“Hunt.” He cuts me off sharply. “There’s more. You need to prepare yourself.”
“What? What is it? ”
His eyes hold mine, full of anguish. He hesitates a beat, then murmurs just one word. “Sykes.”
“No!No.” My heart is lead, my stomach stone. “No, she can’t be—”
“She’s still alive,” he assures me immediately. “But it’s… it’s not good. She’s in the ICU. Critical condition. They don’t know whether she’s going to make it through the night.”
I swallow hard, trying to keep myself together for his sake. If anyone in this room deserves to fall apart right now, it’s Conor. “Is there anything I can do? Any way I can possibly help?”
“Her boyfriend is there with her, now — along with half the OC division, most likely. I told them to go home and get some shut eye, but…” He shrugs. “Lucy is well-liked. Everyone wants to be there when she wakes up.Ifshe wakes up.”
“Sykes is strong. She’s going to pull through this.”
He shakes his head slightly, his face a mask of pain as he pulls his hand from my hold and starts to pace. “She always had to be first. First in her class at the Academy. First one to chime in with ideas on any case. First one into the room on a raid…” His paces pick up speed. “Per usual, she was right on the heels of the SWAT team when they stepped into that apartment. The three guys ahead of her died instantly. Blown to bits.” His eyes are full of ghosts. “She was… I guess I could call itluckier, but that’s open to interpretation given the state I found her in. All I could do was carry her out, away from the fire. I got her to the street, tried to stop the worst of the bleeding. They air-lifted her to Mass General.”
“Conor.” I reach out, blocking his path. Stilling him with a light hand on his chest, directly over his heart. I can feel it racing double-speed beneath the fabric of his cinder-streaked shirt. Now that I’m looking closer, I see some of the stains are dark red, not black.
Lucy.
I swallow. “You did everything you could. You got her out of there before the whole place went up in flames. You saved her life!”
He laughs — a violent, self-loathing snarl. “I didn’t save her life, Hunt. I’m the one who nearly ended it.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t possibly think you’re responsible for this.”
“But I am. She never should’ve been there in the first place. The only reason Sykes was in that room was because of me. Because I dragged her into this case. And if she dies… her blood is on my hands.”
“I won’t pretend to know her well, but it’s pretty clear from the few interactions I’ve had with Lucy Sykes that she loves her job. And she’s damn good at it. My guess is, she would’ve been at that scene whether or not you encouraged her involvement.”
A muscle in his jaw is ticking with tension and he can’t quite meet my eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” I say softly, wishing I could reach out and take his pain within my hands. Hold it for a while, just to ease his heavy burden.
“I’m the one who pulled her in on this case. She was working on something else, but… I asked her to step in earlier this week. Maybe if I hadn’t…”
My brow furrows. “You told me everyone’s working the Petrov case now. Even if you hadn’t recruited her to help deal with him, she still might’ve wound up at that apartment today.”
His head is shaking, rejecting my words.
“What?” I ask, almost afraid of his answer.
“It wasn’t Petrov I asked her for help with.” He’s staring at me gravely. “It was you.”
“Me?”
“When I brought you into the Bureau… before we knew whether or not you were complicit in Paul’s crimes… I needed someone impartial to conduct your interview. Someone unbiased, who could ask about your involvement and evaluate the truth without…”
My breaths are shallow. “Without what?”
“Without being affected by personal feelings.” His eyes meet mine and I nearly gasp at the emotions I see lurking just behind the surface of his irises.
The anger, the anguish, the guilt.
He clears his throat. “Because for the first time in my career… I wasn’t sure I could do that. I wasn’t sure I could be impartial.” He pauses. “Not when it came to you.”
* * *