“They were the men who took your friend.” His arms tighten around me when I gasp. “The man I shot was angry enough to admit they came here to kill the one witness. The witness that has caused them nothing but trouble, leading cops to find their hideouts and forcing them to go on the run.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you...”
I’m afraid to hope. Scared to my bones that he won’t have the answer I desperately need.
“Did I ask them where they were keeping your friend?”
I let out a shuddering breath, my heart in my throat as I push back to meet those beautiful green eyes. “Yes.”
“I asked them, alright.” A shiver runs through me when he reaches up and brushes a reddened hand over my cheek. From the dangerous glint that flashes in his eyes, I can imagine how the conversation went.
“Did they…tell you anything?”
Beau leans forward and presses his lips over my forehead. “Not yet, baby. The cops are taking them in now. If one of those bastards knows where she is, they’ll get it out of him.”
A little later, we’ve moved to the bed, but we’re still wrapped in each other’s embrace when Beau’s phone rings. He answers immediately, his entire body going still as he listens. “What?” he asks, voice dropping.
My heart climbs into my throat. His eyes find mine, and something in his face shifts. Relief. Disbelief. Hope. “They found her,” he says, the words rough. “One of them talked during questioning. The cops found Kristin.”
Chapter Six
Beau
The truck rumbles to a stop as the first rays of dawn begin to paint the sky, their light catching the glass facade of the hospital and turning it into a dazzling spectacle. Before I can even shift into Park, the passenger door flies open, and Rosalie is out, a blur of motion as she sprints toward the hospital entrance.
There are tears in her eyes as she runs. I’m surprised she doesn’t trip as she flies through the automatic doors.
I slam the truck into Park, cutting off the engine with the same urgency. My own heart is hammering against my ribs as I vault out of the truck, fumbling with my keys as I lock it.
She’s not mine, the girl or her friend. Neither of them belongs to me, but more than anything, I understand the helplessness that comes when things are out of control. Hell, for three days, I’ve watched the girl fall apart. I’ve held her while she cried in her sleep, mourning her friend she wasn’t sure she’d ever see again.
I felt the same way when I held Eric, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as I watched the life leave his eyes. Still, a part of me held on to the hope that he could be helped. That someone would get there in time and save his life.
No one did.
By the time I’ve reached the entrance and pushed through the doors, Rosalie is already talking to the charge nurse, her words tumbling out in a rush, and then she’s off again, a streak of color disappearing down a long, sterile hallway. I break into a run, my boots echoing on the linoleum, as I try to catch up.
She pushes open a door and then stops.
“Kristin!”
The sound is raw and pained, and it breaks my heart as she crumbles to the floor in a sobbing mess. I reach her, dropping to a crouch and wrapping my arms around her, even as I follow her line of sight to the woman lying on the bed, hair matted to her face and eyes wide with tears, looking as broken as the woman crumpled in my arms.
“Rosy,” she whispers brokenly, extending a weak hand toward her friend. “Oh my God, Rosalie. It’s really you. Those assholes told me they killed you.”
I help her to her feet, and the moment I do, she’s off again, running to her friend with her arms spread wide before pulling her into a tight embrace. The two break into sobs, speaking in rushed words I doubt either of them understands. For a moment, I picture Eric lying on that bed, smiling after a near-death experience, his wife seated by his side, their son dozing beside him.
For a moment, I see a different reality where he was shot, but it wasn’t fatal. Maybe it only grazed his arm. Maybe he only needed minor surgery, nothing more. He never bled out on the pavement as the people who’d taken his life continued to shoot at us. In this reality, he lived.
Then the image disappears, and reality comes crashing down.
The shot was fatal. Unlike Kristin and Rosalie, there will never be a tearful reunion for Eric and me.
And this is the end of our story now, isn’t it?