“He left you and came to me later,” Tracy cried. “He spent the night with me.”
Dev’s jaw dropped. The girl was certifiable. Slowly, he crept closer. Close enough to see Connor’s knuckles turn white.
“I’m sick of your whining. Dev will be waiting for me.” Tracy’s voice had risen in pitch. She sounded wild. From long experience as a cop, Dev recognized that shrill, staccato speech pattern. She was highly unstable, highly unpredictable, and therefore incredibly dangerous.
He was about halfway to the door.
Reghan gave a forced snort. “Do you actually think you can kill me with that little scalpel?”
He smiled grimly.
So Tracy had a scalpel.
Good job, Connor.
Good instincts. She was a kick-ass partner.
Tracy laughed, and the sound chilled him to the bone. “You still don’t get it, do you? I’d rather cut you. But if you want to run, go ahead. Look what I took off your little watchdog over there.”
Dev cursed silently. Tracy had Mintz’s gun
.
Cop-issue 9mm Glock. At such close range, Connor would never survive.
Even as the thought hit his brain, Connor spoke. “Tracy, be careful. That gun is loaded.”
“No kidding.”
Connor stepped backward and threw her hands up in an instinctive defensive gesture. “Tracy, don’t!”
Dev dove through the doorway, leaping in front of Connor. He whirled in mid-air, training his gun on the place where he’d figured Tracy would be standing.
A shot rang out. A ten-ton truck slammed into him.
Behind him, Connor screamed.
He fired twice, but as he fell in slow motion, he knew he’d missed.
The floor rushed up and hit him. He rolled instinctively, righting himself in order to get off another shot, but his hand came up too slowly. His arm wasn’t doing what his brain was telling it to do.
He saw Tracy’s mouth move. “
No-o-o- Dev!”
The sound was a faraway echo.
From behind, someone cried out his name. His vision wavered. His brain wasn’t working right.
Tracy lifted the gun.
“Connor! Down!” He heard his voice through a fog as he grabbed his gun hand with his other hand and did his best to hold it steady.
His vision was blurring. “No!” he shouted again, but the gun slipped from his fingers.
He registered the sight of Tracy staring at the gun in her hand. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. When she raised the gun, the barrel was pointed at her own head.
No!
He used the last vestiges of his strength to push himself up off the floor and toward her. Fierce pain wracked him as his body hit hers, and a shot exploded near his ear. He fell hard onto the floor, his ears ringing with the blast.
Connor.
Where was Connor?
He rolled off Tracy as the front door burst open and the room filled with cops.
Thank God
.
“Connor!” he bellowed, but his lips felt stiff and no sound came out. He couldn’t breathe.
Then everything went black.
…
Reghan dragged herself up onto her hands and knees. She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. Had Dev knocked her down when he dove in front of her? She lifted her head, which suddenly seemed to be a monumental task.
Tracy was on the floor. Dev was crumpled right beside her.
Dev.
“Oh, God, no. Dev!”
He couldn’t be dead
. Not Dev. Not the one person who meant more to her than her own life. But he was so still, and there was so much blood spreading across his shoulder and chest.
At that instant Tracy jumped up, her crystal blue eyes wide and wild. She spotted the gun Dev had knocked from her hand and dove for it.
Two uniformed policemen grabbed her.
Oh, thank God. They’d come, after all.
One officer held Tracy while the other handcuffed her, struggling and muttering to herself.
“Somebody help Dev!” Reghan cried. “Please. He’s bleeding.”
She grabbed her side. It hurt—a lot. She did her best to focus. Tracy was being hauled away, still muttering. Reghan looked around for Dev, but couldn’t see him anywhere. She tried to push herself up, but someone held her down.
“Don’t move, Ms. Connor.”
She heard the voice, but she couldn’t place it. The room seemed full of people—weird, wobbly people, but she didn’t have time to figure out why they were wobbly. She had to get to Dev.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Please, you’ve got to help Dev. He’s bleeding.”
“Don’t worry, he’s going to be okay.”
“No! He was shot. I saw the blood.” She pushed against the man who was preventing her from getting up. Lifting her head, she saw several people were huddled around a still figure.
“Dev!” she cried. “There he is. Get out of my way.” She pushed at the hands pressing against her shoulders.
