Page 91 of Fatal Intent
“I’m not leaving him. He’s in danger, and I’m his bodyguard.”
The nurse’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands. “Looks like you’re more than that to me.”
“We’re getting married soon but the danger still exists and my role in protecting Grant remains unchanged.”
The woman rolled her eyes but returned to her work without further comment.
After a decade on the streets of Chicago, Rayne had seen more than her fair share of gunshot wounds. Except for wounded children, none of the gunshot wounds had affected her as much as this one. Seeing Grant’s bullet wound turned her stomach. The injury was wrong and offensive.
Grant shouldn’t be lying on this exam room table, bleeding while the medical team determined the extent of his injuries and how best to treat him. He shouldn’t be injured at all. The hole in his side marred the perfection of his tanned skin.
If the situation wasn’t so serious, Rayne would have laughed at herself. No operative survived missions without injuries. They all returned to the states with cuts, bruises, and, yes, even bullet wounds. Injuries were the cost of their chosen careers.
Grant squeezed her fingers. “Hey, look at me,” he murmured.
She dragged her gaze to his, tears blurring her vision.
“I’ll be fine. You’ve seen injuries like this before. The doc will patch me up and I’ll be as good as new in a few weeks.”
“A few more centimeters and the outcome would have been different.”
“But it wasn’t. The shooter wasn’t aiming at me.”
Grant was right. If the sniper had wanted to kill Grant, he’d had plenty of time to take the shot. But he hadn’t.
This time his target had been Teagan. Did the shooter mistake Teagan for her or was he hurting Seth by attempting to kill his wife?
They wouldn’t have answers to those questions until they caught the shooter. If he allowed himself to be caught. This guy might prefer to go out in a firefight than live for decades behind bars for murder while the justice system played out his appeals as he sat on death row.
The doctor looked at Grant. “Mr. Bowen, you need surgery, my friend.”
Grant grimaced. “Figured.”
“Shouldn’t take long but you’ve lost a lot of blood, and we need to see if the bullet nicked a vital organ. What blood type are you?”
“O positive.”
“Good. Should be easy to replenish what you lost.”
“I can donate blood for him,” Rayne said. “I’m O positive as well.”
“You’re welcome to donate. We always need donations. However, Mr. Bowen needs blood soon, and your donation must be processed. The quickest we can use your blood is tomorrow.” The doctor returned his attention to Grant. “Dr. Grayson will be your surgeon. He’s an excellent physician and surgeon. You’ll be in expert hands.”
“How long is the recovery time?”
“You should take it easy for a month so your body can completely heal.”
A month. If they wrapped up this case in the next few days, Grant would have several weeks to slow his pace.
Her gaze locked with his. Heat burned in the depths of his eyes. Looked as though the handsome operative was thinking along the same lines as she was. A month gave them time for a quick wedding and a long honeymoon.
Grant shifted his gaze to the physician. “Let’s do this, Doc.”
“Give me two minutes, then you’ll be on your way upstairs to the surgical suite.” The doctor gave the medical staff orders and left the exam room.
Rayne leaned close to Grant. “Did you see the shooter?”
“Nope. He’s good,” Grant admitted. “And trained.”
