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“Excuse me,” I said when my cell rang with a call from my father. “Dad.”
“Where are you?”
“At Saint James’ Hospital.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Dad, you don’t need to?—”
A little over an hour later, he walked off the elevator and motioned for me to follow him down a corridor. He pushed open the door of the chapel.
“What the fuck have you and Irish gotten yourselves mixed up in?” His face was beet red.
“Have a seat, Dad.”
He glared at me.
“Have a seat, and I’ll tell you.”
He walked to the front pew and sat; I remained standing.
“The first thing you need to know is that Warrick is innocent.”
“Get on with the rest of it.”
“Not until you swear on my life that you’ll let me finish what I’ve started.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then, I won’t tell you a fucking thing.” I turned to stalk out.
“Sumner. Wait. I’ll swear to it.”
“Sit back down.”
I’d just finished telling my father about the mission Irish and I took on without authorization from anyone within the agency or the committee that oversaw it, when my phone buzzed with a message from Rage.
“He’s out of surgery.” I bolted out of the chapel and back to the waiting area.
“Mr. Copeland?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Pollari, the head trauma surgeon. Mr. Warrick is out of surgery and is being transferred to the SICU. He suffered several body cavity GSW, the main damage to left renal, pancreas, and spleen.”
“When can I see him?”
“Give it another hour or two. Register with the surgical ICU. They’ll contact you when you can go in.”
“What’s his condition?”
“Still critical.”
I turned when the doctor walked away, and met my father’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Son. We’re all praying.”
The elevator doors opened, and Ali stepped out, followed by both Rock and Buck. When I looked into her beautiful eyes, I felt a sense of relief that even my father hadn’t given me. She put one arm around me, and I held her close.
“You were supposed to wait at the apartment,” I murmured, breathing in the scent of her hair.
