This was getting out of hand.
Patrick’s eyes drifted open as the feel of El disappeared. He pulled out his phone and earbuds, clicking on a playlist that Millie made for him, hoping to keep his dreams at bay. He kept reminding himself why he was doing this, why he was making this trip—it was all to protect her. It was either El or Jamie. Jamie had made that clear. He’d tried to kill her before and now he was here to finish the job.
Patrick dropped into his chair behind his desk; he’d been at the shooting range this morning with a bunch of the guys.
“Greer!” he heard Kevin call him from his supervisor’s office.
Patrick didn’t even get a chance to check his email before he got up and walked into Agent Spring’s office.
“What’s up?” Patrick asked.
Kevin was sitting behind his desk, his two fingers on the bridge of his nose.
“Kevin?”
“Sit down.”
“What’s going on?” Patrick asked again, getting a little nervous.
“There’s been a terrorist attack. We’re sending people out to Montana now.”
Patrick blinked.
“There was a bomb detonated at 10:15 eastern time this morning. From what we know now, there are causalities and injuries. That’s all we’re getting so far. We’ve sent an additional team.”
El. His insides seized at the thought. He wouldn’t allow himself to think she was a casualty.
“Send me,” Patrick blurted.
El.
“We’ve already sent the team, Greer. Your roommate is one of the...” he cleared his throat, “bodies.”
“She’s dead,” Patrick stated.
“I don’t know for sure, but her name was mentioned when they were talking about individuals present.”
He couldn’t breathe. Kevin was talking, but Patrick couldn’t hear anything, just a rushing in his ears. He looked out the window of Kevin’s office. She wasn’t dead; he’d know if she was dead. He’d feel it because she was in his bones. He still felt her, right?
“Greer.”
“Sir?” His thoughts snapped to the present.
“You’re on administrative leave until we figure out what’s happened. With pay, of course. Hopefully, we’ll know something in a few hours. Go home. We’ll keep you updated.”
Patrick stayed seated. “Sir. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Get out of here. I promise I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I know anything.”
“Don’t send me home to think! Let me help!”
“Nope. Go home.” Kevin stood up, signaling the meeting was over. “I’ll keep in touch.”
Patrick sat for another minute before he got up, nodded his head, and walked to the elevator. His hands shook as he called El on the way. It went straight to voicemail. He texted her.
You okay
It took three separate attempts to get those two words typed on his phone. Please be okay. She didn’t respond.
Patrick felt anesthetized, his limbs heavy and numb, while he rode the elevator down to the parking garage. He started his Audi. When he blinked, he was parked in front of Finnegan’s. He sat in his car and stared out his windshield. Millie, he should call Millie.
He punched her name.
“Babe?” she answered her phone.
“Um,” he mumbled, not sure where to start.
“Patrick? What’s going on?” Millie’s voice rang through the quiet car.
Patrick heard a hitch of concern in her voice.
“Have you watched the news?”
“No. I’ve been watching a webinar about education law. Why? You okay?”
“There was a terrorist attack in Montana.”
The sound he heard through the phone reverberated through is chest. It was the same noise he was making on the inside.
“I don’t know anything yet. She may be okay.”
“Please, no,” Millie whispered.
“I don’t know anything.” His voice was low, not wanting to say anything out loud, like that would somehow seal her fate.
“Patrick...” Millie dropped her phone.
“Mil?” Patrick sat up straight in his car. “Millie!?” he yelled. The call disconnected.
He hit his steering wheel hard. Patrick texted her again.
El please let me know you’re okay
Another text.
Please
He knew she was pissed at him, but she’d respond if she was okay, he knew it. She had to know that he would be freaking out. She’d told him she hated him and he saw it in her eyes. Hate and rage at his deception filled her eyes when she’d looked at him before she left for Montana two days ago. When she told him she hated him, she really meant it. When she’d picked George over him, he’d lost a piece of himself the piece that she didn’t even know she held in her hands. He took a deep breath and opened his car door, walking into Finnegan’s. Patrick walked through the front door, examining his phone, sending a text to Kevin to keep him updated and then to Millie to text El. He heard his name called before he looked up into George’s eyes.
“What’s going on?” George asked from behind the bar.
“Okay, don’t freak out...” Patrick put his phone in his back pocket. His voice didn’t even sound like his own. He said those words without thinking about them, because his brain was full of chaos and he didn’t have complete thoughts. At the core of it all, he was trying to feel her, feel that she was okay.
“Not a good start,” George retorted with a smirk.
“There was an incident in Montana, at the field office.” Patrick looked down at his hands, unable to look at George. He was hoping that George just talked to El.
“What do you mean, ‘an incident’?” George asked, his face going white.
Patrick’s hopes deflated like a 10-day-old balloon. “Well, there was an explosion,” Patrick began.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” George yelled at him from behind the bar, confusion all over his face.
Patrick assessed their surroundings. “Is there somewhere we can go and you can sit down?”
