Page 81 of Blind Justice

Noah nodded, his eyes never leaving Ruth.

Paul sighed. “If we’re not lucky… we’re in trouble.”

Noah knew that too. But for now, they had made it. And he wasn’t letting go of her.

Thirty

Luke Andrews sat at Maxim Fairchild’s kitchen table, his fingers curling into fists against the smooth surface. The wind outside screamed through the eaves, rattling against the windows like an impatient intruder. Snow fell in an unrelenting barrage, the storm swallowing the world in white. Three feet, they’d said. Three feet of impassable, merciless cold. And here he was—trapped in his boss’s house, pretending like everything was fine. Like his heart wasn’t about to explode from the pressure of keeping up this damn cover.

His phone vibrated against the table, Melanie’s name glowing on the screen. He stared at it, dread coiling tight in his gut.Play the part, he reminded himself.Be the concerned boyfriend. Answer it, his mind commanded, but his fingers hesitated.

“Luke?” Melanie’s voice cracked, then broke apart into sobs. Raw, breathless, desperate.

His entire body went rigid. “Mel, what is it?”

“Luke—it’s Ruth. They sent her away…”

His breath stopped. The words slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He pressed the phone tighter against his ear, gripping it so hard, his knuckles ached. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a bomb,” Melanie gasped. “In Ruth’s car. At Brayburn’s Steakhouse.”

Luke dug deep.Act surprised. Act worried.

“A bomb?” His voice was steel, controlled.

“She was in a coma, Luke,” Melanie sobbed. “And now the storm—she has to be stuck between hospitals. They don’t know if they can even get her there in time.”

His stomach twisted violently.Ruth.The last time he’d spoken to Noah, she was still fighting. Alive. And now?—

“Why did they move her?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What about Noah? Is he with her?”

“I don’t know.” Melanie’s breath hitched. “Luke, she’s in a coma. I talked to her sister Sophie. They don’t think she’s going to wake up.”

A leaden silence stretched between them.

Luke clenched his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared out at the white void beyond the window. The storm had trapped him here, in this house, when he needed to be anywhere but here. He forced himself to breathe, to push past the panic clawing up his throat. He didn’t have to fake the emotion.

“Melanie,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “Listen to me. I need you to breathe, okay? I swear to you—I’ll figure this out. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”

“But what if she—” Melanie’s voice broke, the words dissolving into sobs.

Luke closed his eyes, his grip tightening around the phone. The walls of the house pressed in around him, suffocating, inescapable. Outside, the storm howled, merciless and indifferent to the desperation clawing through his chest.

If Ruth was truly in a coma, something went terribly wrong. He’d known about the bombing—Fairchild denied being involved. His boss was moving guns, and Luke was undercover to gather intel. Noah Kandor was working on uncovering the dirt in Fairchild’s landscaping business. He asked Noah for help.

Was there hope?

The need for answers burned inside him. He had to find the truth. He knew Noah had survived, but was Ruth comatose? And beyond that, he needed to know who planted the bomb. Someone had orchestrated this—who and why?

His jaw tightened as determination cut through the anxiety threatening to pull him under.

“Melanie,” he said, his voice firm now, “I’ll get there soon. I promise you.”

“How, Luke? You’re stuck in the middle of nowhere at Fairchild’s house!”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, the steel in his tone leaving no room for doubt.

As he hung up, the storm outside felt insignificant compared to the storm within. He glanced out the frosted window, the snow falling in thick, suffocating waves. Though he just met Ruth, she was Noah’s woman. And Noah was a fellow cop. His ache for Noah ebbed, replaced by something sharper—something colder.

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