to face him. “Reagan.”
She blinked, looking up at him through glassy eyes.
“Come on.” He scooped her up, stumbling his way down the stairs as police cars screeched to a halt in the distance. “Take deep breaths,” he encouraged, walking quickly away from the cabin, knowing it could blow at any second.
She closed her eyes as her head lolled back against his shoulder.
He gave her a shake as the relief of finding her was short lived. “Take deep breaths, Reagan,” he demanded now, struggling not to panic, terrified he was too late after all.
“I need oxygen,” she croaked out as men started hollering in the woods.
“I know. Let’s get you out of here.” He looked up quickly, almost falling, consumed by another wave of dizziness as Detective Reedy ran their way.
“Jesus Christ. What the hell’s going on around here?”
“Where the fuck have you been?” Shane demanded as he continued down the path.
“I had a blowout. I tried calling you, but no one answered.”
“I was busy being unconscious.”
“Reedy!” someone hollered.
“Over here,” Reedy yelled with his hands cupped around his mouth.
“Officer Swift,” Reagan murmured. “He needs help.”
“You missed Officer Swift.”
Reedy shook his head. “They found him. They’re carrying him out now—ambulance is on the way.”
Reagan coughed, resting heavy against Shane’s shoulder.
“Your perps are bleeding back by the old hunting place, but we need the oxygen in the clinic now. She’s barely conscious.”
“Where are the keys?”
“I don’t know. By the Pajero probably.”
Reedy ran to the SUV, stopping quickly, gesturing to two officers standing at the edge of the woods before he picked up the keys by the back right tire and rushed inside the clinic. Moments later he appeared with a small oxygen tank.
“Full
stream,” Reagan said as Reedy secured the mask on her face
“Keep your eyes open, Reagan,” Shane murmured softly.
“Let me breathe first,” she muffled through the plastic covering her mouth, taking slow deep breaths.
She was still struggling. Who knew exactly how long she’d been trapped in the fumes? “I don’t want to wait for the ambulance,” Shane said.
“I’ll be okay.” She opened her eyes. “I didn’t pass out.”
“You were just about gone when I got there.”
Reedy opened the back door to his car. “Get in. I’ll get you to the hospital.” He radioed in as Shane settled them in, and they rushed down the road with sirens blaring, passing the ambulance coming up on the way.
Shane clutched Reagan close with hands not quite steady, kissing her temple, realizing how close he’d come to losing the love of his life. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” She touched his face. “You’re concussed.”
His head screamed, and he could easily vomit from the pain, but none of that mattered. “I’m fine.”
Forty long minutes later, they arrived at the hospital with two gurneys waiting. “I’m not going anywhere until I know how she is,” Shane said as he lifted Reagan from the backseat and laid her on the bed.
She lifted her mask. “Go get your head scanned, Shane.”
“I don’t—”
“Go.”
Her demand gave him little room to argue. “Okay.” He hopped on the gurney, letting the team of doctors and nurses wheel him away, when all he wanted was to stay with Reagan.
~~~~
Shane’s nurse pushed his wheelchair toward Reagan’s room—far too slowly, in his opinion. Tapping impatient fingers against the armrest—in time with his still throbbing head—he counted off the doors.
“Hold your horses, Mr. Harper. We’re just about there.”
“Great. Thanks,” he added, tossing her a quick smile, realizing his response came out more tersely than he meant. “I appreciate all your help, Trina. Really.”
Her eyebrows shot up on her pretty ebony face as she pressed her lips firm, answering him with an, “Mmhm.”
“Give a guy a break here. I need to get to Doc. She’s my one true love.”
Shaking her head, she grinned. “You’ve been a pain in my butt today, Mr. Harper, but you’ve got charm—more than any one man has a right to.”
He chuckled. “Thanks.”
“That wasn’t necessarily a compliment.”
He tossed her a pained look. “Aw, Trina, don’t go and hurt my feelings.”
She let loose a goose-like honk of a laugh. “Too much charm indeed.”
He and Trina had more than one go-around throughout the evening. First she’d snatched the phone away from him in the radiology department. He and Chase had been mid-conversation when she took the receiver, slamming it down in its base while scolding him for helping himself to hospital property without permission when she was trying to get him ready for his tests. Then they’d exchanged words when he insisted he’d waited long enough to see Reagan and could walk himself down the hall to check on her, but Shane quickly realized Trina held the power here at St. Christopher’s Medical Center when she told him to sit his handsome butt in the wheelchair so she could keep her job or she would have the doctor mark his charts and keep him bedridden for the next twenty-four hours.
“Your lady certainly has her hands full with you.”
“She loves it,” he said as he turned in his chair again.
“I imagine she just might.”
They passed another door and one more before they finally stopped. “See? Here we are.”
“Let’s go in.”
“What ever happened to knocking?”
Clenching his jaw, he gave a quick rap with tender knuckles against the wood and rolled himself forward, not interested in the formalities of being polite. He’d waited—not so patiently—for at least two hours to see Reagan. Despite several reassurances from the medical team that Reagan was fine, he needed to get a look for himself.