George shook his head and looked around, as if he’d forgotten they were having this conversation in public. “Okay,” he said, his voice detached. He walked toward the office and motioned for Patrick to follow him. “I’ll be right back, Hazel.”
George sat down behind the small desk and Patrick practically fell into the seat across from him.
“The field office where El was working was bombed,” he said softly. “There’ve been reports of casualties and injuries, but no names yet.”
George’s eyes were looking at Patrick, but he couldn’t tell if George understood what he’d just said.
“Wait...” George ran his hands through his hair. “I honestly can’t even understand what you’re trying to tell me right now. So you’re telling me that El is either hurt or dead?” George turned from side to side in his office chair.
Patrick nodded once. “She may be okay, but I haven’t heard from her and I’ve texted her seven times. Have you heard from her today?” he asked, hoping George would tell him she was fine.
A look of relief washed over George. “Yes. She texted me this morning at...” George pulled out his phone and looked at the time, “at 9:00 am.”
Patrick’s relief dissipated. “That’s 7:00 am in Montana. The attack happened around 10:00 our time. Text her and see if she responds.”
George was still, his face drained of any color. Patrick blew out a breath.
“Look, George, I wouldn’t have come here, but I knew if anyone had heard from her, it would be you. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but...”
George texted, slamming his shaking finger down on the SEND button. They stared at the phone. Patrick willed it to make some sort of noise, any noise, to convince himself that she was alive.
Nothing.
“Shit,” Patrick muttered and got up. He felt pin pricks of heat travel up and down his body. “George, pl
ease let me know if you hear from her and I’ll keep you updated from my end.”
Patrick made sure he had George’s number and looked at him levelly, meeting the other man’s scared eyes, the eyes that today mirrored his own. Neither one wanted to say what they were really thinking, that they may have both lost her. “Please.” Patrick’s voice cracked.
George nodded and Patrick left his office. He walked through the bar in a haze and out to his car. He called Billy, but he’d been watching the news. They still weren’t releasing any names. He made the hardest call he’d ever made and called Frank.
“P, what’s up man?” Frank answered cheerfully. It was mid-morning so unless you were on the internet, you wouldn’t know that there’d been an incident in Montana.
“Frank.” He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe.
“Patrick?” Frank’s voice was clipped. “Is it Stella? Is she okay?”
“No,” Patrick forced himself to say.
“No?”
“Turn on the news or pull it up on your computer, Frank. There was a terrorist attack at the FBI field office in Montana.”
Silence.
“Frank, no one has heard from her. We don’t know anything.”
“What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know anything?!” Frank yelled into the phone. “How the fuck am I supposed to tell her mother that you called and Stella was in a bombing and we don’t know anything?!”
“Frank,” Patrick kept his voice calm as he could while addressing the father figure in his life, “I wanted you to know as soon as possible. I’m hoping to hear something soon. I plan on heading there as soon as possible.”
“Is this even real?” Frank asked rhetorically.
Patrick took a deep breath; he couldn’t even believe this was happening himself.
“Patrick?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I love you,” Frank said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please call me with anything you know. I’m headed home to tell Miranda now.”
“I love you too, Frank.” Patrick disconnected.
Difficult memories filled his sleep. He willed them to stop. These were memories he’d worked to forget, to place somewhere in a box next to the memories of his brother being shot and his dad leaving. Images and thoughts that made him so desperate and full of despair that he refused to acknowledge he had them. He’d been able to keep the emotions and need for El from bubbling to the surface when she lived with him and she was seeing George. Millie filled the void in his bed, but couldn’t stop the ache in his heart. He’d denied that ache, ignored it and wished it would go away, but it remained, lingering. When she was shot, hating him, everything changed. The wall he’d carefully constructed around his heart fell from the blast that was the realization she may never be coming home. He remembered feeling utterly helpless and shattered by that simple fact. He remembered thinking she might be dead because he stopped feeling her that day.
He realized he couldn’t breathe without her.
Kevin texted Patrick about an hour after he left Finnegan’s. El was alive…for now… barely. She was in surgery in Montana. Billy and Millie had both come home so they all could be together.
Patrick looked up from his phone. He didn’t know how to tell them the news. He didn’t want to allow himself too much hope. Kevin certainly didn’t give him too much hope with his text.
He cleared his throat. “So El’s in surgery.”
Millie gasped and started sobbing. “She’s alive,” she choked out.
Billy nodded without a word.
“Kevin’s text says she’s alive, for now,” Patrick confirmed.
“Fuck,” Billy said, shaking his head.
“I’m going out there.” Patrick pulled up the internet and got a flight out to Montana later that night. “Millie, do you want to go?”
“I...I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
Patrick and Billy both looked at her in confusion.
“She may die.” Millie began crying again.
Patrick moved from his seat to where she was sitting on the couch. “She’s tough, Mil.”
“I know,” she choked out, massive tears falling from her fearful eyes. “But, this is…” She never finished, her sobs took over and she couldn’t speak.
Billy silently got up and went to his room.
