Page 73 of Edge of Secrets

The period that followed was a murky blur. A lot of people tried to talk to me, to very little purpose. I’d just shut down.

I stared at myself in the hospital bathroom mirror. I stank of that bitter antiseptic foam soap in the squeeze bottle over the sink—the stuff I’d tried to clean myself up with. I supposed it beat the stench of river mud, but the blend of the two bad smells was uniquely nasty.

Nancy and Liam had brought me a change of clothes. Liam’s stuff fit well enough, although the shirt was tight around my shoulders. My own clothing lay in a clammy, mud-slimed snarl on the hospital bathroom floor. I shoved the gun back into my jeans, covered it with the shirttail.

I was crashing. I felt icy cold inside, and my hands couldn’t stop shaking.

The doctors and nurses had forced me out of Nell’s room so they could examine her, hook her up to all the tubes, needles, and machines. I’d waited outside the door like a patient hound shivering on the doorstep until they took pity on me and let me back in again.

She looked so fragile. So pale. Only her hair had vitality, lying in great billows of fuzzy black ringlets over the pillow.

I was so afraid I could hardly breathe. I wondered if I’d earned enough points with this stunt to get another chance with her, after everything that had happened.

I’d seen how my world looked without her in it. I’d felt that to the fullest during that hellacious race against time. I couldn’t face it.

I’d say any words she wanted to hear. I didn’t give a fuck whether they were true or not, realistic or not. I no longer cared about honesty, dealing straight, any of that meaningless bullshit. She could write out a script for me, if she wanted, and I’d parrot it back to her, get it signed, witnessed, and notarized. I wasn’t ashamed. I didn’t have the energy for shame. I knew when I was whipped.

The only reason I’d left her bedside at all was because Liam and Nell’s sisters were there, talking in hushed tones, giving me worried looks. Vivi had bought me coffee and a sandwich at the lunch stand in the lobby. I hadn’t been able to eat it. My insides had turned to stone.

I kicked my stuff into the corner of the bathroom and walked out, braving the sympathetic glances. Vivi vacated the chair near the head of Nell’s bed. I jerked my chin at it, indicating that she should sit again.

“As fucking if. Sit.” She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me into the chair. “You’re the one who’s been out there being heroic, getting shot at.”

I slumped into the chair and took Nell’s hand again—the one that wasn’t torn up, bandaged into a puffy white ball. Her hand was so cold. But so was mine. Clammy with fear. I had no heat to give her.

Vivi put her hand on my shoulder, leaned over, and kissed the top of my head. “Hey. Duncan,” she said softly. “You did good. It’s going to be fine. Try to relax, okay? You’re scaring us.”

I jerked my head and hunched lower over Nell’s hand. Some time later, her fingers twitched inside mine. My heart jumped into my throat. Her eyes were fluttering open. Dazed.

Nancy and Vivi got up and came over to the other side of the bed. “Hey, sweetie,” Nancy said, her voice thick with tears.

Nell gave them a tiny smile, like the corners of her lips were too heavy to lift. Her eyes flicked to mine. I stared back, mute. A silence took over the room. An electrical charge that grew … and grew.

“Ah, maybe the three of us can just go take a little coffee break,” Vivi suggested softly. “Come on, you guys. Let’s go.”

They trooped out the door, leaving the two of us finally alone.

Chapter Thirty

Nell

I gazed up, so happy he was there. Both of us, still alive. How marvelous—and improbable—was that? My heart was swelling. So soft and full, it felt like a supernova in my chest. I was exhausted, limp. So soft. Just a fuzzy glow of light lying in the bed. Probably it was whatever they’d drugged me with. Nice stuff, whatever it was.

Duncan lifted my hand and leaned forward, elbows on the bed, rubbing my knuckles against his cheek. His beard stubble was a delicious cat’s-tongue rasp of pleasurable friction against my skin. He didn’t look good. His eyes were shadowed, and his mouth was grim. I tried to speak to him, but my muscles wouldn’t respond.

“Don’t talk,” he ordered, frowning. “Rest.”

I finally got words out, letting them ride on the outbreath. “Did I thank you for saving my life?”

A smile softened the grim cast of his face. “Not in the last thirty-six hours.”

“Ah. Well.” I squeezed his hand. “For the record. Thanks. You always come through for me.”

There was so much to say to him it was bottlenecked inside me. Then suddenly, my memories coalesced—and with them, a clutch of fear. “Elsie?” I asked. “Wesley?”

“They’re okay,” he assured me. “Elsie was treated for shock and a knock on the head—your sisters told me—but she’s already getting a huge charge out of being a local celebrity. She’s in hog heaven, giving interviews to the local paper from her hospital bed. Wesley’s pretty bad, but he’s in stable condition. The bullet missed his vital organs. He lost a lot of blood, but he should be okay.”

“Thank God,” I murmured. My eyes drifted closed again. I felt like a radio, tuning in and out of the frequency of consciousness, but Duncan was always there, like a rock coming in and out of view in the mist. So comforting.

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