Page 84 of Fatal Pattern

Tori dropped to her knees in the wet sand beside him, her hand pressing against his chest above the wound.

“Blade! Blade, look at me!”

He forced his eyes to focus through the haze of pain. Her face swam into view. Terrified but fierce. His best friend. The protector. The woman who had just saved his life when everything else had failed.

Every wall he’d built between them crumbled to dust in that moment.

If he’d possessed the strength, he would’ve pulled her down to him and kissed her until the world made sense again.

Instead, he managed a single word through cracked lips. “Tori.”

Then, blackness.

24

Blood spread through the salt water like red ink, and Tori’s heart seized as Blade’s eyes rolled back. His body went completely limp, sinking deeper into the surf.

No. No, no, no.

She lunged forward as waves crashed around them. Her hands found his shoulders, pulling him up and into her lap before the next wave could wash over his face. His head lolled against her, dead weight, and panic clawed up her throat.

“Blade! Blade!”

His chest barely moved. Blood poured from the knife wounds, mixing with salt water and sand. Too much blood. Way too much.

This was her fault. Her stalker. Her brother. Her nightmare that had reached out and destroyed the one person who’d never left her side.

She pressed both hands against the worst wound on his chest, trying to stem the bleeding. “Jesus, please. Please don’t take him. I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “Blade, you have to stay with me. You hear me? You don’t get to leave.”

His eyelids fluttered. A weak cough sent salt water spraying across her face and arms, but she’d never been so grateful to be soaked. He was breathing. Fighting.

“That’s it. Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.”

The chest wound looked horrific at first glance. Torn fabric, blood everywhere. But as she examined it closer, her medical training kicked in. The knife had hit muscle, not nerves. Not organs. Deep enough to bleed like crazy, but not deep enough to kill. The bicep wound was worse, still bleeding freely, but manageable.

Her free hand fumbled for her phone. “I’m calling 911. Just hang on—”

“No.” His voice came out as barely a whisper. His hand splashed the water, trying to catch her wrist. “Can’t trust.”

She hesitated. Of course. The dispatcher would route the call to the closest unit. A Millie Beach patrol car. Barclay’s people.

If Barclay was dirty—and everything pointed to exactly that—then calling his department was handing them both to the enemy.

“What about this crime scene?” She gestured at the bloody sand around them.

“What crime scene?” Blade’s mouth quirked up in a ghost of his usual grin. “Tide’s coming in. Washed away.” His eyes found hers, more focused now. “Get me upstairs before he comes back.”

The vulnerability of their position crashed over her. They were sitting ducks on an empty beach, Blade bleeding and defenseless, her Glock the only thing standing between them and a killer who could return any second.

“Can you walk?” She shifted position, getting her feet under her.

“You planning to carry me?” Despite the pain etched across his face, that teasing note crept into his voice. “I’m six-four, Crew.”

“Shut up and lean on me.”

She got her shoulder under his good arm and hauled him upright. He swayed, gritting his teeth, but stayed on his feet. Together they slogged through the sand toward the condo building, leaving a trail of blood and salt water behind them.

The lobby’s pristine travertine floor became a danger zone as they dripped their way to the elevator. Tori jabbed the button repeatedly, her eyes scanning the entrance for any sign of movement.