Just air.
The adrenaline drained out of her.
Her legs gave way.
Burke caught her.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Sirens wailed outside.
Radios crackled.
The world rushed back.
Tessa stayed upright.
Alive.
Free.
59
Tessa & Scout — The Harris Regional Hospital
The door swung open a little too hard.
The heart monitor at Tessa’s bedside gave a protesting beep-beep-beep, then settled.
“Wilson, for the love of God,” Burke muttered, fighting the wheelchair’s handlebars. “Quit pushing your legs like you’re trying to drag me across the floor. You’re not walking down the hall with an IV pole strapped to your arm. Sit. Back.”
“I can walk,” Scout grumbled, one hand automatically steadying the IV line taped to his arm. He shifted, shoulder tightening in protest.
Burke snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the surgeon who spent three hours patching the hole a .308 blew through your shoulder.”
Scout glared at him. “It went clean through. Didn’t hit anything vital.”
“Your brain must not be vital then,” Burke shot back, kicking the wheelchair’s brake on as he parked Scout beside the bed. “Stop arguing and let her see you before you faceplant.”
From the bed, Tessa let out a soft laugh—the first real one since she’d woken up.
“You two sound exactly the same as before I was taken.”
Both men froze.
Scout looked over at her.
God. She looked tired, pale from IV fluids, a bruise on her face—but alive.
“Tess…” His voice came out rougher than he meant.
Burke straightened. “Alright. I’m giving you ten minutes. Don’t make me regret it.”
Scout didn’t even look at him. “Get out.”
Burke smirked, clapped a hand on Scout’s good shoulder hard enough to make him wince, and said, “Don’t screw this up.”
Then he slipped out, letting the door sigh shut behind him.
