Page 67 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
Through the haze, she caught a glimpse of him walking beside her gurney, shirt ripped, face streaked with soot, eyes locked on hers as if letting go meant losing her.
She didn’t want to want him, but she did, and she was tired of hiding from it. “Don’t—don’t let them leave without you,” she whispered.
“I’m right here,” he promised.
Her vision tunneled, darkness sweeping in soft and slow. The last thing she felt was his hand tightening around hers, the steady weight of a man who’d already tried to take a bullet for her and would again if it came to it.
The world came back in pieces—first the steadybeepof a monitor, then the antiseptic sting of hospital air. Her arm felt heavy, wrapped in layers of gauze and tape. Pain pulsed low and constant, a living thing under her skin.
Isobel blinked, trying to focus. The ceiling light glowed dim, its reflection rippling over a metalIV pole. Someone sat slouched in a chair beside her bed, elbows on knees, head bowed.
Rone.
His thick stubble, dark hair mussed, shirt half untucked, a faint streak of blood dried along his forearm made him look like he hadn’t slept in a week. But his hand was still there, wrapped around hers like he’d never let go.
She swallowed, throat raw. “You guarding me, or too tired to move?”
His head snapped up. Relief washed through his expression so fast it stole her breath more than the pain did. “You’re awake.”
“Disappointed?” she rasped.
He leaned forward, a tired half smile tugging at his mouth. “You have no idea.”
Her laugh caught and turned into a wince. “Don’t make me laugh. Hurts.”
“Noted.” He stood and adjusted the blanket over her good arm with careful fingers. “You lost a lot of blood. The bullet missed anything vital by about half an inch.”
“Half an inch.” She let out a slow, shaky exhale. “Guess that’s my new lucky number.”
His gaze softened. “Don’t say that name.”
It took her a beat to realize what he meant. “Right,” she whispered. “Lucky.” The memory hit hard—his grin, the dot of red on his cheek, the flash of gunfire. “Was he right? Are we still a target?”
Rone nodded. “For now. But Blake’s team believes they’re going to put the biggest hole in their organization in decades. They have new intel thanks to Lucky, who likes to brag about how great Laurel has been to him and who worked with him inside the FBI.”
Silence settled between them, filled only by the rhythmic hum of machines.
“You stayed,” she said finally.
His brow furrowed. “Of course I did.”
She studied him, the set of his shoulders, the quiet exhaustion behind his eyes. “People don’t usually stick around after I bleed all over them.”
He gave a low chuckle. “You’re not most people.”
Her chest ached for a different reason this time. “You okay now that I lived?”
He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “Better than okay.”
“Rone…” She hesitated, searching for the words that didn’t come easy. “You ready to move past what happened to you before?”
“I already have.” His voice dropped, rough, honest. “I spoke to Torres’s husband and her kids. There’s a college fund, but I won’t be able to send any more money since I’m not going to put them in danger.”
“What about you? Are you ready to trust someone? A man like me?” He wiggled his brows and smiled.
“I already have.” Something in her eased at that. The fear. The doubt. The wall she’d been holding up for too long. “Wait. Why will you put Tores’s family in danger?”
“Because we are both going into WITSEC. Lake house until Laurel Tide is taken down for good.”
