Page 74 of The Deadly Shallows

“Not. Happening.” Keeping her focus on Noah and off him was critical to her not losing it right now.

“I’m fine,” Noah said, his voice tight.

She cocked her head. “Don’t make me call Nana Jo.” She wasn’t playing fair, but she didn’t care. His health and safety were what mattered.

His brows arched, but the hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s a little beneath you, don’t you think?”

“Whatever it takes for you to listen to reason and let us help you.”

He released an exasperated sigh and let them continue, but one step up, he stiffened. “That was Andrews’s room he came out of, wasn’t it?” he asked Macken.

“Yes, sir.”

He wrestled out of her and Macken’s grasp and started hopping up the stairs. “We need to check on Andrews!”

As Noah topped the stairs, an earsplitting alarm sounded down the hall.

His jaw clenched. No! His gaze fixed on the red light blinking rapidly over a door twenty feet down the hall.

Pamela raced inside, followed by two hospital security guards. Noah hobbled to the door in time to see Connor Andrews convulsing, his wrist cuffed to the bed rail.

“Seizure,” Pamela called out as Dr. Greene raced in, his open lab coat flapping about his scrubs.

He barked out orders.

Noah, Brooke, and Macken stepped back from the room and out of the medical team’s way.

Father, I can’t believe I’m praying this for a man who took lives, but please let him pull through. We need answers, and he’s the only shooter left.

THIRTY-NINE

They stood five feet from Connor Andrews’s door. The young man lay dead. His head rolled to the side, his lifeless eyes staring in Noah’s direction. One by one, the nurses and Dr. Greene filed out.

Noah balled his hands into fists. Determining why the shooters did it and who else was involved just got a million times harder. No fingerprint hits, no physical evidence they could pull DNA off of—but even if they could, Noah doubted it would bring back a hit.

This case was growing more frightening, complex, and frustrating by the minute.

He looked over at Brooke. She could have died chasing after Connor Andrews’s killer—her abductor, torturer. Anger seethed, his limbs burning, his thigh blistering in pain.

“You okay?” Brooke asked.

He rubbed his hand over his close crop. “Just frustrated.” Incensed that Connor Andrews was dead.

Dr. Greene, now in a fresh set of scrubs, approached them with a clipboard. “Would you like to stay until his body is taken to the morgue, given he was your prisoner?”

“Since foul play was involved, my CSI needs to process the body before the ME takes him,” Noah said.

“I understand, but Hadley is quite particular. . . .”

True. “Hadley and our team work together often. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“All right.” Greene handed him the clipboard. “I need you to sign this chain of custody for Mr. Andrews’s body until your CSI arrives, then have him sign on until Mr. Andrews’s body is released into Hadley’s custody.”

“We need to get your leg cleaned up,” Brooke said.

“I can take care of that for you,” Dr. Greene said.

“Thank you,” Brooke answered before Noah could argue.