Sirens screamed nearer. Men in white came with a gurney and cases full of supplies, and she was forced to move away from Luke. So were Wes and Ben. She got to her feet, staggering backward a few steps. For the first time she looked around her.
Dozens of people had gathered, forming a loose circle around the spot where Luke lay. Some were still in their nightclothes. They stared at her, shaking their heads, making sympathetic sounds as she scanned their faces. Dizziness, sickness, regret swamped her. Her world tilted, and her knees gave out. But a pair of arms closed around her waist before she could hit the pavement.
Wes held her easily upright. "Come on, let's get you someplace where you can sit."
"I have to go with Luke," she said. She lifted her gaze, blinking, not seeing anything clearly. Then Ben seemed to appear from nowhere a few feet away, clearing the crowd with a wave of his arms like Moses parting the Red Sea. Wes scooped her up and carried her back into the motel room. Elliot appeared to open the door, so Wes could set her inside. Then Elliot handed her a bottle of water— she had no clue where he'd gotten it. But she sipped gratefully.
"Get her cleaned up and bring her on to the hospital," Elliot said. "I'll ride with Luke."
"No, I should go...." She tried to get to her feet, but her legs buckled.
"We'll be two minutes behind the ambulance, if that. I promise," Wes said. He nodded to Elliot, who ran out the door, back to the ambulance. A second later she heard its siren howl as it sped away.
Ben came out of the bathroom with an ice bucket full of water and a washcloth. He dipped her hands into the water and gently washed them. She tried not to look at the water as it changed to the color of Luke's blood. Ben took it away, dumped it, brought back more. Then he peeled off her white blouse, ruined now, while Wes brought a fresh shirt for her. It was Luke's shirt, she realized as they put it on her, dressing her as if she were a helpless child. She lowered her head to cry, but paused when she saw the police cars outside.
Near the nose of the first car, Garrett was talking to several police officers, who held a handcuffed tough between them. The guy was stocky, dark and thoroughly battered. His face looked as if someone had used it for a punching bag. "Is that the man?" she asked. "Is he the one who shot Luke?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "Garrett, Elliot and Wes chased him down."
"He tossed the gun as he ran," Wes said. "Had a silencer on it, which is why we didn't hear the shots. Is that the guy who's been after you and Baxter all this time?"
She shook her head slowly. "No."
She lowered her head. Ben raised it again. He was back with a fresh washcloth, and he wiped her face now. She tried not to think about what was on it. He washed her neck, buttoned up Luke's shirt for her. "There. Almost as good as new. You have a fresh pair of jeans in here?"
She nodded vaguely. "Yeah. I can...I can do the rest."
Jasmine got to her feet, only to have Ben's arm instantly link with hers to help her to the bathroom. Inside, she peeled of her blood-soaked jeans, then sat on the edge of the bathtub and cranked on the water, washing her legs as it ran. She had to close her eyes. God, she couldn't bear much more. Poor Luke.
Getting to her feet, she dried off, pulled on the fresh jeans and turned toward the mirror.
The woman who looked back at her was a stranger. Jasmine wasn't even sure she recognized her. This was not the loner who trusted no one and thought of men as a baby step up the evolutionary ladder from dogs. This was not the street-tough city girl who could coldly strip for money and never let it get to her. This was not the woman who didn't believe in love.
She didn't know who the hell this woman in the mirror was. And that scared her.
There was a tap on the door. "You okay in there, hon?"
Ben's voice, deep with concern. She turned and opened the door. "I'm ready."
Flanked by Ben and Wes, she moved out of the motel room. The minute she was in sight, two of the cops outside came toward her. Garrett was with them. The suspect, the shooter, was at the second police car with a third cop, some fifty feet away.
Garrett said, "I know this is hard, hon, but we have to know. Do you know that man?" He pointed at the suspect "Is this the guy you saw commit that murder at The Catwalk? The one who fired shots at you and your little boy?"
