Page 8 of One More Chance

He shot her a look.

She shot him one right back.

They both lived on thin ice with local police departments, him more than her. Neither needed to get on cops’ radars or catch the notice of federal police if they could help it. She’d connected with too many cops over the weekend, but that was what her life happened to be sometimes, more so now that she was married to a fed.

Bruce was a former CIA agent, burned by his government and left in exile in the UK for years before Kenna negotiated his return to the US. Now she was sort of responsible for him and whatever he did, though she didn’t want to be.

The guy had discovered his former partner at the Agency was the one who had burned him, and Bruce had spent weeks digging into the man’s life. He’d formulated a plan to get revenge, which Kenna preferred to think of as justice, but as soon as he’d moved to pull the trigger on the plan…the guy up and disappeared.

Completely.

The nurse looked between them, then rushed over to the woman in overalls lying on the concrete, unmoving. “Did you kill her?”

“How would I have done that?” Not because she couldn’t. More because Kenna had no idea how that would be possible right now. “I only shoved her with my shoulder.”

Bruce assessed Kenna. “She went down pretty hard. You good, boss?”

The nurse didn’t look over from her evaluation of the patient, but she definitely stiffened upon hearing that. Yeah, so they were connected. That was more of Kenna’s problem than anyone else’s.

Kenna touched the heel of her hand to her forehead, her thoughts swimming, sending her equilibrium off-balance.

Someone asked, “Do you need to be seen?”

She lowered her hand and looked at Doctor Nicola Santorini. Dark gray slacks and low-heeled black shoes, a white buttoned shirt, and a doctor’s lab coat over it. A tiny gold chain rested around her neck. She had dark brown hair, almost black, pulled back into a ponytail with loose strands around her head. Doctor Santorini was probably in her mid-forties but had no husband or children in her life. Just her medical practice.

“I had an appointment, but…” She waved at the woman on the ground.

“We’ll get to you.” The doctor went to her patient and crouched, speaking with the nurse. She flinched at something the woman said, then pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her lab coat and called 911. She asked for an ambulance. When she lowered her phone, Doctor Santorini said, “Care to explain why this woman’s sternum is caved in?”

Kenna’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t have any explanation. Wasn’t that why she was here? For the results of her tests.

For answers.

Kenna said, “She ran at me, and I blocked it. She fell back.”

“That doesn’t explain this.” Doctor Santorini sat back on her heels. “This woman needs to get to a hospital fast. She needs surgery.” She brushed back strands of hair from her face. “How did youdothis?”

Bruce tugged on her arm. “You don’t have to answer that. You don’t have to say anything.”

He drew her away from the accusations, toward the front door of the medical center. She turned to him. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” She lowered her voice. “You’re the one who threw her out the window.”

“She gave me no choice.”

Kenna lifted one brow. “I’m not the police. You don’t have to defend yourself with me. You already know that.”

She expected the plain truth, no spin. Bruce had been a spy for decades, so telling the plain and simple truth was something they’d been working on. Especially after he handed her over to their enemy a few months ago. Sure, if she’d have been apprised as to what he was doing, she would probably have agreed with his plan. But he hadn’t run it by her.

Her ragtag band of employees were the friends she seemed to have gathered over the last few months and, in some cases, years. People who’d stuck around long enough to call themselves coworkers but acted more like family. They were who they were. She didn’t want to change that.

What she wanted was to be a positive influence in their lives. After all, she’d surrendered her life to the Lord, and now that she was living out the day-to-day of being a Christian, she supposed that meant being evidence for them of what God could do in a person. It was up to them, not Kenna, whether her story convinced them it was worth taking the same step in their own lives.

She looked around. “What happened, Bruce?”

Instead of answering, he held the door for her, and they stepped inside. The first thing he did was look at two kids sitting in the waiting area, both of them pale and clearly terrified. A little girl, maybe six or seven, held her arm tight to her front. Her brother, around twelve years old, sat close to her side. Both were slender, their clothes from a thrift store or older and worn because that was all they had.

“Bruce.” Kenna needed an explanation.

“They came in about fifteen minutes ago. The girl is obviously hurt.” He kept his voice low, but the kids knew they were talking about them. Both looked like they were gonna bolt. “When she came in, they both reacted. Freaked out like they’re scared out of their little kid minds.”

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