I swallow down the fear for Wendy’s life and try to rush through it. “We work together out of Boston. The three of us. We were called in to investigate the product leaks and bugs in the system.”
“Wow. The head floozy actually called in a team of people. To figure out what little ol’ me has been doing to her system. Go figure. That’s actually a compliment.” She tilts her head back and laughs. I move a couple of feet forward, leaning across the desk closer to her. I have to find some way to get the gun away from her and get Wendy some help.
“Park . . . Wendy’s not doing so hot. We need help!” Bo’s agonized voice rips through the heaviness in the air.
“I. Said. Shut. Up!” Eloise screeches like a banshee and fires off a shot at the desk next to Bo’s head. He ducks, putting his body protectively over Wendy’s prone one.
“Hey, hey, I’m eager to hear what you have to say. Tell me how you did it all. And why.”
Her head jerks back, and her pupils turn a scary shade of black. “Why?” Her tone is scathing. “I’ll tell you why. Revenge.”
“Revenge?” I whisper.
She huffs. “Kidd left me high and dry four years ago. Alexis told him to break up with me, and she moved me to another department to make it easier on her little baby brother. Blech.” She makes a gagging sound and leans the hand holding the gun against the top of the desk nearest her.
“But you didn’t sell the secrets,” I say to keep her talking.
She snorts and looks up at the ceiling. “Why would I do that? I don’t want her money. I want her to lose everything to her competitors. And I wanted to show up Kidd. Show him what he lost. How good I was. What he could still have if he apologized and made it up to me.”
I take another step closer to her while she’s distracted. Wendy makes a gurgling, hacking sound, and I peer over to see blood and froth coming out of her mouth as Bo holds her on her side, letting it spill out on the concrete so she doesn’t choke on it. A hammer pounds against my brain, and sweat breaks out all over my body. My chest feels like it’s taking in air like a marathon runner at the very end of a race. Fast and instinctive.
Eloise continues, “Then you tell me he’s marrying that woman instead of me. We could have been so happy together! We were perfect. And all this time I’ve been waiting for him to remember, to see what it could be again. Us working together and living together. Victoria doesn’t deserve him!”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. She doesn’t. As for you, you deserve better. I’m a professional at finding women their mate. I did it in San Francisco right before we came. Right, Bo?”
Bo’s voice is nothing but a scratchy whisper. “Yeah, he’s the best.” Tears fill his eyes.
I look down at Wendy, and she’s unconscious.
“Is she still breathing?” I ask, fear permeating my words.
“Yeah, but barely.” He sounds as if each word is killing him slowly.
“How’s about you and I go find you a mate, eh?” I offer Eloise.
She tilts her head to the side and taps the gun on the table. “That could be fun, and you’re right. Kidd isn’t worthy of me or my talents.” The woman lifts her head in a prissy move while my friend lies bleeding to death on the floor.
As another bout of loathing and panic rushes through me, I note the cavalry has arrived. Behind Eloise there’s a wall with two windows separating the room from the stairwell and hallway. Two police officers skate past, arms out and guns drawn. They sneak up to the door of the coding office.
How the hell did they know we were here? Maybe Alexis heard the gunshots?
I glance over at the phone and note that Wendy never ended the call. Alexis must have heard it all.
While I hold my breath, I try to keep Eloise’s attention on me. “So, what do you say?” I swallow as the door behind Eloise slowly opens. “I’d be happy to set you up. It would be so easy—”
The two cops stand behind Eloise, weapons trained on her. “Put your hands up in the air!” one of them hollers.
Eloise’s eyes are blazing daggers of anger as she turns around, gun pointed up. “No!” she growls. Her hand twitches once before both cops drop her with two bullets apiece.
I crouch low and crawl to where Bo has Wendy in his lap, cradling her. His lips are against her forehead. “Come on, Tink. Don’t leave us!” he cries.
Her body doesn’t move.
The hospital was a madhouse when we were carted into the emergency room, Wendy on a stretcher, nonresponsive but with a shallow pulse.