"No," she said. "That's not him. Gianni probably hired him to...ohmyGod." She came to a halt, and all eyes were on her. She was the only one looking toward the cop in the distance, who had put the shooter into the back of the car and was getting into the front "That's him...that's the killer!"
"It is the same guy, after all?" Garrett asked as the patrol car rolled around the diner, toward the highway.
"Not the shooter. The cop. That's him. That cop is the killer!"
All eyes turned toward the patrol car as it merged into traffic, picked up speed.
The two officers tensed, looking at each other in confusion, and one of them said, "That's Officer Petronella, ma'am. Are you sure about this?"
"That is the man who tried to kill my son and shot at me. That's the man I saw murder the undercover agent at The Catwalk. I have his confession on audio and videotape, back in the motel room." Ben headed back to get them even as she went on. "And if you get him behind a two-way mirror, I can promise you Leo, the bar's owner, will identify him, too."
"Didn't I tell you he was dirty?" one cop said to the other. "We'd better get to this Leo fellow before Gianni does." He keyed a microphone clipped to his collar and started speaking into it as he headed for his car.
"I'm more worried about that suspect right now," the other cop said. "If he worked for Petronella, he can testify to that in court. Hell, he'll never make it to the station." He looked at Garrett, then at Jasmine. "There's still a warrant out for your arrest, ma'am."
"I'll keep her and the evidence in my custody," Garrett said. "When you're ready to take her statement and the tapes, we'll be at the hospital. But I promise you, once you do, that warrant will be dropped."
The cop nodded. "She's your responsibility, Sheriff Brand. Don't leave town until this is settled. Understand?"
Jasmine nodded. Then she and the others went to Ben's SUV and piled in. Garrett got behind the wheel, and as they sped toward the hospital, he said, "I just hope to hell they catch that bastard."
* * *
JASMINE HOVERED OUTSIDE THE DOORS of the room marked Trauma 1, trying to see beyond the mesh-lined safety glass and the sea-green lab coats that surrounded Luke. A pretty young nurse touched her shoulder and said, "Come to the waiting room, miss. You'll be so much more comfortable there."
"I'm not moving!" She didn't speak the words so much as bark them. It was at least the fourth time the perky blonde had bothered her.
"Easy, Jazz. She's just trying to help." It was Wes's voice. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, and he sent the nurse an apologetic glance that told her it was all right, he would handle things. The nurse sighed and moved away. Wes came closer, pressed the cup into Jasmine's hand, looked past her at the windows, and saw no more than she'd been able to see before.
"You and Ben ought to be in there," Jasmine muttered. "You could probably do as well as they are."
He shook his head. "They know what they're doing. This is Chicago. They know how to take care of gunshot wounds here."
"It's been an hour."
"It might be two. You sure you don't want to come sit with us?"
She shook her head, sighed, sipped the coffee. "What was that, anyway? What you and Ben were doing back there to make the bleeding stop the way you did?"
Wes shrugged. "I think Ben calls it reiki. He studied lots of Eastern mysticism along with martial arts a while back. Still keeps up with most of it. As for my part, I was just using an old Comanche healing technique. I think it's pretty much the same thing, either way."
"It was amazing."
Wes shrugged. "Actually, stopping blood is fairly easy. I'll show you sometime."
"I'd like that." She turned to peer through the windo
w again.
"He's gonna be all right, Jasmine."
She closed her eyes, lowered her head. "Why did he do it, Wes? Why did he jump in front of me like that? What the hell could he possibly have been thinking?"
Wes frowned at her as if she were asking an inane question. "He was trying to protect you."
"By getting himself shot? God, Wes, I just don't get it. Who does something like that for someone else? And why, for God's sake?"
He just looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "You remember when you saw Petronella shooting at Baxter? What did you do?"
She paced away from the door, shaking her head. "I threw something at him, yelled at him, waved my arms."
"Why?"
"Why? To distract his attention away from my son, so he wouldn't shoot him."
"And didn't it occur to you that the man would only shoot at you instead?" Wes asked.
"I knew he would shoot at me instead. But it didn't matter. I mean, better me than Baxter."
