Turn On A Dime - Kade's Turn (31 page)

He’d let her down.

Kathleen hadn’t asked anything of him, and the one time she had, Kade hadn’t gotten to her in time. She’d endured a psychopath, a corpse, and a deadly injury for six hours before they’d found her.

They’d been the longest six hours of his life.

The vodka burned going down, joining the acid tearing his gut up from the inside out.

He didn’t recall making the decision to go inside the hospital, he just found himself walking the deserted corridors in the middle of the night. Passing an empty nurses’ station, he walked around the counter and navigated the software they’d left open on the computer screen until he found Kathleen’s room number.

A few minutes later, he had silently entered her darkened room and stood, drinking in her still form on the bed. A shaft of light from the window illuminated enough for him to be able to see her face, sound asleep.

Moving slowly toward the bed, his hand lifted to touch her, and that’s when he saw the blood on him. Brass-knuckles guy—Kade must have gotten blood on him when he’d used the knife. The reddish brown stained his hand, a stark contrast to the pale skin of Kathleen’s cheek.

He jerked back. It was a good reminder. Kade had blood on his hands both literally and figuratively. He should no more be allowed to touch her than he should be allowed into heaven—not that he believed in such a place.

But he
did
believe in hell, and not just the hell-on-earth kind, but the real deal. Because he was dead certain that’s where he was destined to end up. It was the only place people like him deserved. And perhaps part of that hell was wanting something so badly—something so pure and good—and knowing you’d never, ever have it.

Going into the bathroom, he quietly closed the door before he washed his hands, carefully erasing the evidence of the brutality he’d meted out tonight. Too bad that, for him, brutality was more than skin-deep. It went to his bones, right down into his soul.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. There was a bruise forming on his forehead from where he’d smacked that guy. Other than that, he didn’t have a mark on him. He was almost sorry. It seemed he should pay for Kathleen’s pain with some of his own.

His eyes looked…empty. He wondered what, if anything, Kathleen saw when she looked into them. Did she see what he saw? A bleak wasteland of darkness that would only drag her down into the depths with him?

Returning to her bedside, he watched her, and maybe she sensed a presence because she suddenly woke with a gasp, then struggled to sit up.

Kade lightly clasped her shoulder, the bones too fragile beneath her skin. “Take it easy,” he said. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

At his voice, she relaxed back against the pillows with a sigh. “Where am I?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper that made him wince.

“Indiana University Hospital,” he said, wondering how much she remembered of her ordeal.

“Hate hospitals.”

“That’s what Blane said. But you needed to come here. They had to remove the bullet from your leg and you’d lost a lot of blood.” No sense sugarcoating the ways in which he’d failed her.

“Thirsty.” Now
that
he could do something about.

Grabbing a cup off the table, Kade filled it halfway with water, then helped Kathleen sit up so she could drink it.

“Thank you,” she said once she’d finished it, and her voice was clearer now, and stronger.

“No problem,” he automatically replied, helping her lie back down.

“How’d you find me?” she asked.

“I put a tracking device inside your cell phone after the first time you disappeared on me,” he said. “I wasn’t about to lose you again.” He swallowed, then said the fear he couldn’t help expressing. “Though it seems I nearly did.”

She didn’t reply to that and silence descended. After a few moments, she asked, “What time is it?”

“Around five a.m.,” he replied. “You were missing for over six hours. We would have gotten there sooner, but the asshole must have turned the phone off. It stopped sending a signal. All we had to go on was about a square-block radius.” It seemed he couldn’t stop the rationale, the defense of how long it had taken to get to her, as if he was begging her to understand why he’d failed.

“How’d Blane know about Frankie’s dad?”

“He was with me when Frankie called. I heard what you said, the description you gave. That was enough for me to track him down. Frankie was Franklin Randall Wyster. Son of James Walter Wyster, aka Ahmed el Mustaqueem.”

She said nothing, so he went on.

“Frankie and his dad allegedly committed an honor killing a couple years ago. The victim was his daughter, Christine Wyster. She was fifteen at the time. They were never prosecuted.”

Her body shuddered at that and Kade had a flash of regret for telling her. She empathized too much, could feel others’ pain too deeply.

“I thought Ryan was the one who killed those people,” she said, “but really it was Frankie.”

“Frankie may have killed them, but Ryan was the one threatening them into changing their testimony. I don’t know who he was working for, but I’m going to find out.”

Kathleen was quiet again for a few minutes, her eyes slowly blinking, as though she was finding it hard to stay awake. The heavy-duty drugs she was on must have been kicking in.

“Why do I feel funny?” she asked, the words slurring slightly.

“Painkillers.”

She blinked again, this time a few minutes passing before they reopened, and Kade wondered if she even realized she was dozing.

“Knew you’d find me.”

Her words were hard to make out, soft and slurry, and they felt like the feathery touch of forgiveness.

“Six hours was a long fucking time, princess,” Kade rasped. He couldn’t stop himself from touching her this time, grasping her hand gently. His palm was much larger, swallowing hers.

Her lips lifted slightly in a smile even as her eyes stayed shut.

