Spawn’s eyes doubled in size, and his hands flew up. Frantically, he tried to grab for the knife.
Asher drove it in deeper and wrenched it to the side.
Then two vehicles hurtled into the little lot. One was a patrol car. Another a dark SUV. They screeched to a stop and gravel flew beneath their tires.
Wyatt jumped from the patrol car. “Step away from him, Asher!”
Smiling, Asher did. He lifted his hands.
And Spawn fell to the ground. He was gasping and gagging and choking, and Asher turned away from him. He went back to Bailey.
His Bailey.
Footsteps rushed toward him.
Two FBI agents were there, surrounding Spawn. Trying to help him. “Forget him,” Asher snarled. “Bailey is what matters. We have to get her to a hospital!”
He reached for her, wanting to scoop her into his arms, and then he realized . . .
The bullet. The bullet went in right near her spine.
Ana’s hands grabbed his before he could touch Bailey. He looked up at his sister, and when she flinched, he knew she saw the terror on his face. In the field, he’d had a teammate who’d gotten shot in the back. The man had been paralyzed and he’d died before any help could get to their remote location.
Not Bailey. Not my Bailey.
“What happened?” Wyatt asked.
“Get Bailey help.” He pulled his hands from Ana’s. He curled his body over Bailey’s. “Get her help.” Terror clawed at his insides, nearly ripping him apart. He knew what had happened. Bailey had tried to get away from Spawn. Only instead of running for the woods, for cover . . .
She ran toward the trunk. Toward me. She came to me.
And she’d been shot. Spawn had shot her in the back. Just gunned her down.
His fingers flexed. He wanted to kill that bastard all over again. And he knew that Spawn was dead. Sure, he was still gasping. Still twitching, but he wouldn’t make it off that mountain.
Would Bailey?
“I love you,” Asher whispered to her. “Please, baby, just hold on. Everything is going to be okay, I swear it.”
He didn’t want to think of his life without her in it. Bailey had become his whole world, in just a few short days. I love you.
He stayed there, with her, numb to everything else until he heard the whirr of a helicopter’s blades. When the Life Flight crew rushed toward Bailey, Wyatt and Ana had to pull him away so the team could reach her.
And when that helicopter lifted off, Asher was right there with Bailey. As if he were going to let her fly away without him. His eyes were only on her, and in his mind, he kept repeating, Don’t leave. I love you. Stay with me. Please, Bailey, stay with me.
Ana didn’t cry, not until the helicopter had lifted off. Then she let the tears slide down her cheeks. She’d never seen her brother that way—and she hoped that she never would again.
“Did he even know that he was talking?” Wyatt asked, voice subdued. “When we were waiting on the chopper, did he realize—”
“No,” Ana said briskly, breaking through his words. “He didn’t.” But Asher had been speaking, the whole time, and he’d broken her heart as he begged Bailey to stay with him, again and again.
Don’t leave. I love you. Stay with me. Please, Bailey, stay with me.
“What’s going to happen?” Wyatt asked. “Do you think . . .” His words trailed away.
Ana squared her shoulders. “I think Bailey is going to stay with my brother. That’s what I think will happen.” It was the only thing that could happen.
Because I don’t know what he’d do without her.
Asher had spent years blocking himself off from other people, refusing to get close because he’d been afraid of that connection, but with Bailey, he hadn’t been given a choice.
I guess that’s what love is like. It takes over everything else. It overwhelms you.
It was a good thing Ana had never been in love. Because she never wanted the kind of pain she’d just heard in her brother’s ragged voice.
She looked over her shoulder. Spawn hadn’t been lifted out on that chopper—because he was dead. Her brother didn’t play. When he attacked, he went straight for the kill.
She’d learned that lesson when she was fourteen. Spawn had taken that same lesson to his grave. “Get me to the hospital,” she told Wyatt. “I want to be there when Bailey wakes up.”
And she wouldn’t say . . .