“Just relax,” the owner of the hands said. “I need to examine you. You’re bleeding.”
“Not me. It’s Dev,” she protested, trying again to rise. But her side hurt a lot, and the man with the hands was strong.
She started to cry. “Please help him. He’s been through so much.”
Oh, God, she loved him so.
She always had. Even while she’d been busy exposing his lies, she’d been falling in love with Devereux Gautier.
From the start, her obsession with proving that he wasn’t a hero had been her unconscious way of protecting herself from a man she’d believed was a cowardly charmer, like her father and her fiancé. Cowardly charmers never stuck around. They lied and they left. Yet there was Dev, bleeding, maybe dying, because he’d come for her and shielded her from a bullet with his own body.
“Need some help over here,” the man bending over her called out. “An IV and a sedative, stat.” A second blue jacket came into her line of vision. “Now, honey.” It was a woman. She had gloves on and was handing the man a plastic bag. “You’ve got a bullet in you, and you’ve got to be very still.”
“A bullet?” Reghan echoed.
The woman pulled the cover off a syringe.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t you dare give me a shot!”
The woman’s kind face filled her blurry vision. “I’ll have to if you don’t cooperate, Ms. Connor. We have to move you onto a stretcher.”
They lifted her, and her side cramped with pain. “The bullet. It must have gone through him and into me.” Her voice trailed off. “He took a bullet for me…”
“I need you to be still, Ms. Connor. We’re about to put you into the ambulance.”
“Wait!” she said. “I can do it myself.”
But the woman just chuckled. The stretcher was lifted into a brightly lit van that looked like a hospital room inside.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “I want to go with Dev—Detective Gautier.”
The EMT climbed in beside her. “Yes, ma’am. His ambulance is right behind us. Hear the siren?”
She didn’t feel the prick of the needle.
She listened to the siren all the way to the hospital.
…
Once she was rolled into the emergency room, it didn’t take long for Reghan to learn the bullet had entered her left side and penetrated about an inch under the skin. It was a simple procedure to remove it.
The young doctor said as he tied off the last stitch, “No reason why you can’t go home. You just need to take it easy, and call your regular doctor in a week to get these stitches out.”
“I’ve got your antibiotics right here,” a nurse said, setting an amber container on a small table while brandishing a syringe. “The doctor has ordered an injection of the same drug, to get you started.”
The doctor nodded. “Infection is a concern with these types of wounds,” he said, pulling off his gloves.
“The bullet wound in room three is refusing surgery,” the nurse said to the doctor. “I think they could use your help.”
“Bullet wound?” Reghan asked, struggling to sit up as the doctor quickly left the cubicle. “That’s Dev. Where is room three?” Whoa,” the nurse said. “I need to give you your shot and bandage your wound before you move. “
“No time,” Reghan cried, sliding off the exam table, feeling a little light-headed.
Dev was awake and arguing, she realized with relief. That meant he really was going to be okay. If he would let the doctors do their jobs. “I’ll get him to agree to the surgery. He’ll listen to me.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” the nurse said. “The doctor is sedating him, and we’re looking for his next of kin.”
“He has no next of kin. I’m—” Reghan took a deep breath. She’d do anything at this point to be by his side. “I’m as close to next of kin as he has.”
The nurse tried to stop her, but at that instant, she heard him. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but it was definitely Dev’s voice. Reghan pushed past the nurse and followed the sound.
She found Dev in a glass-walled room with machines and wires and blinking lights. He was on a gurney, his face pale, his expression twisted with pain and frustration. His arms were being restrained by two muscular nurse’s aides, while a nurse prepared an IV and the doctor who had stitched Reghan up examined Dev’s bullet wound.
It was obvious they were having no trouble keeping him still. The idea that he didn’t have the strength to fight them sent anguish and fear arrowing through Reghan. She rushed inside. All eyes turned to her. She ignored everyone but Dev.
“Connor,” he said hoarsely. “You okay? Nobody’ll tell me anything.” He let his head fall back against the pillow and closed his eyes. It was appalling how weak he appeared.
The nurse who was hanging the IV glared at her. “Ma’am, you’re not allowed in here.” She shifted her gaze to another nurse. “Carol, get her out.”
