Although…the urge to get on a plane was real. Go anywhere that might help him forget this pain.
Anywhere but here.
Pain.
Sharp and relentless, pulsing through Nimue’s chest like broken glass with every breath. Her limbs—heavy. So heavy. Strange how the numbness dulled everything else, like cotton stuffed around the edges of agony.
Her eyelids might as well be cemented shut.
Antiseptic burned her nose. Something brushed her upper lip—oxygen tube, maybe? She tried to turn away from it, but her body belonged to someone else now. Sluggish. Uncooperative.
Hospital. The word drifted through the fog in her brain. Liam’s face flickered behind her closed eyes. The ground beneath her dropping away, a helicopter’s roar.
Right. The canyon.
Memories slipped through her fingers like water, there one second, gone the next.
A soft rustle yanked her closer to consciousness. Her eyes cracked open—oh, why were hospital lights always so brutal?—and there was Emberly. Red hair pulled back on the sides, those sharp eyes soft for once as they met hers.
Thank You.The prayer whispered through her before she could stop it. At least Emberly was here.
But where was Liam? Safe? Had they caught the Bratva? Had anyone followed her here?
“You’re awake.” Emberly’s voice hitched on the words. “You gave us a scare.”
“Liam?” The word scraped out of her throat like gravel, the oxygen tube pulling at her lip.
“In the waiting room with Stein. He seemed pretty worried about you.” Emberly winked as she stood. “I’ll go get him.”
Nimue managed a nod, her head pounding in protest. But unease gnawed at her stomach. Liam had been there—red eyes, warm hand covering hers—before the helicopter. And then he wasn’t.
Maybe it was over. Maybe, despite his words…
Yeah, well, she didn’t blame him.
The door clicked shut behind Emberly. Nimue eyed the IV snaking into her arm, the monitors beeping their regular rhythm. Everything hurt, but she was breathing. Alive. That seemed enough to be grateful for.
The door opened again. Green scrubs, surgical mask, purposeful stride. Just another nurse with her tray of whatever nurses carried. Nothing unusual.
Except Nimue’s skin prickled.
Those eyes. Dark, calculating, familiar in a way that made her chest seize.
The nurse set the tray on the table by the bed and lowered her mask.
Teresa.
No. No, no, no?—
Teresa slammed a hand over Nimue’s mouth.
Nimue’s breath hitched, every muscle in her body going rigid despite the pain screaming through her ribs. The room shrank. The monitor’s beeps grew louder.
“Hello again,” Teresa whispered. “Can I trust you to be quiet?” She lifted one eyebrow until Nimue nodded. Then pulled back her hands and reached for her phone. “I need the files you stole and the four million. And with Alan Martin on my tail, I’ll do whatever it takes to get them.”
Alan Martin. The rogue CIA agent who had nearly killed the president’s daughter. Who’d planned numerous terrorist attacks in America and abroad. Who was still out there—somewhere.
Nimue’s hands trembled beneath the thin blanket. She opened her mouth?—