I have to be there in case she doesn’t. Because if Bailey dies, then I think Asher may just break apart.
Chapter Nineteen
The surgery had already taken seven hours. Seven of the longest damn hours that Asher had ever lived. He paced in the waiting room. Paced and paced and stared at the operating room doors. When they’d arrived at the hospital, Bailey had immediately been wheeled to surgery. The nurses had stopped him at the door. The nurses had forced him to get his own wounds tended, like he’d given a damn about those scrapes. The bullets that hit him hadn’t come close to anything vital. A few stitches, and he’d been fucking fine.
I’m fine, but what about Bailey? He felt as if he were about to lose his damn mind.
Ana was there now. Watching him. Worrying. He wanted to reassure her, but he couldn’t. His every thought was on Bailey, as if he were willing her to survive.
If I want it bad enough, it has to happen. And I want Bailey, more than anything.
Sarah was there, too, and so was Viki. Silent, watching. The place felt like a damn tomb, and Asher hated that. Bailey didn’t belong in a tomb. Not in a tomb, not in a grave, not in a hospital. She deserved to be out there, living, free. No more prisons. No more pain. Nothing to hold her back, not ever again.
When he heard the whoosh of that operating room door swinging open, Asher whirled around. A doctor was there, a guy who looked haggard and tired and wore green scrubs. “Bailey’s family?” he called.
Fuck, yes, that was him. Asher rushed forward. “Is she okay?”
“A very delicate surgery.” The doctor exhaled slowly. “She’s in recovery now and—”
“I need to see her.” No, he had to see her. Right then. Because he was splintering apart on the inside. Barely hanging on to his sanity. He needed to make sure she was alive. Had to see her with his own eyes. Bailey. His Bailey.
“And who are you?” the doctor asked, frowning.
Hadn’t he just indicated he was her family? Shit, fine, he’d lie. He was her fiancé, her husband. He was anyone he needed to be in order to get back there and see her.
Footsteps rushed up behind him. Asher didn’t look back but he heard—
“I’m Sheriff Wyatt Bliss. I can vouch for this man. Let him see her. I think she’ll need to see him as much as he needs her.”
The doctor’s gaze darted over Asher’s shoulder. He probably saw the gleaming star on Wyatt’s chest or maybe he just recognized the guy—small towns and all of that—but he nodded. “She’s in ICU. The second bed on the right—”
Asher was already gone. He couldn’t wait to hear the rest. Bailey was alive. He had to get to her. His feet pounded over the gleaming tiles and he heard one nurse call out to him, urging him to slow down.
He didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop—not until he was in ICU and he could see Bailey, right behind the clear glass.
She was pale. Too pale. Machines beeped all around her. Her lashes were closed.
He opened the door. Crept inside. His own ragged breathing filled his ears.
And then . . .
Her lashes fluttered. He could see the green of her eyes, only it wasn’t as bright as before. Muted. Tired.
He hurried toward her. He reached for her hand, but hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt her. Not ever—
“Ash . . .”
At that whisper, he smiled at her, his heart nearly breaking. “I’m right here, sweetheart.” The only place he wanted to be. With her. Carefully, his fingers linked with hers. He squeezed her hand.
She squeezed him back.<
br />
“Am I . . . okay?” Her voice was so weak. Strained. And her eyes were already drifting closed again.
“Better than okay,” he promised her. Asher leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are fucking perfect.” And you always will be, to me.
“Liar,” she said so softly. “But I . . . still love you.”
In that instant, his racing heartbeat stopped. For a moment, he didn’t even hear the beep of the machines around her. He just heard those sweet words, echoing in his mind.
Love you.
“I love you, too,” Asher told her, his voice sounding rough and battered.
But Bailey’s lashes were closed. Her breathing seemed easy. Deep. And had the pallor faded some from her cheeks?
His fingers gently smoothed over her hand.
“Don’t worry,” a woman’s voice said, coming from behind him.