The paramedics said something about a collapsed lung and the loss of a lot of blood. I called Royce and told him to meet us at the hospital and to call Michael.
Now I’m sitting on a bed while a resident stitches up my flesh wound, telling me I’m in shock. I can’t even feel the pain. Everything is numb.
Bo stands to the side of my bed as if he’s standing sentry. An hour has gone by since they rushed Wendy to surgery.
Royce runs into the ER, suit coat flying in the wind like he’s a member of Men in Black and he’s come to save the world.
“Brother.” Roy puts a hand to my other shoulder. His voice is deep, much deeper than normal. “You okay?”
I nod, not capable of saying anything more.
“Flesh wound. The bullet just grazed his shoulder,” Bo answers on my behalf.
Roy nods and then takes in Bo’s attire. He’s bloody from chest to waist, his white T-shirt coated red from Wendy’s blood.
“Jeez-us. Are you hurt too? What the hell happened? Do we know anything more about Wendy?” He fires off what feels like a swarm of questions I can’t even assimilate in my current mental state.
Bo shakes his head. “It’s not my blood. Wendy was taken right into surgery. Collapsed lung, gunshot wound to the chest. You called Mick?” His voice is a shallow husk, nothing like his normal joking, exuberant, loving tone.
Roy nods. “He’ll be here in the next hour or two.” He runs his hand over his bald head. “How could this happen?”
I shrug. “I didn’t see how unstable she was. My head wasn’t in the game. I should have caught the connection. Something—” I start, self-loathing and shame filling my mind with all the things I should have, could have, done better.
Bo puts his hand on my back. “Don’t you dare try to take this one on. All four of us were on this job making the connections, and we had it, we were putting the pieces together when she went loco. This is on that psycho, not on you!” Bo points a finger at me.
“If Wendy dies . . .” My body is trembling so hard even my voice is shaky. Tears fill my eyes and fall unchecked down my checks. “She can’t die,” I whisper.
Bo presses his forehead against my back, and Royce grips my shoulder hard. “Brother, you have to have faith. Have faith in our strong girl. She’ll come back to us, and just think, she’ll have one helluva story to tell.”
I laugh through my tears and wipe my nose and eyes with the back of my arm. Wendy loves a good story. “Yeah. God willing.”
“That’s right. God willing. You gotta believe in order to receive his blessing.” Royce rumbles his truth, and I let it sink into my heart.
“Where the fuck is she!” Michael Pritchard storms into the hospital waiting room, a desperate man on a mission. His navy pinstriped suit jacket flails behind him in his speedy strides.
He comes up to where I stand in the waiting room, fury mixed with anguish written all over the hard lines of his face. He’s not much older than the three of us, but he exudes barely contained power the likes none of us have ever seen. He grits his teeth and speaks through them.
“Where. Is. My. Woman,” he growls, and I can feel the vibrations of his torment rippling off him in scorching-hot blasts of fury.
I swallow and stare into his light eyes.
His darken as my gaze intensifies. “If she dies, I hold you responsible,” he warns with a sneer.
I nod. “She’s not going to die. Wendy’s strong—”
�
��You think I don’t know that?” he snaps. “I’m the one who plucked her out of her horrible, rat-infested apartment and crummy job unworthy of her goals and talents. I helped her get her education. In turn, she gave me life. Her life is my life.” He pounds on his chest. “She may be your assistant, even your friend, but she’s my everything. My world revolves around her wants, her desires, her love. So, I know Wendy’s strong. My Wendy—and every perfect inch of her is mine—is nothing but strength.”
Royce puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, and Michael snarls at the contact.
“Doctor’s here . . . ,” Roy says, and points to the waiting room door.
“You the family?”
“Yes,” all four of us state, much to Michael’s aggravation.
“I’m her fiancé. Please, tell me, how is she?” Michael says, emotion thick in his tone.