Wes came to where she stood, put a hand on her shoulder. "And why would you be willing to risk your own life in order to save Baxter's?"
She blinked. "Well...I'm his mother."
"Oh. Well if that's all it was... Would your mother have done that for you, do you think?"
"Shoot, my mother would have used me for a shield, given the chance." She licked her lips, lowered her head. "But I'm not like her. I love my baby. I'd do anything for him. There's nothing in the world more important to me than that child, not even my own life. I'd die for him in a heartbeat and never once regret it. That's how much I love him."
She finished speaking, lifted her head slowly. And Wes held her gaze and nodded slowly. "And that's how much Luke loves you."
It was like a flash of light in her eyes that was so bright it blinded her. The pain in her chest doubled, and for a second she couldn't breathe. She actually staggered backward as if Wes had delivered a physical blow. One hand pressed to her heart in a knee-jerk reaction, and she leaned against the wall behind her.
The double doors opened. People in green rushed out, wheeling Luke on the gurney amid them. One pushed an IV pole with bags swinging and tubes attached to Luke's arms.
"Are you family?" a male doctor asked her. She brushed him aside and tried to run along beside the gurney.
"I am," Wes told the doctor.
The gurney stopped at an elevator, and a nurse hit the button. Jasmine crowded her way between the people and leaned over Luke. God, he was so still, so very white. A sheet covered him from the hips down, and his chest was patched with bloody squares. Tubes in his nose. Tubes in his arms.
"Luke...?" Jasmine whispered.
The elevator doors opened. A nurse touched her arm. "We have to take him up to surgery now. Sixth floor. There's a waiting room up there. We're going to do everything we can, I promise you."
"Luke!"
They pushed him past her, into the elevator, as she stretched her hands out toward him, as if she could hold on to him somehow. Then the doors closed, and she stood there, staring. It wasn't possible that a man like Luke could love her the way Wes said he did. No one in her life had ever loved her like that. Well, no one except for Bax. But he had to love her. She was his mom. My God, the sheer magnitude of this was more than her mind could wrap itself around all at once. How could he love her that much? How could anyone love her that much? What the hell did she have that made her deserve it? And yet, it must be true. Because the man had jumped in front of bullets for her. He'd jumped in front of bullets for her! Shielded her with his own body. Knowing damn well he would be shot instead.
Who did things like that?
"Jasmine?"
She lifted her head, blinked at Wes.
"She looks shakey, Wes. Maybe we should get a doc to take a look at her," Elliot said.
"You all right, Jazz?"
She tipped her head to one side. When had Wes taken to calling her that? When had she decided she liked it? Why did it make her feel like part of his family? "They...have to operate on him," she said. "Sixth floor. We should go up."
Wes nodded. Garrett turned and punched the elevator button, and they stood there, waiting. "So what did they say to you, Wes?" Garrett asked.
"They needed the consent of a family member. That's all."
The doors opened; they all stepped inside. Jasmine watched Wes's face and saw his eyes. There was more. "That's not all," she said. "Tell us, Wes. I already know it's bad. That nurse told me they'd do everything they could. I know what that means as well as anyone. It means they're not sure they can save him."
Wes lowered his head. When he lifted it again, he glanced at Garrett, and Garrett nodded. "She's tougher than she looks. You might as well tell us the worst of it, Wes."
Swallowing hard, Wes said, "One bullet went clear through, punctured a lung on the way. That's bad enough, but the second one is still inside him. It damaged his heart and lodged in his back—it's near his spine. They need to get it out, because if it shifts position it could kill him or cripple him. There's no telling yet how much damage it's already done. They need to repair the tear to his heart and get that bullet out of his spine. Then they'll work on the lung."
The doors opened again. For a minute Jasmine couldn't even move. Garrett had to take her arm and push her along to get her going. Her feet came down then, one in front of the other, but she wasn't directing them.
Ben said, "Has anyone called home?"
"Yeah," Garrett said. "But it's time for an update." He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.
"I want to talk to Baxter," Jasmine said softly.
"That's good, that'll help him feel better."