He looked back and saw the blonde nurse who’d been urging him to slow down.
The nurse smiled at him. “She’s going to be all right. The doctor told you about her condition, right?”
Asher tried to remember what the doctor had said, but came up blank. He’d just known that the surgery was over and Asher’s first instinct had been to get to Bailey. To see her. To touch her.
“No spinal damage,” the nurse said, giving a little nod. “Part of the bullet had fragmented so the doc took extra time to remove all the pieces. But no spinal injuries, no significant internal damage. Give that woman a few days to recover, and she’ll be as good as new.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Want me to bring you a chair?” She glanced back over her shoulder, then at him. “We’re really not supposed to let family stay that long but . . . I think we can make an exception this time. Something tells me she needs you.”
No, I need her.
Asher cleared his throat. “Yes, I’d like that chair. Thank you.” Because there truly was only one place that he wanted to be.
With Bailey.
“So you’re being called a hero again.”
Bailey blinked when her blinds were pulled open and the sunlight spilled onto her hospital bed—and right into her eyes. “Ah! Asher!”
He laughed. “Ah, what? You know today’s the big day. You get sprung from the hospital.” He came toward her, bent, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “The reporters are outside, all desperate to get a glimpse of the woman who survived an attack not just from one killer, but two.”
She grabbed his hand. Held tight. “You’re the one who stopped him.”
His eyes gleamed. “And you’re the one who took a bullet rather than let him torture us both. You think I didn’t realize what you’d done?” He lifted their joined hands. Pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers.
“I wasn’t going to let him use me against you.”
His hold tightened on her hand. “I was scared out of my head when I saw you on that ground.”
She tried to smile for him. “I’m okay, now.”
And Spawn was gone. Dead and buried just as . . . just as the Death Angel was gone.
She’d told Wyatt and the Feds everything that Spawn had revealed to her. She knew that they’d been working to unlock the files on Leigh’s computer. To recover the data that might prove either the truth of Spawn’s statements . . . or show them for the lie that they were.
I don’t think they were a lie. I think I’ve been caught in lies for a long time . . . and the truth is out now.
“I want you to be better than okay, sweetheart.” Asher stared into her eyes. “I want you to be happy. I want you to laugh and mean it, and I never want to see shadows in your eyes again.”
Her lashes lowered. She couldn’t promise those things. Bailey was pretty sure her past would always haunt her. The attacks had left their mark.
Asher let go of her hand. His fingers slid under her chin and he tipped back her head. Her lashes lifted so she was gazing into his eyes once more.
“I want us both to be better than okay,” he continued, voice roughening. “And I think we can be . . . together.”
She wasn’t hooked up to any more machines. A good thing because she was pretty sure her heart had just accelerated like mad and any machines would have recorded that crazy hike. “What are you saying?”
His face was so serious. “I love you.”
Take a breath. Take another one. “I love you.” And her smile flashed, she couldn’t help it. It just came and—
“See?” Asher murmured. “No shadows in your eyes.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I want to be with you, Bailey. Today. Tomorrow. As many days as you’ll let me.”
I want you always.
He eased back, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. “I get that we’re still new, but what I feel for you, I know it’s real.”
She’d never felt this way for another man.
“I’ll give you time—as much time as you need—to see that we can work together. We can be happy. I can move here. I can quit LOST—”
“No.” She absolutely didn’t want him leaving LOST. LOST mattered. The work he did . . . it mattered. And maybe . . . maybe she could even help there, too. She’d survived hell—she’d like to help others there do the same.
She could understand the victims. Their pain. Maybe at LOST she could make a difference for someone else.
Maybe it was time to leave all of her past and look to the future.
Maybe I already am looking at my future.
“One day at a time,” Bailey said, nodding. “How about we try that and see where it takes us?” But she already knew where she’d be going—to spend the rest of her life with him.
A rap sounded at the door. It squeaked open and . . . “May I come in?” Wyatt’s voice. “Um, it’s me . . . and Ana.”