“Wait. He needs surgery?” she asked the doctor.
The annoyance in the doctor’s gaze faded. “He’s bleeding internally. He could go into shock any minute.”
“Let me talk to him. I’ll make him agree,” she said.
A weak snort came from Dev. “She can do anything,” he mumbled. “Just ask her.”
She turned to him. He sounded so defeated. “What’s the matter with you? You have to agree to the surgery.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I gotta check on Penn and Katie. Let the kids know what happened. See how Tracy’s doing. And Mintz—” Talking was wearing him out, and she didn’t like the way he was slurring his words.
“What’s wrong with his speech?” she asked the doctor.
“The EMTs sedated him in the ambulance. He woke up and started fighting them.”
She moved closer to Dev and took his hand. “You can’t take care of anybody unless you take care of yourself. You know that. Be reasonable.”
“What about Penn and Katie and the kids?” he said, opening his eyes with an effort. “What about you?”
She laughed softly. “Oh, I love you so much, but you are a stubborn man. You trusted me to help with Nicky. Can’t you trust me to care of things for a few hours?”
“You…you love me?” he asked drowsily.
Oh, lord. Had she said that aloud? “Just trust me, Dev. Okay?”
She expected one last retort, but he let his head sag back to the pillows and closed his eyes. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Connor?” he whispered.
“More arguments?” she murmured.
He moved his head slightly in a negative gesture. “Love you, too.”
The doctor broke in. “We’ve got to hurry. He’s nearly unconscious.”
With relief, Reghan watched Dev scribble his signature on the surgical release form.
“Okay, let’s get this gurney to surgery,” the doctor said and pushed past everyone.
“Come on, Ms. Connor,” the nurse said. “We still need to put a bandage over those stitches and give you discharge instructions.” She herded Reghan back into her cubicle.
While the nurse worked, Reghan played Dev’s last words over and over in her head. Had he really said he loved her? Her heart overflowed with joy.
But it was short-lived. Even if he had, he’d been too sedated to know what he was saying. Too near unconsciousness to understand how monumental a statement it was.
She wanted to ask the nurse if she’d heard Dev’s words, but how silly was that? Her eyes stung, and a lump grew in her throat. Very silly, she told herself as she bit her cheek, working to hold back tears.
The nurse pressed the last piece of tape in place on her side. “There you go.” She pulled a smart pad from her pocket. “Let’s see. You’ll need to be careful for the rest of the day. Do you have someone to drive you home once you sign your paperwork?”
“No,” Reghan said. “I’m staying here until—” she was interrupted by the rustling of the curtain. A bearded, dark-haired man Reghan had never seen before stuck his head in.
“Can I come in?” he asked, and grinned. “I’m her ride.”
The nurse frowned at him. “Didn’t I tell you to wait at the desk?”
He slipped inside and closed the door. “Yes, ma’am. But people kept trying to put me in a room and take my clothes off.”
Reghan smiled involuntarily. She noticed the nurse was struggling not to smile as she said sternly, “I’m this far from calling security, young man.”
He grinned and held up an NOPD badge. “Won’t work. I outrank them.” He turned to Reghan. “Afternoon, Ms. Connor. I’m Rick Easterling. I’m with Vice, but everybody’s pretty much tied up this evening, and Dev’s a good friend of mine. I’m your personal taxi service tonight.”
“Humph. Well, Ms. Connor is ready to go, as soon as she gets dressed.”
“Oh.” Reghan looked down at herself. She still had on the bloodstained skirt, but she was wearing a flimsy hospital gown on top, which gaped open in front. She whipped it closed.
The nurse waved a hand at the man. “You get back outside until she’s dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the glimmer in his brown eyes belying his solemn agreement. “By the way,” he continued, pulling an envelope and a small bag out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got a warrant for that bullet. You can put it in here.” He sent Reghan a wink as he ducked out.
The nurse helped her back into her ripped, bloody blouse and buttoned it for her. She really wished she had something else to wear.
Just as she finished, the dark-haired man opened the door again. “Ready now?”
The nurse frowned, but Reghan nodded. “Yes, but I’m not leaving. I want to stay here. Dev’s in surgery.” Her voice broke.