"I don't know how. I can't tell him Luke will be okay. I can't tell him Petronella has been caught and locked up where he can't hurt us anymore. The only thing I can tell him is...that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got the only man that boy has ever loved shot." She lifted her eyes, looking at each of the men in turn. "And I need to tell you that, too. And your whole family. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry I ever darkened your door and brought all this trouble down on you. It's my fault Luke's lying in there fighting for his life. My fault. I wish I could take it back."
Wes shook his head at her. "Luke wouldn't have had it any other way, you know. If he had it to do over, he'd do it just the same."
She closed her eyes and, finally, let Ben lead her to a chair.
Chapter 15
* * *
"I THINK HE'S COMING AROUND," a voice said. It was a gentle voice, a familiar one. Luke was struggling to stay afloat in a very deep, very dark sea, but waves kept pushing him under again. Then a hand closed around his, and he gripped it as if it were his lifeline.
"I'm right here, Luke. I'm right here." Slowly he blinked his eyes open.
"Jasmine...?"
"Right here," she said. He sought her out with his eyes, found her. She was a blur, but gradually she came into focus. She didn't look well. She was pale, and her hair was hanging in a limp ponytail with many strands dangling free. No makeup. She had red-rimmed, puffy eyes.
"You okay?" he asked weakly. God, why was it so much effort to put words together?
"Am I okay?" She smiled, but sadly. "I'm fine. You're the one who got himself shot."
He frowned. Shot? It took moments of intense concentration to make sense of her words. Then, finally, he remembered. "Did they get him?"
"Yeah. They got him."
"And? What else?" he asked her.
She said, "It wasn't Petronella. Just one of his flunkies. Petronella took off with him before I could ID him. Bastard had the nerve to show up at the scene. But it's gonna be okay. The police tracked him down in short order. He'd already shot his flunky and dumped the body alongside the highway. He's in custody now. They have my tapes— but I made copies first, just in case. I'm in the clear, and there's plenty of evidence to send Petronella up for life. It's all going to be okay. Finally."
He sighed his relief. Thank God the risk to Jasmine was e
nded. They'd gotten the bastard. He swallowed hard. Then Jasmine leaned over him, cupping his head with her soft hand and lifting his head just a little, holding a glass of water with a straw to his lips. He drank, then she lowered his head gently back against the pillows again. "Damn, I'm weak. How bad off am I?"
"You're gonna be fine," she told him, setting the water down. But she wasn't facing him when she said it.
"Jasmine?"
She turned, sat on the edge of his bed, pressed her hands to his cheeks and said, "You're okay. We almost lost you, Luke, but you're okay now. They operated in Chicago. They said it went well, but they wanted to keep you out for a little while. There was some damage to your spine—nothing serious or permanent. One of the bullets came close, though. They didn't want you even trying to move until you'd had a couple days to let the healing process take hold."
He blinked in shock, trying to take stock of his body, especially his legs and feet. They felt odd. Heavy and tingling, as if they'd gone to sleep. But he could feel them, at least. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked.
"Two days. This morning they shipped you back here, to El Paso, and took you off sedation. You're back in Texas, Luke. We've been here a whole hour already.''
He closed his eyes, feeling an inexplicable surge of contentment wash through him like a warm tide. Hell, whatever happened, he could handle it here. Home. Texas. He really had sunk his roots into the Texas soil, then, hadn't he?
There was a tap on the door. Then it opened. "Doc said he was coming around," Chelsea said, poking her head inside. "I brought a visitor."
The door opened wider, and Baxter came in, almost tiptoeing, his eyes wide and worried.
Jasmine gulped back a sob and ran to her son. She scooped him right up and held him tight, covering his little face with her kisses. "Oh, Bax, honey, I missed you so much!"
"Me too, Mom," he said, hugging her neck.
In the bed, Luke's throat closed up tight, and his eyes burned.
"Thanks for bringing him, Chelsea. I couldn't wait, and I couldn't leave, and I just...thank you."
Texas Homecoming Page 18