Asher stared into Bailey’s eyes. “I love you,” he said again, almost as if he just wanted to hear those words once more.
She wanted to hear them forever, so she smiled at him.
“Yeah, come on in,” Asher called.
Wyatt strolled inside, his gaze worried until it locked on her. Then she saw the relief sweep over his features. “Looking good, Bailey.”
She felt good. Sure, the stitches pulled a bit, but she was out of her hospital gown and in comfy sweats for her trip home.
“I have a car waiting away from the reporters,” Ana told her, giving a quick nod. “You don’t need to face the throng out front.”
But, for some reason . . . Bailey wasn’t afraid of that throng. She wasn’t sure that she was afraid of anything right then.
I have Asher. We made it through the dark. I want to see what comes next.
“The Feds managed to retrieve the data on Leigh’s computer.” Wyatt had his hat in his hands and he was twisting the brim. “Spawn was telling the truth. Leigh . . . shit, he wrote it all down. Like he was doing an experiment and documenting everything. Even told us who the poor bastard was who died in that fire.”
Asher reached for her hand again.
Bailey stared up at Wyatt, trying to connect all the pieces of the puzzle. “But Carla said she killed the Death Angel. That she went back inside and knocked him out—”
“She lied,” Ana said flatly. “That guy was a fellow named Jim Valler. He was a patient of Leigh’s, too, one who suffered from a guilt complex just like the rest of you. When he was in college, his roommate died in a hazing incident. From what we can tell, Jim was the one who gave him the alcohol. Jim left school after that . . . seemed to vanish from the whole world after his friend was buried.”
He hadn’t vanished. He’d just become one of Leigh’s patients.
“In his notes, Leigh said that Jim wasn’t showing proper remorse. That he needed to be removed from the program. That night . . . with you . . . I think that was the end of the program,” Wyatt said. “Leigh eliminated all loose ends. Or at least, he tried to.”
“But Carla—”
“She was patient one,” Ana said. “S
arah said she thinks Carla was the trigger patient for him. They had an . . . intimate relationship. Probably a manipulative one. Sarah built a profile on them both. She thinks Carla was terrified of Leigh—”
If she’d seen him kill, yeah, that made sense.
“But she was emotionally tied to him. So she worked with him in the ‘tests’ that he performed.”
Asher’s body tensed beside her. “Those weren’t fucking tests. They were torture segments.”
“Carla was the one who tattooed the victims. Sarah and the Feds think she also tattooed Leigh. That he wanted the mark as proof of his work.”
And she’d gone to therapy with that guy? Shit. Shit. Shit! Her skin crawled.
“The crime teams retrieved fingerprints from Dr. Leigh’s crime scene.” Wyatt kept twisting the brim of the hat. “They found the prints inside the elevator, right on the buttons. Prints that belonged to Carla Drake.”
So, in the end, Carla did kill the Death Angel. Just as she’d said as she lay dying in that cell. “In the end . . . finally did it . . . killed him.”
“And we also found the BMW that tried to run you down,” Wyatt added. “It was parked two blocks away from your house, in the garage of a home that was for sale. The place was vacant, so no one even noticed the BMW until the real estate agent came in for a showing.”
Bailey’s chest seemed to burn. “So much death.” Guilt and blood and death. A cycle that seemed to have no end.
But it is ending. It’s ending now. I survived. Asher survived. And I won’t live my life always looking back. I won’t feel guilt for the victim I didn’t save.
She would focus on living. Loving. I’ll do what Asher said. I’ll learn to smile more. To laugh.
She could do it. They could do it.
Wyatt headed toward the bed. He paused near Asher and offered his hand. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot . . .”
Asher rose.
“. . . but I appreciate your help. And LOST can damn well come back here anytime.”
Asher shook his hand. “You are not nearly the prick that I thought you were.”
Wyatt laughed. Then he looked at Bailey. “I’m always here, if you need me.”