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I don’t say the words out loud; I don’t have to. Somehow, she knows. Her jaw wobbles and her hands tremor against my chest.
But the doors lock anyway, keeping me out.
“Archer!”
I spin at Aubree’s panicked shout, only to find her yanking wires from her body. She sits on a stretcher in a bay half a dozen down from Minka’s, already shrouded in a gown. But her purple high tops glitter under the fluorescent lights, and her arms are stained red from another man’s blood.
Just two feet away, my brother watches over her, arms folded and face hard, while Aubree’s nurses battle to get her wires reconnected. The heart rate monitorbeeeeeeepswhen she tosses the clip from her finger, and though we know she’s alive, the blaring sound is enough to make Tim’s eyes shutter with fear.
“What’s happening with her?” Aubree smacks her nurse’s hands away and lobs the blood pressure cuff from her arm. Freeing herself, she drops to her feet and turns my direction, only to sway dangerously to the side.
Tim steps in and wraps her up tight so she doesn’t hit the floor, but her feet keep moving. So he, too, brushes off doctor hands and brings her closer.
Tears track over her cheeks as she reaches out for me. “He dragged me away!” she cries. “He took me. I would’ve gone back in to be with her.”
“He did the right thing.” I hold her hands, but I don’t miss Tim’s on her hips. His chest pressed to her back. His eyes burning dangerously hot. “You needed to be removed.”
“She was left in there alone!” she booms. “With a gunman.”
“I was in there with her. Tim was instructed to get you out.” A heavy ball of nerves lodges in my throat until I’m forced to swallow or choke on them. “She has a bunch of small cuts and bruises from the breaking glass. And her shoulder is messed up really bad.”
“The shoulder is my fault. He grabbed her because she was helping me.”
“Nothing was your fault.” Now that she’s accounted for and secure, I release her hands and turn in search of anyone I recognize. “Where’s the security guard?”
“I don’t know.” She leans on Tim, weak with worry, and mops her face with the loose fabric of her gown. “We just got here.”
“Slade got away.” I bring my gaze back to Tim. “Does anyone have a clue where he is?”
“Citywide manhunt already underway,” he rumbles. “Tiffany Hewitt has all of Copeland in a fuckin’ frenzy.”
“What about his kid?”
I grab a nurse as she tries to pass, and accept her enraged snarl as penance. “Where is Parker Slade’s daughter?”
“Sir, you know I’m not giving you information on another patient.” She glances down and flicks my hand off her arm. “Don’t grab me again.” Then she lifts the clipboard in her other hand as though to signal someone. “We need a wheelchair over here before Ms. Emeri falls.” Then she’s off, seeing to another patient.
“They said Minka was going in for surgery.” Aubree’s tears fall in a constant stream that soaks the top of her blue and white striped hospital gown. “She didn’t get to infuse yet.”
“They know.”
I bring my hands up and press them to my face. To lock out all the noise. And lights. And people. To see my wife in my mind and will her to be better. To be safe. To come out the other side of surgery in perfect condition.
“Fuck.” I pull a breath deep into my lungs until my chest expands, then I lower into a crouch, fighting the urge to scream.
Because it’s the middle of the fucking night, my wife is bleeding to death, and there’s nothing I can do for her.
MINKA
“We probably should’ve done this sooner, huh?” Luxuriating and lazy, I lie back on my lounge chair and angle my wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off my face. But I hum in the back of my throat because I feel the rays kissing my bare skin.
My legs. My stomach.
I wear a two-piece bathing suit, but it’s okay, because this is an island, and Archer made damn sure we’d be somewhere private.
This is just for us. Our honeymoon.
Belated, but so desperately needed.
