Page 3 of Don't Let Go

“Patch was hit…”

He said something else, but I barely registered it. She was hit? Where? How bad?

“Meet us there. Stay off the open air.” Then Remington was gone, the call cut off.

“He’s taking her to our secondary rallying point,” McQuade told me.

That was almost an hour away. Was she okay for a drive that far?

Goddammit.

“Go faster,” McQuade snapped, but I was already accelerating.

“We need to make sure our passenger doesn’t have any trackers.”

“We will. Justdrive.”

Chapter

One

PATCH

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Casualty reports are still incoming…”

The half-light cast by the dim lamp in the bathroom kept the murky darkness at bay. The world seemed fuzzy around the edges.

“Unexpected complications. Collateral damage within acceptable limits.”

The world seemed coated in grime and my eyes watered.

“…don’t you dare! Patch! Talk to me dammit!”

The last voice penetrated the haze and I shook my head a little. Were the voices real or was?—

A movement shifted the bed. A movement made bysomeone else. I jerked a little and turned, my gaze locking on a pair of dark eyes. Little bubbles of hysteria fizzed up through me like I was a carbonated can given too hard a shake.

The dark eyes were steady, unblinking and while I was sitting up, he remained where he was—laying down. Some distant portion of my brain still capable of rational analysis said his posture reflected a lack of threat.

Lack of threat…

That information accompanied one other pertinent nugget. Probably the important one…

“McQuade…”

Recognition bled through me and I sagged like someone had cut my strings. Fear dissolved into the sick effervescence rioting in my system.

“It’s just me,” he said in that rough way of his. The words had to bounce over that gravelly tone, but in some ways that was so much better than the soothing notes.

I really didn’t want to be soothed.

Not while my heart jackrabbited and my stomach did flip-flops and my memory…

My fucking memory needed to be defragged so I could get rid of all the broken bits of data cluttering things up and put the rest back together again. I lifted a hand to touch my face.

Despite half-expecting bruises, all I found was a pillow impression on my cheek and some drool.

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