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He fumbled for the mask and lifted it to speak. “It’s too late.”
Because he was already in too deep—the wound on his shoulder proved it.
“Let me worry about that.” I rubbed the inner band of my ring.
Channing’s eyes tracked the movement and narrowed. “Cate.” He shook his head, guessing what I was thinking.
My mother’s ring. It was special. The only possession I’d had after the accident my parents died in when I was two. The ring was the only piece of that life. It had passed from foster home to foster home, tucked safely in the bottom of whatever trash bag I’d been given for my latest move. I had never dared wear it until Gran had spotted it the night she took me in. She’d encouraged me to unpack, even given me a dresser—the first I’d ever had. It was the worst and best day of my life. She had seen the ring and told me to wear it, to never take it off. I’d tried to explain why I couldn’t bear to see it. Why I’d hidden it in every home, afraid it would be lost or stolen. Afraid that the only piece of who I truly was would be taken from me, too.
And then she had said the words that changed my life. “You are safe here. Wear the ring to remember that. Wear the ring because you survived.”
I’d never had the heart to get it appraised. I didn’t want to know if the emerald in the center was genuine or how much it was worth. Knowing that might make it too tempting to do precisely what I was considering now, especially during those times when the only food in my fridge was pickle juice. The ring reminded me that I could survive anything in those moments. I never took it off like she said, but for Channing…
“I can get the money. How much?” I repeated.
His already pallid face blanched. “You can’t get involved with Lachlan Gage.”
I shook my head, crossing my arms. “You got involved with him, so what choice do I have?”
“Cate, no. You don’t understand.” He lifted his head, panic on his face. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally choked out more nonsense. “Gage isn’t what people think he is.”
“He’s not a rich asshole with more guns and money than human decency?” I snorted, but he didn’t answer. He just sank back onto the bed and stared at the wall with vacant eyes. The change in his demeanor was enough to make me dare to ask one more question. “What is he, then?”
He wasn’t making sense. His jaw tightened, eyes glazing slightly. Morphine in action. So much for it loosening his tongue.
I couldn’t lose Channing. I refused. We would survive. I would give up my ring for that. I would give anything to ensure that.
I set my shoulders in determination. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But I’m not going to let you get killed.”
“Cate!” He tried to shove himself up, but pain sent him crumbling back down. He called my name one more time as I left the room.
I marched toward the nurse’s station, where Haley was bent over, deep in conversation with one of the EMTs who had brought Channing in. A gun was sealed in a plastic bag on the counter. As I approached, I saw Channing’s name written on its label. It was evidence. Not that it would ever wind up in the hands of the police. Just one of the many accommodations Gage Memorial and its private EMS made for their deep-pocketed benefactor. No. My brother was working for the Gage family, which meant that gun would be given back to him when he was deemed well enough to go and try to get himself killed again. I had to do something.
“We found a bed for…” Haley trailed away when she saw my face.
“Where was the shooting?” I asked the medic.
He shared an uneasy look with Haley. “Waverly.”
“Specifically.” I had no idea where to find Lachlan Gage or the rest of his family. No Gage had ever been treated here despite the alarming number of their associates that wound up in our beds—or in the morgue. Tracking any of them down was a long shot. I probably wouldn’t even get close enough to see Gage himself, let alone speak with him. He was notoriously private. No photographs. Not when the Gages owned the newspapers and everything else. But even in the age of everything being on the internet, they weren’t. People who spoke out about his family business had a habit of disappearing.
So no one ever did.
“Crossroads of Waverly and St. Charles. In front of the Avalon hotel.” He paused, a battle waging in his eyes. “You do not want to go down there. Gage owns the Avalon.”
What didn’t Gage own in this city?
The medic held out a hand. “Look, it’s not safe. You—”
“Thanks,” I stopped him. Reaching over the counter, I grabbed the phone and punched in a number.
“What are you doing?” Haley asked quietly.
I ignored her question. When this came down on me, I didn’t want her caught up in it, too. She asked again as someone picked up on the other line. “This is Cate Holloway at Gage Memorial. I need you to send an officer down here.”
Haley cursed. I half expected her to disconnect the call, but she didn’t. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said when I hung up. “When Garcia finds out…”
“When Garcia finds out what?” his baritone interrupted from behind us.