“Go to sleep, Kathleen,” Kade said, smoothing back her hair. They’d cleaned her up, washed the blood and gore from her, and the strands were so soft. “You need your rest.” He released her hand and her eyes suddenly flew open.

“Don’t leave,” she said, and wonder of wonders, she reached for him.

Kade sucked in a breath and swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her, taking her hand in his again.

She relaxed, seeming content with that, and her eyes drifted closed.

So that’s where Kade stood, at her bedside, her hand in his, for the next three hours.

Blane reappeared with the change in the morning shift. He paused when he spied Kade.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he said.

Kade unobtrusively slipped his hand from Kathleen’s and stepped back. Glancing over his shoulder at Blane, he shrugged. “I’m still on bodyguard duty, right?”

Blane clasped his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” He drew up a chair and sat down just as a nurse walked in. Kade took the opportunity to slip out the door.

He was nearly dead on his feet. He’d been up straight for over twenty-four hours and felt it. Driving in a daze, he found himself pulling into Kathleen’s parking lot rather than his own. Surprised, he sat there for a minute, then got out and went into her apartment.

Tigger ran to greet him and Kade refilled his food and water bowls, then stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing. He tossed his jacket on the couch then let his feet take him into her bedroom.

She hadn’t made the bed, the sheets and blankets still pushed into a huddle from where she’d slept. Kade had a brief flash of Blane and Kathleen making love there, but he shoved the image aside. Instead, he pictured Kathleen sleeping, the way he’d seen her each time he’d stood over her—a black-clad monster guarding something rare and precious.

Falling into bed, he stretched on his stomach, pressing his nose into the pillow and inhaling the scent of Kathleen. The knot of guilt and self-loathing inside him eased. Peace—only with her, only because of her—and he slept.

Kade tried not to think about her for the next couple of days, instead devoting himself to tracking down every tie Ryan Sheffield had within the CIA and any other government agency. He was finally rewarded late one evening. It had only been one call, which had lasted a total of ten seconds, but the number was unmistakable. He’d seen it on his own caller ID too many times to recognize it for anything other than what it was.

Keaston.

Blane didn’t know, might never know, how warped and corrupt his uncle was. Maybe he didn’t want to know. The man had been like a second father to Blane over the years, despite his antipathy for Kade, which he’d always been careful not to show around Blane.

Kade needed more evidence, hard evidence, before he could breathe a word of this to Blane.

Toggling a key on the keyboard, Kade flipped between applications, pulling up the screen currently displaying Kathleen’s medical records. One of the first tests they’d done was for pregnancy, which had turned up negative.

Too much relief had flooded him at that news, followed by guilt. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to say anything to Blane, so Kade didn’t know if he was relieved…or disappointed. He wondered how he would’ve felt if it’d been him. It seemed such a foreign concept—being a father, having a wife, making a family. An ephemeral dream…an impossible dream.

Kathleen was being discharged today, and Kade wondered if Blane would take her home or to his place. She needed additional care, so he couldn’t imagine him leaving her alone. He’d bet Blane would find some way of getting her to agree to stay with him. Mona would be able to help her out, and she’d be close at hand for Blane to do some serious groveling.

Kade had no doubt that Blane would work his magic and be back in Kathleen’s good graces all too soon, which was how it should be. They belonged together, Blane and Kathleen, and it only showed what a sick fuck he was that Kade was in love with his brother’s girl. It was just better not to think about it.

Which lasted until about eleven or so.

The house was dark and quiet when Kade let himself in through the kitchen door. His steps were silent as his memory provided the path to avoid the stairs that squeaked. He paused outside Kathleen’s door, wondering if he’d find her inside, or if Blane already would have gotten her into his bed.

To his ashamed relief, she was in her bed…alone. And sound asleep.

He closed the door and stood near the bed, drinking her in. It felt oddly familiar and soothing, to watch her again, like he was settling back into a comfortable routine.

The room was bright enough from the moonlight pouring through the slats in the blinds for him to see her clearly. He didn’t think she was aware of him, then she spoke.

“Kade.”

It was like a blessing and a summons, drawing him toward her without any thought or will to resist. She reached to grasp his hand once he was close. Warmth flooded up his arm.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, princess,” which was exactly how she looked tonight. She wore a filmy white cotton nightgown, and even though the neckline was modest and the sleeves long, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Her hair was a wash of muted gold on the pillow, her eyes wide and trusting as she gazed up at him.

“It’s fine,” she said, sitting up. “Are you all right?”

The concern in her voice brought an acute edge to the guilt in his conscience. “You’re the one with a gunshot wound and you’re asking me if I’m all right?”

She didn’t reply. Moving over, she tugged his hand, her request unmistakable. But sitting next to a pajama-clad Kathleen, in the middle of the night, on her bed was a bad idea. It would probably never be a
good
idea, but right now, with his feelings so razor sharp, it seemed like a particularly bad choice. Which of course didn’t stop him from sitting, but he tried to stay as far away from her as possible. Her hand was still inside his, warm and soft.

“Thank you for coming after me,” she said.

As if he needed to be thanked.

“We were nearly too late,” he said. Didn’t she understand the enormity of his failure?