Page 87 of Explosive Vengeance

“Hi,” she whispered back, wincing.

“You’ve got a grade three concussion and some internal bruising, but no fractures.”

Dubois. She’d been inside the blast radius when she’d detonated the bomb. “Is he dead?” she managed.

“Yes. You got him.”

She sagged into the bed, a torrent of emotions slamming into her. Fleur had died because of him. And she and Heath almost had too.

A blinding rush of tears flooded her eyes. They leaked past her clenched eyelids, spilling from the corners of her eyes down her temples and into her hair.

Strong arms slid under her, warmth surrounding her as Heath’s lips spoke against her ear. “It’s all right. I’m right here, and you’re gonna be okay.”

More pain streaked through her left arm as she reached up to embrace him, her palms resting on his broad back. The tears kept coming no matter how hard she tried to stop, the sobs jerking her, hurting everything so bad she feared she might throw up.

Heath stayed like that, holding her without moving her. Soothing her and protecting her from more pain.

“I’m s-sorry,” she choked out.

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

No, it wasn’t. She’d almost gotten him killed today, too focused on killing Dubois. She didn’t deserve him. “N-no. S-sorry.”

“I know. But I’m still here. And I forgive you, but only because you’re still alive. I love tacos even though they fall apart, remember?”

Another time that might have made her smile a little. But she hadn’t taken his feelings or safety into consideration. Had never thought what seeing her die in front of him would do to someone like him.

Out of words and in too much pain to talk anymore, she absorbed the comfort he gave and focused on regaining the control she prided herself on. When the tears finally stopped and the jerky hitches of her chest and shoulders stopped, exhaustion tugged at her.

Heath eased up enough to smooth a thumb across her damp cheek, his beautiful blue eyes brilliant even in the dimness. “What’s your pain at on a one-to-ten scale?”

No point in lying. She wanted to cut her own head off just to escape it. “Twenty.”

He winced. “Ouch. I’ll call the nurse. They gave you something in your line a while ago. For now, just close your eyes and lie still.”

She was only too happy to comply.

Medical staff came in. She grudgingly answered their questions in French, using as few words as possible, wishing they’d just shut the hell up and go away because her head was seriously going to explode.

Finally, she and Heath were alone in blessed quiet. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Sleep now.”

She let it take her, stealing her away from the pain. When she woke next the pain was better, her skull no longer threatening to split apart. She was tender all over, not surprising given what she’d survived. Heath fed her some broth and crackers. “There’s someone out in the hall waiting to see you,” he told her. “You up for a short visit?”

“Sure.”

He went to the door and an unfamiliar man walked in. Tall, graying hair, but built as solid as Heath, with piercing, silver eyes. “Hi, Chloe. I’m Alex Rycroft,” he said, stepping close to her bed.

“Oh, wow. Hi,” she blurted, automatically holding out her hand.

His lips twitched as he shook it, his grip warm and firm. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good things?”

“Mostly.”

“I uh… Thanks for cleaning up the mess I made.”

“Messes,” he corrected.

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