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“She’ll live. Well, as long as she doesn’t try to die on us, anyway.” I hear a little humor in her voice, but I can tell that it’s fake. She’s just trying to lighten my mood, but she doesn’t know that she doesn’t need to. I feel on top of the world, and if anyone can pull through this – if anyone canout stubborn death – it’s Tegan. That’s just the way she is and will always be.
“If I would have killed Smith . . .” My voice trails off as my thoughts head to the unthinkable.
“Then you would have truly lost Tegan forever. Jail isn’t good for relationships.”
I glance back at her and observe her hard expression. “Thank you,” I say with complete conviction.
A surprised look widens her eyes. “For what?”
“For convincing me not to kill him.”
“Oh.” She touches her cheek as if it itches. “You’re welcome.”
I look at Tegan again. If I had killed Smith, Tegan would have never forgiven me. She’d want me to exact revenge, sure, but not in the way of ending someone’s life. Tegan doesn’t like death, and though she understands why I killed someone before, she knows I’m not a helpless child anymore. I’m an adult and an adult with evidence that can’t be ignored. If I did away with the law and took it into my own hands, I’d have no excuses. I’d rightfully go to prison, leaving her alone.
We may not be solving murders anymore, but I’ll never leave her alone again because I got a taste of what it was like to lose her. To feel a part of myself die with her. And I vow, right here, right now, that it’llnever happen again.
Chapter 27
Tegan Adams
What is that beeping?A steady electronic beeping slithers into my ears and grows louder the more conscious I become.
Why is my hand cold?I lazily flex that hand and feel a sharp sting. When I hiss between my teeth, I end up groaning because doing that simple act made my chest hurt.
“Tegan?” a deep voice rumbles.
I squeeze my eyes shut – because they’re dry as hell – and then try to pry them open. It takes more effort than I care to admit, but eventually, they listen, and the face to the voice blurs into focus.
Cole.
I try to sit up and end up groaning again.
“I wouldn’t recommend moving,” he says, and dare I say it, there’s a small smile on his face. But in his eyes . . . are his eyes watery?
“What happened?” I croak out. “Where-”
He reaches over and grabs something. “Drink this,” he says, bringing a straw to my lips. Wrapping my lips around the straw, I take grateful swallows as he answers me. “You were shot. You’re in the hospital.”
I stop drinking as soon as the memories slam into my thoughts. The rose petals, the roses, the skull, the barrel of the gun, the sound of it going off, and a sharp punch to my back. The soft caress to my cheek as the world faded away. Neil Wordon’s face.
“Sheriff Smith,” I hoarsely say.
“Arrested,” he nearly growls as he sets the cup back on a stand that’s out of my view. I watch as his face hardens in anger.
Shakily, I raise a hand and touch my dry lips. “Good,” I whisper because talking hurts too damn much. I lower my hand to my throat, trying to massage it.
He gently takes my hand and folds his fingers between mine. “They put you in a coma for a few days. You had a ventilator breathing for you, and the doctor said it’ll hurt for a while.”
As if called upon, someone knocks on my hospital room’s door. We both glance in that direction as a man in a white lab coat walks in. His head is completely shaven, but he has a black goatee wrapped around thick lips and a narrow chin.
Smiling, he proclaims gently, “You’re awake.”
I nod. “When can I go home?” Even though, in what feels like another lifetime, I wanted to work in a hospital and be a coroner, all hospitals hold for me now are bad things. Horrible memories. Excruciating experiences. I want nothing more than to leave.
“Oh.” He blows out a breath and stops beside my bed.Stuffing his hands into his lab coat’s pockets, he adds, “Let’s give it a few days, hmm?”
I drop my head back on my pillow and wince, immediately regretting it. “How long was I out?”
