CHAPTER FIVE
Two hours.
That’s how long it had been since they’d stumbled through Bodie’s front door and sequestered Nick in the guest suite on the lower level of Raven’s Security headquarters. He’d passed out the moment Chase had eased him onto the bed, chest gently rising, dark lashes resting against ashen skin. Chase had checked his vitals, sighed, then joined Bodie, Rowan, and Greer upstairs with a promise to check-in regularly throughout the night.
Sloane shifted on an oversized chair, gaze alternating between Nick and the heart monitor Chase had hooked up, the steady rhythm a fragile reassurance that they hadn’t made a colossal mistake. That they hadn’t worried more about possible consequences from the ambush and the burn notice than if Nick needed the added attention. Nurses checking on him every thirty minutes. Doctors only a hallway away if he suddenly tanked.
She forcibly lowered her shoulders, rolled her head a few times to ease the strain in her neck. She should have made him stay, risks be damned. Now, all she had was the whispered rasp of his breath and his heartbeat playing in the background as proof she hadn’t lost him.
A pang of regret settled hard in her gut as she listened to the beep, the thought of it suddenly going flat roiling her stomach. She didn’t often engage in worst-case scenarios, choosing to trust her future to facts and skill, but this…
This ate at the part of her she’d hidden away.
The one in love with Nick Colter.
Sloane sighed.
She wasn’t sure when she’d decided admitting her feelings was wise, even just to herself. But somewhere between getting the ECHO message and jogging beside the gurney as Chase wheeled Nick into the hospital something had shifted. Cracked her walls, or maybe just disintegrated them. Left the remnants in a crumpled heap at her feet.
She groaned, stood, then crossed over to the hardwired terminal Bodie had set up for her so she had a direct line into his server farm. The swivel chair squeaked as she slid onto the padded seat, cracked her knuckles, then typed in her password, launching her secure dashboard.
Her laptop flashed to life — folders stacked down one side. She glanced over at Nick, waited for his chest to rise and lower, despite the constant rhythm, then turned back, settled in.
Under a minute, and she had the burn notice plastered across her screen, one of her algorithms dissecting it line by line. There was something in the official wording, a cadence that felt familiar, that wouldn’t stay quiet.
Time passed in a hazy blur, Chase shuffling in to check Nick’s vitals before disappearing, again, leaving her with her doubts and that damn monitor. She focused on the task, on peeling back the layers of interagency routing codes until she discovered the origin point, but every pathway terminated at the same dead end. As if the notice only appeared to be linked to the CIA but had actually been pushed through a different server.
One much darker — one that went beyond National Security.
She leaned back, raked her fingers through her hair, wincing at the collection of scrapes from the attack, when her cell vibrated. She checked the number and smiled. “Hey.”
Avery huffed on the other line. “You drive into an ambush, get airlifted during someMad Maxgrudge match, then have a burn notice go live against you, and all you can say is ‘hey’?”
“It’s better than saying you shouldn’t be calling me because I’m radioactive.”
“Like that would ever stop me.” Avery tapped the phone, the sound hollow. “You okay?”
“It’s been a long day.” Hell, it had been a long year.
Avery’s voice softened. “How is he?”
“Are you asking about Nick or Dalton?” Sloane grinned at her friend’s sharp intake. Proof that Avery had a bit of a crush on the former-Green Beret. “Because Dalton’s fine. Some lacerations from the assault, but overall, he’s good. Would probably love to have you call.”
“I meant Nick.”
“Right, guess I misread all that sexual tension in your voice when you worked that joint case. Not to mention all the times you’ve asked about him, since.” Sloane glanced over at the bed. “And Nick’s alive. Sleeping like the dead. The doctor said it was mostly just blood loss, that the shrapnel hadn’t hit anything major, more of a death ‘by a thousand cuts’ scenario but… God if you could see the color of his skin…”
“Sounds like old times.”
Except where he’d gotten hurt because he’d shoved his buddies out of the way — had taken the brunt of the explosion in order to keep them safe. Exactly the side of him she’d claimed she needed. “Mostly, except…”
“Except what?”
“He’s different. Lighter maybe.”
Avery snorted. “You got all of that out of a quick conversation while running for your lives?”
“I’ve known Nick forever. I can read between the lines.” She hummed, drawn to the strong curve of his jaw, the way his hair teased his eyes. “Oregon looks good on him.”