The tall dark-haired doctor clasps her hands in front of her. “She did well. The bullet went in through her chest, penetrated her lung, and ricocheted off her scapula. The lung was collapsed when she arrived. She lost a lot of blood. We’ve repaired the lung, removed the bullet, and put her into a medically induced coma until we can get her vitals back to desired levels. It’s going to be touch and go for the next twenty-four hours, but I have every reason to believe that, provided her stats keep rising, she’ll do very well.”
“Can we see her?” Michael requests.
“Once she’s out of recovery and settled in ICU, we’ll notify you.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Michael swallows, his voice cracking while his shoulders sink.
Behind the doctor, a nurse comes out with a clear bag and approaches Michael. Inside are Wendy’s diamond engagement ring and her padlock and collar. “I, uh, thought her family should hold on to these.”
Michael takes the bag and cradles it in his large hands. Tears fall onto the plastic as he falls to his knees.
“They cut her collar off.” He holds himself up with one hand braced on the floor, the other still holding on to the bag.
Royce and I crouch down and help lift him up and to a blue plastic chair a few feet in front of us.
“They cut it off.” He gulps, and more tears fall over his stoic face.
The leather band was cut cleanly near the loop and lock on the collar. He must have had the thing made for her with the two ends welded to loops that were connected by the dangling padlock. I move to finger the package, and he crushes it to his chest and glares at me.
“Sorry. I meant no harm.” I rip my hand away as if it’s been burned.
Michael pulls the collar out of the quart-sized bag. He tugs his tie loose and then undoes the first button of his dress shirt. Next, he pulls out a long beaded chain, similar to one you’d see dog tags hanging from. At the end is a silver key on which Wendy’s name is engraved. He takes the key, inserts it into the lock, and releases the silver padlock. He removes it from the destroyed collar, snaps the lock closed on his chain, and secures it into place before tucking the lock and key back under his shirt against his chest.
“She’s going to be okay,” I offer, squeezing his forearm in support.
He swallows slowly, and his gaze focuses straight out at the blank white wall, almost unseeingly. His voice is a low snarl when he responds, “She better be, or there will be hell to pay.”
10
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Michael’s barely contained rage is slipping every minute that Wendy stays in her coma.
The surgeon stands stiffly, waiting while Michael breathes and attempts to get himself under control.
“She’s been asleep for two days,” Michael says.
“We tried to wake her this morning,” the doctor says. “She is no longer receiving any form of sedative to prevent her from waking. We believe when she was shot, she also endured a concussion in her fall. Her body and brain are healing from the trauma. She has normal brain activity, so there is no fear of any brain damage. However, the brain is a tricky thing. Your fiancée will wake when her brain and body tell her to do so. All we can do now is take care of her current injuries and wait.”
The doctor reaches out a hand to Michael’s forearm. “I understand you are eager for her to open her eyes. We all are. Unfortunately, she is not ready. Just talk to her, let her know you’re here and ready for her to wake up.”
Michael’s entire body bristles at the doctor’s orders. He grits his teeth and speaks through them. “Fine.” He spins around and moves back to Wendy’s bedside, where he’s been for two days without leaving to shower or change clothes. He’s still in the same suit he arrived in, even though his assistant arrived yesterday with his luggage and set him up in the hotel next to the hospital.
“Hey, Michael, why don’t you go get some food in you, shower, change clothes,” I say.
He shakes his head stiffly and holds Wendy’s hand to his lips, staring at her face with a pleading expression.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Man, she needs you. More than ever.” I hold back the emotion that wants so badly to spill out. With her upper body wrapped in bandages, an oxygen tube in her nose, her normally pale skin almost see-through, she looks so peaceful, though none of us are. We’re four strung-out males ready to lose our minds if our girl doesn’t open her pretty blues and nail us with one of her smart remarks.
“Which is why I’m not leaving . . . ,” Michael growls.
“Mick . . .”
He turns and snarls, “Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
I swallow against the dryness coating my throat. “I’m sorry. I can see that you are too far gone to be any help to her. You need to go to the hotel, eat something, shower, and change. If you could nap, that would be even better. You are no use to her or anyone running on empty. Please, man, do this for her.”
