Page 123 of Ruthless Regret

The walkthrough the hospital hallways feels different today. Yesterday, I was running on adrenaline and fear, barely registering anything except the blood on my hands and the terror that Zain might not make it. Today, my steps are steadier, but my heart is still racing when I approach his room.

Bishop walks beside me, his presence a constant reminder that we're not safe yet. That McFadden is still out there, still playing his role of concerned sheriff while plotting his next move. I glance at Bishop's profile, wondering how he stays so calm, so composed. We’ve spent almost twenty-four hours together, and I know no more about him now than I did yesterday.

Rook is standing outside Zain's room, leaning against the wall, phone in his hand. He looks like he’s just come out to answer a text, but the truth is that he’s standing guard. Making sure that no one gets to Zain. His head lifts the second I round the corner.

"He's fully conscious today," he says when we get closer. "Mind's clear."

The relief that floods through me is almost dizzying. Yesterday, Zain was barely conscious, his words slurred anddisconnected when he spoke at all. I spent hours watching him drift in and out, terrified each time his eyes closed that they wouldn't open again.

“We’ll give you a couple of minutes to see him before we come in and talk.” Rook steps forward and pushes open the door.

Pulse quickening, I step inside. Zain’s room is small, sterile, with the faint beep of machines monitoring his vitals. His head turns toward me the moment I enter. His eyes—clear and alert in a way they weren’t yesterday—lock onto mine. The bruises on his face look worse today, the purples and blues deepening against his pale skin, but he's here. He's alive. And that’s enough to make my legs wobble, and make my throat tighten.

His lips twitch in something that might be a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” My voice comes out shaky.

I cross the room, and sit in the chair beside his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." His voice is rough, but steady. "Rook said you were here yesterday."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The image of him bleeding out on his kitchen floor is still too fresh, too raw. His hand moves across the sheets toward mine. I hesitate for a second before linking my fingers with his, relief washing through me at the warmth of his skin. Yesterday, his hands were so cold, like life was slipping away from him faster than I could hold on.

"The police haven’t been back," I say quietly, my eyes scanning the room as if McFadden himself might materialize out of thin air. "Is McFadden still being kept away from you?"

“For now,” Zain replies, a hardness in his tone that wasn't there before. His grip tightens around mine. “Are you okay?”

Before I can answer, the door creaks open again, and Rook steps inside with Bishop behind him.

“How’s he doing?” Bishop’s eyes scan Zain’s face.

“I’m fine,” Zain answers before I can. “What’s the plan?”

Bishop glances at me, then back to Zain. “We need to move fast. We have a small window to make this happen, but it means we’ve got to be smart.”

Zain pushes himself up slightly in the bed, wincing. I reach out to help him, but he shakes his head with a tight smile.

“We need to get McFadden to make a move,” Rook says. “He’s cautious, careful, but he’s also arrogant. That’s his weakness.”

I frown. “He’s always been a step ahead. How do we know he’ll slip up this time?”

“Because he’s never had to deal with being cornered before.” Rook smirks. “He’s been hiding in plain sight, using his position to keep suspicion off him. Now that we know the truth, we’ve got a chance to expose him.”

“And the pressure’s on him now,” Bishop adds. “He can’t just walk away from this. We have enough to make him sweat.”

“So what’s the trigger? How do we make him talk?” Zain asks.

Rook pauses, exchanging a glance with Bishop before answering. “We use the one thing he never thought would resurface—the buried reports.”

Zain’s eyes narrow. “The ones Ramsey buried? He knows we know about them. Holson mentioned them during his interview.”

That makes me think of something. “Why hasn’t he killed Holson? He killed Ramsey to keep everything quiet, so why not him as well?”

“Because it’d be too obvious. Holson talks about what he thinks in a room where only McFadden and the two of you are, and then turns up dead? It would immediately flag up as weird. He couldn’t risk that.” It’s Bishop who answers me.

“Just because he knows you’re aware of reports, he still won’t expect you to have copies of them,” Rook continues. “We spread them out, lay the groundwork. We show McFadden that we know everything—and we make him believe it’s already too late for him.”

Bishop cuts in, “But we don’t go in blind. We make sure we’ve got eyes on him at all times.”

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