Page 46 of Jonathan

His head shot up, eyes widening in relief and joy as he saw her awake. "Hey," he said softly, leaning closer. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," she replied with a faint chuckle, though the movement sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder. "But better now that you're here.”

“Where else would I be?” He wanted to gather her up against him and cradle her.

“I was shot.” She tried to move – to ease up on the pillows, but the pain was too much.

“Easy, baby.” He pressed her back down.

“The guy, the bastard who shot me…?”

“Is dead.” His voice was deadly, expression grim. “And it pisses me off that I was not the one to end him.” his expression turned anguished. “Baby, I am so sorry.”

Her hand gripped his. “I was so afraid and kept clinging to the hope that you would find me.”

“I was almost too late.” The very thought of it curdled his blood. He was back in the woods where he saw her lying down, with blood pouring from her wound. “If you had died…”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. He was going to rape me.”

He had to push away from the bed to compose himself. She did not need his anger right now. When he was alone, he would give vent, but right now, that was not what she needed.

“You’re in pain. Let me get the doctor.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting shut.

Chapter 12

Jon squeezed her hand gently before letting go and stepping out of the room. The hallway was quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow on the polished floors. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart before approaching the nurse's station.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Could you please send the doctor to room 314? She's in a lot of pain."

The nurse gave him a sympathetic nod and picked up the phone to page the doctor. Jon's mind wandered back to the traumatic events, the fear and desperation he felt as he searched for her, praying he wouldn't be too late. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the haunting images.

The doctor arrived swiftly, a calm presence that Jon found reassuring. "I'll take care of her," the doctor said, placing a gentle hand on Jon's shoulder. "You should get some rest too."

Jon nodded, though he knew rest would be elusive. As the doctor entered the room, Jon lingered by the door, watching as they attended to her. She seemed so fragile, her strength sapped by the ordeal, yet she had survived. That alone was a miracle he cherished.

Finally, he forced himself to step back, knowing she was in good hands. He found a chair in the waiting area and sank into it, his body heavy with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. Instead, he replayed the moment he found her, the immense relief mingled with fury at the man who had brought her such pain.

He was bringing his hands to rub over his face when he saw the blood that had seeped between his blunt nails. Clenching his fists in potent anger, he had to take several breaths to steady himself.

The bastard was dead. He was lying cold and lifeless on a slab in a morgue and could not hurt her anymore. But that was not enough. He wanted him alive so he could tear him from limb to limb, for daring to lay a hand on her.

He should have been the one to kill him. He had hurt her, and Jon blamed himself. He was suffering from guilt. It had been unforgivably stupid to take her back to the cabin and leave her there alone.

And he wondered, the anguish rushing through him, if she blamed him too. She had been hurt because of him. She had come here to get away from her frenetic lifestyle and had almost lost her life.

Rubbing a hand over his knee, he closed his eyes wearily. He should call her parents, assure them that she was all right. By tomorrow, it would be all over the news, and he did not want them hearing from that source.

Pushing to his feet when the door swung open, he faced the doctor.

“How is she?”

“Sleeping. She lost a lot of blood and is a very fortunate young woman. One inch lower and she…”

“Yes.” Jon did not want to think about it. He had figured that out when he saw the wound. “Any complications?”

“No.” Dr. Alexander rubbed a hand over his face. “She is otherwise healthy, which was a plus.”

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