He presses her hand against his cheek. “I can’t leave her alone.”
“She won’t be alone. I’m here. The guys are coming soon to relieve me, so I can do the same in a couple of hours. Whether you like it or not, we’re her extended family now, and we take care of our own.”
His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes. “Why won’t she wake up? I need to see her eyes, hear her voice to know she’s going to be okay.”
“Doc said she’s going to come out of this aces. You, on the other hand, won’t be worth anything to help her heal if you’re down for the count. Go. Freshen up. Eat. Shower. You stink.”
“I do not.” He narrows his gaze.
I chuckle lightly so he knows I’m playing around. “No, you don’t, but you will if you wear that suit one more day.”
He sighs deeply and dips his head over Wendy’s form. My gut clenches and my heart pounds. It’s almost wrong to witness this man’s pain and suffering, but there is real beauty in his devotion to his woman. He’s a man lost at sea, the woman he loves his lock on land. Without her, he will allow the tide to carry him away.
My feet start to feel heavy, laden with the burden of my own lost love.
Michael stands abruptly. “You’re right. You’ll stay with her?”
I nod.
“I’ll be back soon, Cherry. I’m going to refuel, change, and I’ll be back soon, my love.” He kisses her on the forehead and then on the lips before looking at me. “You’ve got my number if anything changes. And I mean anything. She wiggles her fingers, I want to know about it.”
“You have my word.”
He nods curtly and leaves me alone with her.
I sit by her side and grab her hand. “Hey, minxy.” I squeeze her hand and wait for a response, but there’s nothing. She’s lost to dreamland. “I wish you’d wake up. Your man is about to have a coronary waiting for you to open your pretty blue eyes.” I stare at her and hold my breath. Nothing. No movement. I hold her hand between both of mine. “I’m so sorry, Wendy. So fucking sorry you got hurt. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that.” I shake my head and allow the guilt and shame that’s been hiding just under the surface to spill out now that I’m alone with her.
�
��Aw, Wendy, won’t you wake up? I need to see you’re okay. Need to hear you tell me it’s all going to be okay, because right now, I’m drowning, honey. Drowning in a sea of uncertainty. You’re hurt. Bo and Royce are beside themselves. Your man is about to strangle the next person he sees. And I’m a goddamned mess. Straight Looney Tunes. I haven’t talked to Sky, and I know you want me to. I did text her. Told her you’d been hospitalized here in Montreal with a gunshot wound. She didn’t respond, and I don’t know why. Maybe because she hates me for not calling her sooner about our crap.” I hang my head. “I need you to wake up, sis, wake up and yell at me. Tell me what to do. How to make everything better.”
“I don’t hate you, Parker.” A whisper reaches my ears, and I slowly turn around.
She’s like a golden halo of light. Her blonde hair falling in glowing waves around her face. Her caramel-brown gaze reaches straight into my chest and locks around my heart.
“Skyler . . .” I choke out her name and stand up.
Tears fall down her cheeks in a river of torment. She licks her lips. “I could never hate you. I love you.”
“Jesus, come here.” I hold out my arms, and she runs the ten feet it takes to get to me before plowing into my body. She wraps her arms around me tightly, and I’m engulfed by her warmth.
The scent of peaches and cream fills the air, replacing the bleach and antiseptic smell of the hospital with my favorite smell in the world. I burrow my face into her neck and hair and inhale long and deep. Her body trembles against mine, and her nails dig into my back. They graze the wound in my shoulder, which stings and burns, but I don’t care. Nothing could prevent me from holding this woman.
“Honey, I’m so sorry . . . for everything.” Her voice turns into sobs against my neck, her tears wetting my long-sleeved shirt.
I tunnel my good hand into her hair at the base of her skull and hold her to me, soaking up every ounce of her being plastered against me, alive, and in the flesh.
How did I live without this?
International Guy: Milan, San Francisco, Montreal (International Guy Volumes Book 2) Page 38