Page 98 of Armed ’N’ Ready

The entire cage swung up and over the ledge, lowering slowly to the roof. A swarm of officers grabbed on to the cage, leveling it enough that Saxon could now stand.

Andi scrambled to Nick’s side, clasping his face in her hands. The second her fingers touched his cheeks her heart sank, and she let out a cry. He was cold. So cold.

“Get the medics up here!” Matt shouted, then he and Eric swung up and over the top rail and crouched at Nick’s side. He touched two fingers to Nick’s carotid. His dark brows bunched, and she feared the worst. They were too late.

He’s dead.

Saxon whimpered, lowering beside Nick and nuzzling his hand. That’s when she noticed Nick was still holding tightly to the dog’s front leg, his knuckles white.

“Is he…” She stared at Matt, unable to say the word. Dead.

“He’s alive.” But the expression on Matt’s face was grim. “Somebody get a blanket!” he shouted to the security guards. “He’s in shock with severe blood loss.” He rested a hand on Nick’s arm. “You can let him go, buddy. Saxon’s okay. You can let go now.”

“Nick,” she whispered, leaning down to press her lips to his chilled forehead. The words came bubbling out. “I love you. I love you!” All she wanted at that moment was for him to know she loved him.

He released his death grip on Saxon’s leg. Andi’s breath caught in her throat as he exhaled a low yet audible sigh. His lips moved, but the wind was still blowing so hard she couldn’t hear what he’d said. She leaned closer. “I’m here. It’s Andi. Please, Nick.” She began shaking her head back and forth. “Don’t you die on me. Don’t you dare die on me!”

When his lips moved again, she turned her head, positioning her ear nearer to his mouth. His voice was low, yet his words unmistakable.

“Love. You. Too.”

“Oh, Nick.” Her heart was tearing apart. He really loved her, and he was dying before her eyes.

Eric’s face came into her view. “Let the medics get to work on him. You can ride with him in the ambulance. I promise. He’d want you with him.”

“Okay,” she heard herself say, although inside she was going completely numb.

This can’t be happening.

But it was.

She let Eric help her to her feet, giving the medics more room to work. In seconds they had Nick’s shirt ripped open, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight of all the blood, some of it wet, some dried and dark.

“Get every patrol unit you’ve got,” Matt ordered, pointing to the other officers. “The second that ambulance starts rolling, light ’em up.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Andi leaned over and kissed Nick softly on the lips. “Good morning.” His skin was cool, although not nearly as cold as it had been that day a month ago when Meera’s bullet had pierced his chest. “And so, it begins again,” she whispered.

Another day of waiting. Hoping. Praying.

He lay deathly still, his lower body covered by a sheet, his bare chest dotted with heart monitor leads. A jagged, slightly raised patch of red skin marked what was left of the bullet’s entry wound. Tubes ran from his arms, attached to several IV drips on long metal poles. Monitors on the wall beeped occasionally, breaking up the silence of the hospital room.

Sighing, she let her gaze roam his body, searching for a sign that he’d moved, but there was none. Even in a coma, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And the only man she’d ever truly been in love with.

She lowered herself to a chair positioned next to the bed—the same one she’d been sitting in nearly every hour of the day and night for the last thirty days. During that time, she’d talked to him about anything and everything. She’d given him updates on Saxon, who’d been bunking with her and Stray. The poor dog was so completely lost and confused, he conducted daily searches of her house, looking for Nick and getting the most forlorn look on his face when he didn’t find him. She’d even confessed to feeding him Pop-Tarts, anything to boost the dog’s spirits.

Next, she’d told him how Tess had all but been running the DPC for the last month, popping into the hospital every now and then to make sure Andi ate. As it was, she’d lost ten pounds. She’d even given Nick her thoughts on Eric and Tess. Despite Tess’s adamant denial, something was definitely brewing between them. When she’d run out of things to talk about, Nick’s friends had stepped in, providing long-running recaps on the investigation.

Portia Laird was dead, and Andi had no sympathy for the woman who’d put so many guns on the streets and been responsible for so many deaths. Seeing Nick lying in a hospital bed—another victim of Portia’s greed and viciousness—she’d come to better understand the all-consuming, driving force behind his determination to stop the flow of weapons into Springfield. He hadn’t been able to prevent his wife from killing herself, but he’d dedicated himself to getting those weapons off the streets. In all, nearly three thousand guns had been discovered in a storage facility outside of Springfield.

As for her broken hand, the cast had recently been removed, although her fingers were all still quite stiff. Physical therapy would be necessary to regain full range of motion. Joe had recovered from the wound in his shoulder and signed a plea agreement with the prosecutor. While awaiting sentencing, he’d begun counseling sessions for his gambling addiction and put his fancy house and car up for sale in order to pay a large criminal fine and make restitution to an organization that assisted victims of gun violence.

The only good thing to come from Portia Laird was Scottie, her Bouvier. Matt had graciously taken custody of the dog and was housing him at Jerry’s Place, a kennel that was not only a place of healing for teens with alcohol problems, but a shelter that took in rescue dogs for the kids to work with and train. Despite his size, Scottie was a favorite at the kennel, and two families were already vying to adopt him.

She watched Nick’s chest rise and fall rhythmically, wishing he would open his beautiful gray eyes and pin her with that hard-ass cop glare of his.

Please, baby. Open your eyes.