“Let me help you, Mr. Harper.” Trina guided him through the doorway.
“Hey,” Reagan’s face lit up as she set down her magazine. “There you are.”
He smiled, relieved all over again. Here she was, safe. “Hi.”
“Look at you,” her voice dripped with sympathy, and her eyes softened as she sat up and reached out her hand to him. “You’re in worse shape than I am.”
“That’s okay.” He grabbed hold of her warm fingers when Trina rolled him to her bedside. Kissing her knuckles and wrist, he studied Reagan’s coloring, which appeared as flawless and gorgeous as usual. He relaxed further, noting the typical sparkle in her pretty blue eyes instead of the terrifying listlessness he’d observed when he picked her up off the nasty wooden floor. “You’re good? You’re going to be all right?”
She nodded.
“I tried telling him, but he’s been heck-bent on seeing for himself.” Trina patted Shane’s shoulder. “You’ve got yourself a fine man, Doctor Rosner.”
Reagan smiled. “Yes I do.”
“I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Thank you, Trina. Seriously.”
“You got it, ace.” His ball-busting nurse winked. “I’ll be in to check on you two a little later,” she said as she left.
He held Reagan’s hand tighter, pressing more kisses to her skin as the door closed. “How are you?”
“Good. Really good, actually. Getting me out into the fresh air and giving me the oxygen at the clinic made a huge difference. I have very low levels of CO2 in my blood.”
He nuzzled her knuckles against his cheek, unable to stop touching her. If he’d been a minute or two later, he would’ve lost her. “What about a hyperbaric chamber? Maybe—”
She smiled. “I don’t need that. They’re going to keep me on oxygen for awhile longer,” She pointed to the tubes pushing air into her nose, “and keep an eye on me overnight.”
He stared into her eyes, flashing back to the image of her lying limp and curled up in a ball—as he had too many times to count. “God, I feel sick.”
She touched his cheek. “That’s your concussion.”
“No.” He shook his head, holding her gaze.
“Come here.” She patted her bed. “Come lay down with me.”
He stood, bracing the rail, still slightly dizzy, and got in bed with her, dressed in an identical johnny. “We need to do something about these outfits.”
She grinned. “You look cute.”
“Chase said he would bring us clothes.”
“I wouldn’t mind real pajamas.” She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his neck and jaw. “How’s your head?”
“Fine.”
She tilted her head with her brows raised. “How’s your head, Shane?”
He sighed, resting against the pillow. “It hurts like hell. Trina gave me something, so the pounding is finally down to a dull roar.”
“I’m sorry he hit you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”
He read the regret in her eyes. “Everything worked out.”
“Yes. We’re both going to be okay.” She tilted his head closer, inspecting. “The doctor told me you have a mild concussion. He also said you were a pain in the butt in radiology.”
“Bull.” Chuckling, he wrapped her up tight, needing her. “Okay, I might’ve helped myself to the phone, and I may have suggested that they were taking too long.” He stared into her eyes, stroking her cheek. “I needed to see you. I couldn’t be away from you for one more minute, Reagan.”
“I’m right here.”
“Thank God.” He gently pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank God.”
She took his hand, holding his palm to her cheek, and kissed him. “We’re all right,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“What did Chase say before your nurse took the phone away?”
He winced. “You heard about that too, huh?”
>
“I heard about all sorts of things.” She batted her lashes.
He grinned. “I still have a job to do,” he justified.
Sighing, she shook her head. “What did Chase say?”
“That Officer Swift is in critical care. They life-flighted him up to Lexington. They’re hoping he’ll pull through.”
“The colder temperatures probably saved his life.”
“Detective Reedy told Chase they have Jacobson and his brother in custody, and they’re actively investigating the McPhee’s. Reedy’s really damn excited about all of the information Chase sent his way. If there’s any justice in this world they’ll all go down for a long, long time.”
“And hopefully the people in The Gap will finally get some help.”
The doctor came in. “Mr. Harper, what are you doing in here?”
“I’m not leaving,” he said. “How’s Reagan?”
“She’s fine.” He turned his attention to Reagan, patting her arm. “We’re going to check your levels again in a couple hours, Doctor Rosner, but at this point I’m very happy with the results of the last blood draw. I have no reason to believe there has been any damage to your organs. Your CO2 saturations are extremely low considering the amount of time you believe you spent in such a small space.”
“See? Everything’s okay,” she said quietly, bumping his arm with hers.
He could hear Reagan and Doctor Holmes’ reassurances a thousand times, and would still want to hear them a thousand more. He nodded. “When do we get to go home?”
“I’ll be releasing you and Doctor Rosner tomorrow as long as you have a good night, but plane rides will have to wait forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
Shane steamed out a quiet breath with the news.
“I’ll order another blood draw, Doctor Rosner, and assess you both further in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
There was a quiet knock at the door, and Jenny walked in with Faith and Chase. “Is it okay if we come in?”