Patrick wrapped his arms around her and smoothed her hair back. “I leave in a few hours. I’ll tell her you love her, okay?” He kissed her forehead as he got up and headed into their room to start packing an overnight bag.
He pulled out his phone and texted George and Frank, then sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. Millie closed the door behind her and wrapped her arms around him. His face pressed into her stomach, but he refused to cry. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours.
Patrick’s steps echoed through the hospital as he made his way to El’s room. He didn’t even remember the flight. Patrick couldn’t believe that she may not wake up and the last thing she’d said to him was that she hated him. She didn’t even give him a chance to explain. All these years he’d wondered if she’d ever find out and what he’d say to her and yet he couldn’t find the words to combat her anger, her utter devastation that he’d lied to her for so long. He’d make it up to her. He had to.
He walked up to the information desk. “I’m here to see Stella Murphy, please.”
The woman didn’t even look up. “Not going to happen.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick asked.
“No one gets back there.”
Patrick cleared his throat. He obviously didn’t think about this part of the plan to see her. She was probably still in surgery or something. He pulled his badge out of his back pocket, thankful he brought it.
“I need to see her as soon as she’s out of surgery.” His voice was authoritative.
The middle-aged nurse sharing the desk with three others finally looked up from her computer and examined the badge. Her eyes softened. She nodded. “She’s still in surgery and won’t be out for about another hour. You can stay here and wait or you can head up to the fifth floor waiting room.”
The lobby was swarming with press, so Patrick thanked the woman and made his way to the elevators. A police officer was standing at the elevator bank on the fifth floor.
He held his hand up to stop Patrick as he exited the elevator. “Sir, you can’t be on this floor.”
Patrick flashed his badge and looked both ways down the hall. “Where is everyone?” he asked the cop.
“Down the hall and to the right.” The cop pointed to Patrick’s left.
Patrick walked that way, flooded with anxiety. He stopped when he reached the waiting room; he stood at the entrance and listened.
“It looks like she survived the bombing, but she was shot. Everyone else died in the blast,” a male voice said.
The words settled on his skin and pierced his heart. Shot. Holy fuck. She survived the bomb, but then she was shot. His brain pounded, rejecting the notion that she’d escaped the bomb to look down the barrel of a gun. She must’ve been terrified.
“Three casualties. It would’ve been more, but there was a three-person team that was in the field instead of the office this morning,” a female voice commented.
“Well, they said she’ll probably die on the table,” the male said.
“Any idea about suspects?” a different male voice asked.
“Well, Harris says that the first group he’s going to look into is the operation that was ongoing with the ATF. But no, no serious suspects. There are no witnesses and if the girl dies then we’re done for.”
“Shit,” he heard the female say.
Pieces of him were breaking off and dropping to the floor. He heard them clattering on the linoleum. Patrick wasn’t sure if he’d be able to pick up the pieces and fit them back together. His breathing slowed and he slid down the wall, his legs splayed out in front of him, leaning his head back against it. All of a sudden he was too hot and everyt
hing was too loud.
Patrick woke briefly when the woman next to him had to get past him to use the restroom. He knew why he was dreaming of Jamie. He was plotting to murder him; it was his mind telling him he couldn’t do it. The toll on his conscience would be detrimental to his sanity, he knew that much. He’d always thought of himself as someone who followed the rules and did the right thing; that is, until he told El that Jamie died. That started a chain of events that spiraled into chaos and he wanted to make it right for her. He needed to make it right for her. The ATF wasn’t going to let anything happen to Jamie. That became clear immediately when he’d shown up at Headquarters with his smug swagger. He’d come and sat on the edge of Patrick’s desk last week like they were buddies, but his message was all but friendly.
“So, you fucking her yet?” Jamie asked in a low voice.
“Fuck you,” Patrick answered.
“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened for the last five years.”
“I told you,” Patrick seethed. “I told you not to do it and you didn’t listen. Then you...” Patrick glanced around to make sure there were no ears to hear this conversation.
Jamie’s bravado faltered for a moment and then he smiled. “Almost killed her?”
“Killed three people and almost killed her,” Patrick corrected.
“She’s a tough one, isn’t she?” Jamie commented and leaned down, patting Patrick on the shoulder. “I need what’s mine, Patrick. Tell her that. If I don’t get it, it’s either her or me, and we both know how I’ll answer that challenge.” Jamie jumped off Patrick’s desk and sauntered over to another agent’s desk.
Patrick hated the way they shook hands with easy camaraderie; nobody else knew what a snake Jack Ryder was.
A woman skirted by Jamie and took her seat next to the other agent. She smelled like coconuts and it reminded him of El. Always El. His mind always went to her.
Coming back to the present, he shook his head to clear it; he didn’t want to think of El. He fought like hell not to. Did everything he could to divert his heart from the anomaly that had crashed into his carefully constructed walls and they’d crumbled at her feet. He told himself that she was like a sister to him, but the pull he fought, the need for her, remained no matter what he did. He smiled as he fell back to sleep, thinking of her black hair and green eyes, those eyes that sought him for protection. He’d protect her, he always would.
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